room to do a lot of shopping. With what he's willing to spend, I'll be lucky to make payroll. That doesn't cover ships," March adds quietly. "There's no easy way to make this happen. So far, there is no plan. I know what we need, but I'm not sure how to get us there." He pauses, gauging my expression, I think. "But . . . my first instinct is to start raiding the pirates. Hit them where it hurts."
I don't love the idea, but I don't discount it out of hand. "If we're going to do that, we need a home base other than Emry. It doesn't make sense to work from here. We need something closer to the high-traffic beacons."
"Agreed," March says. Then he turns to Vel. "Any ideas?"
"On how best to embark upon a career in piracy?"
March grins at him. "Technically, I think we'd be privateers. We have the equivalent of a letter of marque. Otherwise . . . in a word: Yes."
The three of us talk strategy for a while, and then it's time to return to the comm room and give the Chancellor his answer. Without further discussion, March leans forward and taps the terminal. His message to Tarn is as terse as mine. "I'm in."
CHAPTER 9
Once we bounce the message, a celebratory feeling swells among us. The comm room is crowded again, but the mood lightens. I raise my brows at March. "This calls for a party, don't you think, Commander?"
With the promise of action ahead, I don't let the grim memories of Emry Station get to me again. Maybe we can replace them. Kora's gone a fair ways toward that with redecorating. Even the walls in here are no longer plain gray metal. A quote comes to me; I can't remember the source: Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. Yeah, that. Exactly. After Ithiss-Tor, we need to burn off steam.
March grins at me. "Already wasting Conglomerate resources? Don't make me dock your pay."
I widen my eyes at him. "I get paid? Since when?" But that reminds me. "Hey, Tarn promised to recover my assets if I did that job for him. So where are my credits?"
Vel's already at work on his handheld. I don't know my account numbers by heart, but that only slows him down by a few seconds. By the twitch of his mandibles, he actually seems surprised when he glances up. "They've been restored to your account, Sirantha."
He kept his word? Well, I'll be damned. That bodes well.
"I'm not broke anymore?"
In answer, Vel shows me the machine, which gives me the balance. Everything I had, plus what I can only assume is a performance bonus. It's not a fortune, but I'm no longer destitute. That's a fabulous feeling.
"You said something about a party?" Hit prompts.
"Can you two handle it?" I ask.
"It was your idea," Dina grumbles. "And you want us to do all the work?"
I smirk. "Yes."
"Come on." Hit tugs on her hand. "It'll be fun. We could all use the chance to cut loose before we jump into this with both feet."
She's right about that. And a party will show the crew we appreciate them. Call it an exercise in morale building. Besides, the old Jax is anxious to drink and dance. I haven't let her have any fun in months.
Dina nudges March with her shoulder. "This cleared with you, Commander?" She gives the last word a subtly mocking stress, but it's affectionate.
He nods, and the other two women head out to prepare for the night's festivities. Vel excuses himself shortly thereafter. I think he senses when March and I need to talk; Vel and I share a connection, too, though it's different, nothing I could articulate. Once we're alone, March turns to me, his face raw with worry. There's certain magic in that; he won't show this look to anyone else. To the rest of the crew, he's captain, commander, savior, or whatever title they've hung on him.
He won't let himself be vulnerable with anyone else.
"It's just so big," he says quietly. "I thought the Academy was too much for me to handle . . . and look how that turned out."
I'm torn between the urge to smack him and the urge to curl up on his lap and tell him everything will be okay.
I don't love the idea, but I don't discount it out of hand. "If we're going to do that, we need a home base other than Emry. It doesn't make sense to work from here. We need something closer to the high-traffic beacons."
"Agreed," March says. Then he turns to Vel. "Any ideas?"
"On how best to embark upon a career in piracy?"
March grins at him. "Technically, I think we'd be privateers. We have the equivalent of a letter of marque. Otherwise . . . in a word: Yes."
The three of us talk strategy for a while, and then it's time to return to the comm room and give the Chancellor his answer. Without further discussion, March leans forward and taps the terminal. His message to Tarn is as terse as mine. "I'm in."
CHAPTER 9
Once we bounce the message, a celebratory feeling swells among us. The comm room is crowded again, but the mood lightens. I raise my brows at March. "This calls for a party, don't you think, Commander?"
With the promise of action ahead, I don't let the grim memories of Emry Station get to me again. Maybe we can replace them. Kora's gone a fair ways toward that with redecorating. Even the walls in here are no longer plain gray metal. A quote comes to me; I can't remember the source: Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we may die. Yeah, that. Exactly. After Ithiss-Tor, we need to burn off steam.
March grins at me. "Already wasting Conglomerate resources? Don't make me dock your pay."
I widen my eyes at him. "I get paid? Since when?" But that reminds me. "Hey, Tarn promised to recover my assets if I did that job for him. So where are my credits?"
Vel's already at work on his handheld. I don't know my account numbers by heart, but that only slows him down by a few seconds. By the twitch of his mandibles, he actually seems surprised when he glances up. "They've been restored to your account, Sirantha."
He kept his word? Well, I'll be damned. That bodes well.
"I'm not broke anymore?"
In answer, Vel shows me the machine, which gives me the balance. Everything I had, plus what I can only assume is a performance bonus. It's not a fortune, but I'm no longer destitute. That's a fabulous feeling.
"You said something about a party?" Hit prompts.
"Can you two handle it?" I ask.
"It was your idea," Dina grumbles. "And you want us to do all the work?"
I smirk. "Yes."
"Come on." Hit tugs on her hand. "It'll be fun. We could all use the chance to cut loose before we jump into this with both feet."
She's right about that. And a party will show the crew we appreciate them. Call it an exercise in morale building. Besides, the old Jax is anxious to drink and dance. I haven't let her have any fun in months.
Dina nudges March with her shoulder. "This cleared with you, Commander?" She gives the last word a subtly mocking stress, but it's affectionate.
He nods, and the other two women head out to prepare for the night's festivities. Vel excuses himself shortly thereafter. I think he senses when March and I need to talk; Vel and I share a connection, too, though it's different, nothing I could articulate. Once we're alone, March turns to me, his face raw with worry. There's certain magic in that; he won't show this look to anyone else. To the rest of the crew, he's captain, commander, savior, or whatever title they've hung on him.
He won't let himself be vulnerable with anyone else.
"It's just so big," he says quietly. "I thought the Academy was too much for me to handle . . . and look how that turned out."
I'm torn between the urge to smack him and the urge to curl up on his lap and tell him everything will be okay.
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