Chapter 3

It turned out that there was indeed a central Stores facility, which took up its own deck. Sophia was sent there by another nameless mechanic — the closest one she could find on the flight deck — who was immediately helpful. He even offered to walk her to the deck, just to make sure she found the place.

Sophia gave him a tight smile and turned him down. She knew very well why he was suddenly so attentive. Her damp clothes were plastered to her body, leaving pretty much nothing to the imagination.

It was easy to find the right deck; she just pressed on the button next to the picture of folded towels. She ran her fingertips over the pictograph for the bridge, thoughtfully. She wanted to confront John Bren as soon as possible, but she wanted to do it from a position of strength. Her mind clicked down an internal list. She was getting close to the end. She just needed to negotiate with Stores for another jumpsuit that covered her obviously female body, register herself with admin and find out what was the issue with the payment schedule, and then, finally, find John Bren.

Dealing with Stores was easy. They knew who she was at first glance, and they seemed to be used to talking to people in various states of dress, so no one paid her slowly drying clothes any mind. Sophia had to wait a while to get her jumpsuit and a small vacuum sealed package of linens for her cabin, but she stood patiently, knowing that the delay was typical of any bureaucracy, even on a ship that never saw ground more than once or twice a year.

Admin was a bit harder.

"Sophia Delgrada." She said firmly, for the third time, as confident in her new jumpsuit as she'd been in normal clothes. "No. I don't have any real identification beyond the receipts I already gave you. It's all either burned up or soaked useless in impact-resistant foam."

The admin officer looked up at her as though she'd deliberately destroyed the identification herself. Which was partly true; her real papers were still safe in the Warlock's smuggler's compartment. But Sophia didn't let the truth show on her face, nor was she the least bit nervous that the man would cause her any real trouble.

The trick with admin officers was to show no fear and no pain. To be honest, it was just like dealing with government officials of any level, which she'd been doing since before she could talk. Be patient always, smile when necessary, give information absolutely never.

"We don't have any procedures for undocumented passengers." He said bluntly, "Unless you have someone willing to vouch for you, I'm going to have to report this to the Captain."

Sophia an aloof little smile and said nothing, daring him. She knew it was just a threat.

He narrowed his eyes at her, waiting for her to give in, but she had years more experience in dealing with his type than he had with hers. He shuffled his papers together with a muttered curse and walked off abruptly, leaving her waiting.

She ran fingertips over the matching lines of bumps on her forearms absently, waiting for him to return. His superior would give her at least temporary amnesty because whoever had started the concessions paperwork obviously had more seniority, and he'd be loathe to contradict an order from higher up.

True to prediction, within the hour she was granted a temporary pass and a pages-long list of restrictions. Both were handed to her by the admin officer with some further posturing over how important they both were and how she'd be in a lot of trouble if she transgressed. Sophia took the papers and left him standing there, threatening air.

She dumped the restrictions in the first garbage chute she found. They were useless. The pass she stuffed in the docs pocket of the jumpsuit.

Then she permitted herself a small smile of triumph in the privacy of the lifts. The rest of the evening was hers to clean out the Warlock's forward cabin. Then tomorrow, she'd confront John Bren like a ghost from his treacherous past.

The docking bays were silent, and even the bright floodlights overhead seemed dim in the middle of the night. Bren stood for a long moment outside the lift doors, breathing slowly, taking in the silence and the tang of metal grease and rubber. The urge to shuck his captain's gear, throw on a jumpsuit and grab a wrench was powerful, but he was years away from that temptation.

Other temptations were too new and hard to ignore. He headed toward the Warlock.

He shouldn't have been back on the flight deck. Shouldn't have even gone there in the first place. But he was there anyhow.

Admin had reported on the pilot of the Warlock. So had Stores and the Mechanics. No new information, except that she was calling herself Sophia Delgrada. Which was her real name, but only in the most technical sense.