Local Star, Aimee Ogden [ebook reader that looks like a book txt] 📗

one interior hearing? Especially one they’d prefer didn’t make a big quake through the newschannels?”

Saabe sighed. “I’m not arguing with you. Admiralty’s had their eye on Casne for a while now—not like that,” e hastily explained at Triz’s scowl. “Commendations, fast promotions. I’m afraid they’ll come down hard on her. Make it clear they don’t play favorites.”

Triz didn’t like the sound of that. “Do you have any idea who could be behind this, though? Or how? Any way the Ceebees could’ve reprogrammed a firing pattern? Taken control of the firing array without Cas noticing? Faked the data?”

Another sigh. “I don’t know, Triz, honestly. Have you talked to Lanniq? His wife is Counterintelligence, so he might know some of her tricks. Then again, I’ve barely seen him onhab since the, uh.” Eir face scrunched. “You know. Arrest thing. He’s been picking up extra cockpit time.” E and Triz both looked out at the Skimmer outside, which had rejoined its formation. “We all deal in our own way. No one expected something like that to happen—to any of us, let alone Casne. And pilots always feel more comfortable behind the yoke. You know what that jockey mentality’s like, right?”

“Mentality implies there’s some cognitive activity going on.” Triz squinted at the fighters as a tight formation made the outsized Arcwing look more like just another little Swarmer. “From my firsthand experience with cockpit jocks, that’s not necessarily the case.”

Saabe snorted. “I know the idea probably doesn’t appeal right now, but you could try talking to Kalo. I doubt he knows any more of the geeks in Tactics than I do. But he knows Casne. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” said Triz, so they could part ways more amicably than if she’d dropped a flat no.

Triz’s feet ached. This was a new sensation for her: She was used to cricked necks and sore shoulders from crawling in and around Light Craft all day or hunching over a smaller repair project spread out on a table. When she was younger, much younger, she’d cover half a dozen levels in the Rydoine Hab recycling engines in a single day on her collection routes. But now, just three days of pounding the pathways in the Arcade made her groan. Was she that much fitter then? Or had younger Triz had much more to worry about than sore arches?

In retrospect, taking a break felt like poking a purple bruise to make sure it still hurt. But here she was, in the music-chamber shelter on the Terraria level, body still and head churning. She, Casne, and Nantha liked to come here and relax when they used to be together. Well: Casne and Triz did. Nantha tolerated sitting still for only an hour or two. It was strange to be here without either of them. Before Triz could reconsider, though, an attendant appeared and stooped to set a glass of amber liquid on the low table where Triz had eked out a spot. The birdflute ensemble had seemed like a good bet when she came in here, quiet and peaceful, but maybe she ought to move to the lithogrunge room to drown out the noise in her head. Her fingers closed around the cool glass, and she offered the fob of her other hand for the attendant to scan. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Eir collector chirped to complete the transaction. “Just fob-signal when you need a refill.”

“Actually . . .” A new voice brought Triz’s shoulders up to her ears. “I’ll have what she’s having, if you don’t mind.” Kalo dropped to the chaise opposite Triz and flung all four limbs out to maximize his sprawl.

The attendant retreated, either to fulfill this request or to be outside the blast radius of the frustration currently trying to vibrate its way out of Triz.

“What are you doing?” Triz snapped. “We don’t have the kind of thing where we sit around drinking and swapping war stories together.” They hadn’t even done that when they were together together—in fact, as she recalled, it was Kalo’s chatter about a harrowing engagement with the Ceebees in clusterward space that had precipitated one of their last fights.

“Which is a shame, really, because I have got some pretty amazing war stories. But since you’re at a bit of a deficit there, it works out.”

Triz leaned forward, resting her elbows on either side of her glass. The flutist was straining his way through the birdflute’s highest range, and every single crisp bright tone drove icepicks into her already-brittle temper. “Already had my share of war stories today. Heard a hell of a one from your Swarmer, actually.”

His crooked smile faded, and his gaze slanted down, toward her hands where they pressed against the cold lacquer of the table. “Are you all right? You look like you got dragged through a minefield behind an X-99.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better once the view improves.” She wanted to put a fist right in the middle of those gappy teeth of his. “Is there something you need, besides attention?”

“Well, yeah.” He paused while the attendant set another glass of ‘shine on the table between them. “I know you’ve been trying to track down a sniff of why in the seven hells Casne Veling is behind a Justice wall right now. And I’m a little offended you didn’t ask me first.”

Triz considered the glass in front of her. She picked it up and turned it around between her fingers. “I figured if you had anything interesting to say, you’d have said it to half the Hab by now. Did you see something at Hedgehome?” Anger spiked, and her drink sloshed in its glass. “Are you sitting on evidence that could help Casne and—and trying to make me work for it?”

“Gods of Issam. You seriously think I’d hold back something that would get her out of there?” Kalo took a swig and grimaced. “Never let it be said you don’t give it your all. Too bad it’s only when it comes to seeing the