NOMAD Episode 8: Rescue

True to his word—and much to Mik’s surprise—Neal was waiting for her at the docking center as the station cycled into artificial night. There was more activity than Mik would’ve expected at this hour—from the look of it, a few passenger vessels had recently docked.

“So which one is it?” Mik said, by way of greeting, as she and Neal began to walk a slow circuit around the center. Her leg was bothering her again, a thudding pain that sharpened each time she took a step. When she slipped out of Moonrise after her shift, she didn’t have time to dart back to her ship for a painkiller, and she didn’t like to carry the stuff around on her person. It was too valuable.

“It’s a Vex 970,” Neal said, nodding toward the ship in question as they passed the bay where it was docked. It was an older vessel, to Mik’s eye. Nothing fancy.

“Transport class. Not much space for cargo, especially if they’re hauling supplies, too. So half a dozen, maybe?”

“Depends on how tight they pack ‘em together,” Mik replied.

She blinked, and memories floated up in the darkness behind her eyes: The dim cargo hold of a ship only a little bigger than the Vex, where she’d spent the better part of a week chained to the floor by her ankle. She and the other humans were crammed together so tightly that someone was always touching her. The air reeked of sweat and breath and worse things—the kind of smell that stuck in her nose, even after she was brought out into the open air again.

Stars, Mik hadn’t thought of that smell in a long time. She rubbed at her nose with one hand, wishing she could forget it.

Neal looked at her sidelong. “You good?”

“Stellar,” she muttered. Then she glanced back at the ship. There was at least one guard posted inside, she figured, to keep an eye on the valuable cargo at all times. She needed more time to find a way around such a security measure—or, failing that, a way through. “When are they shipping out?”

“As soon as they’re done refueling. Ship like that could take another half a cycle.”

That sounded promising. “OK,” she said slowly, reaching up to grab Neal’s shoulder. She squeezed a little harder than necessary, to remind him that she was serious.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I need a little time, and you’re going to get it for me…”

•••

As he made his way to the fuel depot, Neal thought that this was easily the worst decision he’d made since the one that stranded him on NOMAD Station in the first place.

Mik’s idea was a decent one: cut the fuel supply to the Vex 970, forcing it to remain on NOMAD until further notice and giving Mik more time to formulate the rest of her plan, which she had not deigned to share with Neal.

He had the means to do it: the access codes to most parts of the fuel depot, which he’d been granted so he could make repairs and run maintenance checks, and enough technical knowledge to muck things up. At this time of the night cycle, only a handful of beings were on shift, and he knew most of them well enough to explain away his presence.

Of course, he couldn’t just cut access to the Vex 970—that would be suspicious. He’d have to cut the whole sector in order to make it look realistic. Doing so would strand more than a dozen ships on NOMAD, until someone could fix whatever Neal had broken. Mik had no moral quandary about this, which came as no surprise to Neal.

In truth, Neal’s dilemma was less about morals and more about practicalities.

He had a feeling that Mik would break his legs if he didn’t do what she expected, which was certainly a strong motivator. But it was preferable to what the Jed would do to him if he were caught.

He’d considered simply blowing off his vague promises to Mik and letting the chips fall where they may—she would either fail without him, or she would succeed on her own. In either case, there was no reason for him to get involved.

He’d also considered going to the Jed and tipping them off to the fact that someone had an eye on their cargo. But that posed a different risk, one he wasn’t sure he was willing to take.

Neal recalled what Mik had said to him this morning, outside of Moonrise: that whatever pittance the Jed paid him wasn’t worth what they were asking him to do now. If he let that ship leave NOMAD with a cargo hold full of sentient captives, she’d said, he would become a different kind of person.

When he thought of Mik’s words, he almost heard his sister’s voice. Priya would’ve told him the same thing, probably, if she were here. Then she would’ve smacked him upside the head for being so stupid in the first place. He smiled a little at the thought.

He’d already disappointed Priya enough.

Taking a breath to steel himself, Neal entered the fuel depot.

•••

Mik’s leg was freshly numbed when she stepped off her ship—and she stumbled a little when she saw Delphine standing at the end of the dock.

It was late enough that Moonrise would be closed for the cycle, but Mik would’ve expected Delphine to return to the unit she rented on the other side of the station. Now that she thought of it, how did Delphine even find Mik’s ship?

“So what are you going to do with them?” Delphine asked, before Mik had a chance to speak.

Mik’s first instinct was to feign ignorance. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to put Delphine at risk by involving her.

“What do you mean?”

Delphine edged closer, dropping her voice. “When you get your… cargo,” she said. “How are you going to get them off the station?”

For a second, Mik hesitated. But she saw no point in lying. “They’ll have idents,” she said quietly.

“Paid for?”

Like Mik had the credits for that, even if she knew someone on NOMAD with the right skillset. “Homemade,” she said simply.

Delphine raised her eyebrows in surprise, but Mik didn’t elaborate further.

Years ago, after she hurt her leg, Mik couldn’t handle the physical side of the work like she used to. She had to find another way to be useful to the Blue Moons.

Forging identity documents for the Blue Moons to use or sell turned out to be just the thing. She was good at it, too. She had an eye for detail—that was what Johanna said. If she put her mind to it, she could create a dozen idents in a single night. And she still had her kit. No matter how many slaves were on that ship, Mik could have fresh identities for all of them in a matter of days.

But, as Delphine pointed out, she would need somewhere for them to stay. She could only cram so many people into her little ship—Kono barely had enough space for her.

“I was thinking,” Delphine said. “My pod’s supposed to be a single unit, but it could… accommodate some visitors, probably. At least for a couple of days.”

Mik’s mouth opened, but nothing came out at first.

“The back room at Moonrise is actually a little bigger than my pod,” Delphine went on. “So if you had anything else you needed to store for a little while—I’ve got some space.”

For a moment, all Mik could do was stare at Delphine. She wondered if Delphine understood the full implications of what she was offering—the danger in which she’d be putting herself and her livelihood.

Then she glanced at Delphine’s mechanical arm again, which gleamed dully in the florescent light, and figured that Delphine probably knew more of life than Mik gave her credit for.

“Why don’t you come in,” Mik said, gesturing toward her own ship, “and we’ll talk about it.”