Jane glared. ‘Where’s – my – ship?’
Counsellor Lukin sighed. ‘Jane, the thing you need to understand is that in the GC, there are strict laws concerning space travel. Space is dangerous, especially out in the open. Our laws keep people safe. Your ship . . . your ship wasn’t very safe, Jane. Its internal components racked up dozens of transport code violations, and it was flying on improperly recycled fuel, which is both illegal and highly hazardous.’ She laughed. ‘I don’t know where you found that thing, but—’
‘I built it,’ Jane said, her words snapping cold. ‘I built that thing.’
The fake smile faltered. ‘I see. Well, the other component here is that you don’t have a pilot’s licence, which means you’re not allowed to own or operate a ship of any size. The good news is that I was able to arrange for some small compensation from the Transport Board. The GC always provides basic housing and supplies for refugee cases like yours, but I figured some additional credits to help you get started would—’
‘I don’t know what you’re saying. Compensation for what?’
Ithis reached toward her. ‘Jane, you’re still sick, you need to—’
Jane slapped his claws aside. ‘Compensation for what? What’s the Transport Board?’
The woman sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Jane. The ship’s been confiscated.’
SIDRA
Nobody was eating the cake. Of all the things bothering Sidra in that moment, that was the stupidest, but the thought nagged at her all the same. She’d known this would be a difficult conversation, so she’d bought jenjen cake from Tak’s favourite bakery, then sat on the Undersea for an hour to get chocolate cake from Pepper’s favourite bakery. The plate holding both sat in the middle of the kitchen table, next to the pitcher of mek, which was getting cold. Everyone had taken slices and poured a cup, but that had been as far as it went.
Sidra glanced across the table at Blue, who was watching the conversation with a furrowed brow and slight circles under his eyes. He wanted this to go well, too.
‘She’s on Kaathet,’ Pepper said, eyes fixed on her scrib. The message she’d received two days prior was still on screen. Sidra wasn’t sure if she’d closed it.
Blue wet his lips before speaking. ‘The shuttle’s on Kaathet,’ he said, gently, cautiously.
A tightness appeared around Pepper’s mouth and eyes. ‘Fine, yes, the shuttle’s on Kaathet. It’s at—’ She laughed humourlessly. ‘—it’s at the regional branch of the Reskit Museum of Interstellar Migration.’ She shook her head at the absurdity and rubbed her eyes. ‘They’ve apparently got this big exhibit of single-family spacecraft, and . . . well, it’s there.’
Tak had the look of someone who wanted to be sympathetic but was at an utter loss. Xe also looked tired, which was understandable, since xe was in the first days of a shift. Xyr skin was bright with hormones, and Sidra could tell from the way xe continuously shifted weight that xyr muscles ached. Sidra had wished there’d been a better time for this conversation, but this was one of those things there was no planning for.
‘That’s . . .’ Tak began. Xyr inner eyelids darted in sideways, the Aeluon equivalent of a raised pair of eyebrows. ‘That must be overwhelming for you.’
‘Yeah,’ Pepper said. ‘Yeah.’
Tak flicked xyr eyes to Sidra. Why am I here for this? the look said. The kit cleared its throat. ‘The letter Pepper got doesn’t have any information about the ship’s interior,’ Sidra said. ‘We . . . don’t know what condition it’s in.’
‘She means we don’t know if Owl’s installation is still functional,’ Pepper said flatly. Blue reached across the table and squeezed her arm. She laid her hand on top of his.
‘Okay,’ Tak said. The question on xyr face hadn’t wavered.
Pepper sighed and shook her head. ‘You explain it to xyr,’ she said to Sidra. ‘This was your idea.’
This was her idea, and Sidra knew Pepper didn’t like it. ‘Pepper needs to get into the ship and examine the core,’ Sidra said. ‘If all is well, she then needs to remove it. To do that, we have to get into the museum after visitor hours. We need to be able to get into the exhibit space.’
‘Wait,’ Tak said. Xe pulled back from the table, just a touch. ‘You . . . you want to break into a museum. You want to break into the Museum of Interstellar Migration.’
That was exactly what Pepper had wanted to do two days ago, but Sidra felt it best to let that slide. ‘No,’ Sidra said. ‘That’s too risky.’ Pepper gave a quiet huff. ‘What we need is a way to get in that won’t attract attention. A legitimate way to get in.’