Zoë Archer - Collision Course

Mara Skiren knew there was a venerable expression that perfectly captured her current situation: she was screwed. Completely, unreservedly screwed.

Walking down the corridor toward her ship, she should have been headed toward freedom.

Instead, she was being forced into a mission she didnt want.

The ranking captain briefed Mara as they headed to the docking bay. His words were clipped,

efficient, and combined with his standard-issue severe haircut and his crisp gray 8th Wing uniform, made him exactly the type of person she avoided as much as possible. As they walked, they passed more people in 8th Wing uniforms, all of them staring at Mara with undisguised curiosity. Guess it wasnt every day that scavenging smugglers like her were allowed to roam free through the station.

Any questions? the captain asked.

Just one, she said. Why me?

He frowned at her. Clarify.

Youve got dozens, maybe hundreds, of good pilots. All of them perfectly happy to take on this mission. Why do you need me to carry it out?

He stopped walking, then glanced around and lowered his voice. Our missing pilot and her ship disappeared inside the Smoke Quadrant.

Mara couldnt hide her wry smile. The 8th Wing doesnt know their ass from their nose inside the Smoke.

Were not familiar with the region, no. The captain pressed his lips together tightly. Between the natural barriers and the information network in place, the 8th Wing lacks sufficient intel to adequately appraise the situation.

Meaning, you arent smugglers, scavengers or pirates, so the whole place is a giant question mark. She chuckled. Thats exactly why us scum like it there. Both the 8th Wing and PRAXIS leave us to drink, brawl and murder in peace.

At the mention of the 8th Wings old enemy, the captains mouth tightened. Even if the PRAXIS Group cannot breach that quadrant, either, it is vitally important that we locate and retrieve our pilot and her ship. He consulted the readout on his digitablet. Lieutenant Jurs ship was damaged in an ambush. Her last communication indicated she and her ship were being overrun by scavengers. Her ships tracking device stopped functioning within the Smoke Quadrant. We can only assume she has been taken, but by whom and precisely where in the Smoke Quadrant is unknown.

Mara processed all of this information. It made sense to assume that if the lieutenant and her ship had been seized by scavengers, they would be taken to the Smoke. It was the best place for dealing in black market goods. In the Smoke, no opportunity for profit was ever wasted. Mara never took on human cargo, but an 8th Wing fighter ship would definitely tempt her.

This rescue mission must be conducted in secrecy, the captain added.

If the 8th Wing tries to move in force, Mara deduced, all signs of the good lieutenant will vanish.

The captain nodded. He resumed walking. At best, Lieutenant Jur will disappear and we wont ever find her. At worst, shell be killed.

Thats why they needed Mara. She knew the Smoke Quadrant better than anyone. That didnt reflect well on her character. Fortunately, she didnt give a damn.

Your objective, continued the captain, will be to infiltrate the quadrant, then find Lieutenant Jur and her ship. You have already been apprised of the repercussions if you refuse to cooperate.

Ive been apprised. Shed be tried as an enemy combatant and most likely thrown onto a prison scow. Her beloved scavenge ship would be impounded, broken up and used for scrap. Its bullshit, you know. Im not your enemy and I am definitely not a combatant. She went out of her way to avoid a fight, any fight. Shed had enough of that in her other life.

It would not be difficult for our courts to prove otherwise. You sell scavenged parts to the PRAXIS Group.

I sell scavenged parts to the 8th Wing too, Mara shot back. I sell to anybody, so long as theyve got the credits.

Semantics. A guilty verdict can and will be found if you dont cooperate.

She fought to keep herself from snarling. Yes, she was truly screwed. She hated being forced to do anything. And she hated going into the Smoke as an operative of the 8th Wing. The Smoke was her place, damn itrough, wild and unprincipled. Everything the 8th Wing wasnt.

But she didnt have a choice. Choice had been taken from her when the 8th Wing had found her in that Kauri bar and brought her in to their station on some flimsy tariff pretext.

Ill want an exoneration in writing. She stepped closer to him, her chin jutted forward aggressively.

Once you, Lieutenant Jur and her ship return, you will have an amnesty certificate inscribed in your ships spec imprint.

That was something, at least. She just wanted to lead a nice, quiet life of scavenging and smuggling.

She and the captain reached the bay. After he punched in his security code, the doors slid open and Mara let out a little sigh of relief. There she was. Her baby. The Arcadia.

She wasnt the prettiest shipMara had repaired her too many times, and the old girl showed her age now. But Mara was older too. Older didnt mean less useful, less capable. The Arcadia was still sleek, still fast, and could still tow payloads ten times her size, and thats all that truly mattered. The ship belonged to Mara, and Mara alone, and for simply that reason, she loved the scruffy thing.

You didnt do anything to her? she demanded. Tear her open or put a tracking pod on her?

Your ship is exactly as it was when you last saw it.

Mara planned to run a scan later, just to be sure. Shed configured some black market tech so it could detect even the most hidden tracking devices. Her hatred of being monitored or tetheredlike a Pabu dog on a leashwas another relic of her old life.

She began to walk toward the Arcadia, drawn by the irresistible pull of everything the ship represented. Her steps faltered and then stopped when a man walked around from the other side of the ship.

Sweet meteor candy. Mara had been back and forth through the galaxy more times than most people changed their socks. Shed seen everything from the Fire Caverns on Tawhiri Rho to the Ice Ghosts haunting the cliffs of Janxa. Shed been to every inhabitable planet and done business with their natives. Seen species both hideous and beautiful, miserable and sublime. Nothings appearance shocked her.

This man amazed her.

No way around it. He was one of the most physically attractive men she had ever seen, including the famed Halu pleasure slaves bred specifically to be the most aesthetically appealing creatures in the galaxy. Broad shoulders, powerful arms, long legs. His immaculate 8th Wing uniform brought into gorgeous display his lean, tight muscles. A plasma pistol was strapped to his thigh. Even simply walking, his movements radiated power and strength. His body was hard, lethal. A warrior, this one.

And his face. Far too rough to be considered handsome. He had the face of a man who had lived toughand nothing appealed to Mara more. The clean delineation of his jaw contrasted the curves of his mouth. Thick, dark hair cut very short. Dark brows, dark eyes. Dark all over. And gazing intently at her as he strode toward her.

Her life danced along the edges of respectability, often straying into outright dishonesty. When she took a man to her bed, she picked him specifically because he was equally shady, the kind of man who wanted nothing more complicated than a night of physical pleasure before they went their separate, nefarious ways. Then she could go back to her happy solitude until her bodys demands for release had her searching out a new, very temporary partner.

She avoided men in uniform. Too much stability, too many expectations of reliability.