He smiled. “Something I dug up on a Confederation Defense Forces server, actually. It’s the full schematics for the Shaitan.”
One of Kimiko’s reasons for choosing the Al-Zamani Shipyard was because the ship she intended to steal was their new Shaitan class fast-courier spaceframe. Specifically, the original Shaitan–named from the old Arabic word for devil or demon. A proof-of-concept ship they were using as a demonstrator craft, it was packed to the baffles with all the available options that Al-Zamani offered for that class, including integral shield and grav generators, a generous complement of defensive weapons systems, and a well-appointed captain’s cabin. It was a ship most joes could never in a lifetime afford, even if Al-Zamani ever chose to offer it for sale. “No shit? That’s fucking frosty! I can’t wait to look them over.”
“It is definitely a craft worthy of someone with your piloting skills,” Paradox allowed.
“Thanks.”
“But this is a dangerous path you’re taking.”
Kimiko frowned and then took a swig of the Genuine Martian Whiskey that cost more than a month’s rent, never once taking her eyes off the hacker. The amber fluid tasted smokey and vaguely of astringent, and coated her throat in a layer of liquid warmth. She’d ordered it neat, undiluted by water that had already been consumed and evacuated by countless Station residents. Not that she was averse to filtered water. It was all she knew. But if she had to spend that much on one drink, she’d be damned if she watered the fucking thing down. “I don’t need you to tell me about danger, Joe.”
“No, I don’t suppose that you do. Nonetheless–”
“What is this?” she interrupted. “Why the sudden concern for my safety? I’ve already paid you.”
Paradox nodded his agreement. “Indeed, you have. But this concern is not sudden. I’ve looked at your data, Kimiko, and the data says that you’re reckless and prone to rash decisions. Your decision to steal a ship from a notoriously heavy-handed and trigger-happy shipbuilder would support that analysis.”
Kimiko laughed at the absurdity of his statement. “So, you’re an analyst now?”
“I’ve always been an analyst. Hacking is merely the tool I use to access data. And now that we’re meeting with one another, I can add more data to my analysis.”
She frowned again. “Are you looking for reassurance, because–”
“I want to know why.”
His face was still sincere, almost serene. Except for a few brief, flickered smiles, his expression had hardly changed at all during their conversation. It would’ve come off as creepy on someone else, but, on such an ordinary-looking face, it suited him well enough. And Kimiko had to admit that it was fair for him to wonder about her motives. Paradox’s legend was well known, and he had both the reputation and the evidence to back it up. But Kimiko was orbiting well outside her general areas of expertise. “The Confederation did this to me,” she said, finally, her voice tight and controlled. “They took everything from me–my family, my crew, my livelihood. Just because somewhere, someone’s bottom line was off by a few meager tenths of a percent. But I still tried to do things their way. I took my licks, and put my name in orbit for a new gig–any gig that would get me behind the stick again. And that didn’t work.” She took another swig of her whiskey. “But the real reason, I suppose, is that I want to hurt them for what they did to my father and me. And the only way I know how to hurt them is to hit them on the bottom fucking line.”
“And Al-Zamani was somehow responsible for your father’s–”
She scoffed. “Don’t be dim, Joe. They’re part of the Corporate Confederation, too. Hurt one of them hard enough, and you hurt all of them.”
Paradox examined her intensely while he held back his response. “I was once a tool of the Confederation,” he finally confessed, “something that my corporate masters felt comfortable using, then discarding once I started to question what they were having me do. While I would caution you that they are not a force to be trifled with, I understand the desire to cause them difficulty.”
Kimiko hadn’t known that about him. She doubted that many others did, either. She wanted very much to learn more about what that meant, but she knew well enough to leave it alone for the time being. If he wanted her to know, he’d tell her. “That sounds terrible.”
He frowned slightly. “It was.” Then his pained expression returned to its usual serenity. “I appreciate your indulgence of my curiosity, and your candor. Although I had no intention of judging your motives, I am grateful to learn that they coincide with my own.”
She nodded. “So, now what?”
“Now, perhaps we should review your plan.”
“Of course.”
As plans went, hers was deceptively simple. All of the best plans were. Kimiko had learned early on that the more complicated things got, the more likely it was that something would go wrong once things were put into motion. After she met with Paradox, she intended to meet up with a pilot who’d once worked for her father and still owed her a favor. The pilot worked as a glorified shuttle driver, ferrying personnel and cargo back and forth between Davida Station and Al-Zamani. He’d tentatively agreed to smuggle her inside the shipyard’s facilities. That was how Kimiko planned to get past the perimeter. Once inside, she would use the makeshift route she’d constructed, along with the plans and schematics Paradox had just given her, to locate the proper terminal to access Al-Zamini’s internal Net and find the Shaitan’s control codes.
“That’s where you come in,” she told him.
Paradox nodded, and his eyes flickered up and to the
