“Sorry I’m late,” a feminine voice says, scattering my thoughts faster than a fan clearing the fog from a smoky room.
Fagin and I look up from our work and gape at the new arrival.
“I didn’t get my orders until super late last night, so packing was a nightmare,” she speaks in a rapid-fire cadence that makes it hard to catch everything gushing out of her mouth. The squeaky timbre of her voice reminds me of someone who has sucked helium out of a balloon, and the effects have worn half-way off. “I had to find someone to cat-sit while I’m gone, and Nero is seriously picky about who he lets take care of him. Then I couldn’t find my new hiking boots, and I think it’s because my roomie borrowed them. She has real boundary issues, that one, let me tell you.”
She actually put air quotes around “borrowed.”
“Excuse me?” Fagin interrupts in an impatient tone bordering on livid. “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?”
The woman, a brunette of average build who doesn’t look much older than me—twenty-two or twenty-three, tops—beams a sweet-as-honey smile, and hands Fagin a manila folder. Fagin hesitates and looks askance at the newcomer as she takes it.
“Lieutenant Becca Trevor.” Fagin reads the name on the front of the folder aloud, then gives the woman, still beaming her sickening-sweet smile, a blank look and a one-shouldered shrug.
Trevor flips open the front cover of the folder and points at the top sheet of paper inside. “Read my CV and the copy of my official orders. I’m sure you’ll understand. Everything you need to know is there.” She’s still smiling.
“I’m not reading anything,” Fagin says. “Tell me who you are and what the hell you’re doing on my ship.”
Lieutenant Trevor’s smile withers into a quirky twitch at the corner of her mouth. She cocks her head to the side as she considers Fagin with a long, hard glare. “So much for the breezy and friendly approach.” She snatches the papers from Fagin’s hands and shuffles through them. Finding the one she’s looking for, she offers it to Fagin. “Read it.”
Fagin doesn’t accept the offering, preferring, instead, to return Trevor’s a hard glare. The lieutenant blinks once, then tossed the stack onto the table. Fagin smooths the paper in front of her and silently reads. The color drains from her face; her countenance freezes into stone. An expressionless face can speak volumes about inner turmoil. Right now, Fagin’s face says she’s terrified.
“Understand?” Becca Trevor asks. Her smile returns and it looks forced and creepy.
When Fagin looks up from the page, irritation is replaced with utter deference to the new girl. “Lieutenant Trevor is our official liaison with the Benefactors,” she says, quietly, to me. “Starting now, all mission orders come through her.” She gives Trevor a curt nod. “Happy to have you on the team, lieutenant.”
My mouth falls open, and when Fagin gives me a dark look, I cover it with a fake yawn.
“Thank you, Fagin. I’m sure we’ll get on famously,” Becca Trevor says in an overly chummy tone. Her use of my mentor’s nickname, rather than an appropriately formal form of address, makes me want to chuck her out the garbage chute even before we launch. “Don’t bother getting up, I’ll introduce myself to Commander Garcia.”
She disappears into the cockpit and chatters away to Nico about late mission assignments, packing woes, and her roommate’s lack of boundaries.
“Benefactor liaison, huh?” I whisper. “Babysitter and stool pigeon are more like it.”
“Babysitter, stool pigeon, and co-pilot, actually.”
“She’s... she’s what?”
Before Fagin can answer, Nico shoots out of the cockpit, an alarmed look crinkling the faint worry lines in his forehead. “Fagin. A few words, please?”
“Which words would you like, Commander Garcia? Mandatory co-pilot? Or perhaps tough luck, kid, suck it up?”
“I know everyone with GTC pilot credentials, but I’ve never heard of her,” Nico says. “I don’t even know if she can tell the difference between the toilet compartment and an escape pod, let alone if she knows how to fly. Am I just supposed to take her word for it? This is bullshit. She could get us all killed if she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Her CV is somewhere here.” I point at the layer of printouts lying on the table between Fagin and me. “Apparently, her file tells us everything we need to know.”
“Sweet Jesus, have you heard her voice?” He says in a loud whisper, a panicked look widens his eyes.
“Have a problem with your new co-pilot? Take it up with the Benefactors and mission control when we get home,” Fagin says. “I have no leverage here.” She sneaks an upward glance at the camera above my head before leveling her gaze on Nico. Then on me. “I’m sure you both understand.”
Of course. The Benefactors are watching.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep us safe, Commander.” Fagin’s words are a genuine, heartfelt vote of confidence in Nico’s command abilities. “In fact, now more than ever, we’re counting on it.”
Nico sucks air between his teeth, then says in a low voice, “You’re not giving me much to work with, Fagin.”
“I know.”
T-Jump’s voice booms over the intercom; the volume is much louder than before, causing the three of us to jump. “Garcia, acknowledge. Ready to finish pre-flight?”
“Sorry!” Becca Trevor calls out from the cockpit. “I was trying to find some music, but I think I did something wrong. How do you turn it down?”
Nico curses softly. He looks ready to spit fire. “Don’t touch anything. Don’t breathe on anything. And, for God’s sake, stop talking until we’re airborne.”
He settles into his seat to complete the pre-flight checklists. His new co-pilot has taken to singing softly to herself.
“Cabin crew, prepare for lift-off,” Nico says, his voice broadcasting at a more comfortable volume. “T-Jump,
