Thief (35 page)

“No, thanks.” He dropped her money belt on the table.

Kraft flinched back and stared at it. 500K in script. Enough to buy a ship, a crew, a whole new life. But she knew she’d never touch it again. Heller, filled with hate grasping it when he took it to Jace’s room. Jace too had touched it when he’d been filled with loathing for her. They tarnished it in a way that couldn’t be undone.

“Don’t you want it?”

Kraft looked up and realization came. Jace didn’t want her on his ship anymore. He couldn’t forgive her for being an IWOG assassin. He expected her to get off at Borealis and make her own way in the Void. “Sure I do. I’m just in the middle of a game here.” It took all her control not to burst into tears and run. Instead, she laughed. “Besides, it’s not going anywhere.” She kicked out a chair. “Why don’t you sit down a play a few hands of poker with me?”

“So you can keep your skills up for Borealis? What’s the name of the hell there?”

“Robber’s Roost. I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s got a high-roller table. Which means no scans on the door.”

“You’ve never been on Corona?”

“Nope. That’s why it’s a safe place for all of us to go.”

“Safe?”

“You realize—” Kraft stopped herself. He didn’t know what she had done and she should probably tell the whole crew when they were together. “Is everyone still up?”

“I think so.”

“Could you call them in here?”

“What’s this about, Kraft?”

“Your new lives.”

Jace called the crew into the kitchen and everyone sat down with an expectant air.

“Well, there’s no easy way to say this so I’ll just get right to the point. You’re all dead.”

Everyone exchanged puzzled glances.

“While I was on that IWOG attack ship, I used their Tasher link to make some history. I entered that they easily overtook
Mutiny
and killed everyone on board. And then, a freak accident destroyed both ships. In order for it to stay true, I had to create new bonafides for all of you, and a new commission for your ship, Captain Lawless. Or should I say Captain Baxter of
Prospect
.”

“We all have new names?” Garrett asked.

“New names linked to your old fingerprints. These are bonafides that will get you onto any IWOG planet. You’ll be able to go legitimate.”

“You mean
Prospect
is a registered transport ship?” Jace asked.

“Yes. I had enough time to create a rather short but easily verified resume. You’ll find several opportunities on Corona.”

“What about our new names?” Charissa asked.

“Well, what I did was give you new last names and new birthplaces, but your first names stay the same.”

“Isn’t that a little dangerous?” Garrett asked.

“You all have fairly common first names. It’s not going to raise any eyebrows or red flags as long as when you deal with folks you make a point of using your last names. But one caveat: you can’t ever go back to any world where you’re known. Not ever. It’s too risky. Folks like Trickster would turn on you in a flash.”

“Hell, I won’t miss dealing with that fetch,” Garrett said.

She gave them all their new names. “One last thing I managed to do for you. Under the commission
Prospect
, sits a credit account with 150K in it as a bond.”

“We’re bonded?” Garrett’s eyebrows rose so high they almost rolled off the back of his head.

“Yes. That way you can get high script jobs with minimal risk.”

“Handing it all to me on a silver platter,” Jace said. No one but Kraft noticed how cutting his voice was.

“With a very nice bow too,” Garrett said.

“I aim to please. Any questions?”

“What’s your new name?” Bailey asked.

Kraft stared down at the table and sighed.

“She didn’t bother to make herself one,” Jace said. “Even if she did, she wouldn’t tell us.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You didn’t expect to survive, did you?”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“My fingerprints are always gonna be hot. Even though I’m listed as dead, the IWOG will keep them on file. Just in case. I’ll never be free of them.”

“I do believe that is the first bold-faced lie you’ve ever told,” Jace said.

“You don’t know how the IWOG works.”

“No, but you do. You want me to believe that you crafted six new bonafides, with fingerprints and all, but couldn’t manage to wipe yourself from their computer? Did I wake up with idiot printed across my forehead today?”

“I did the best I could in the time I had.” Every word out of her mouth sounded more defensive than the last, even to her own ears.

“That I believe. You did your best to save everybody else, but managed to find a way to keep punishing yourself.”

“Hell, Jace, what is your problem?” Garrett asked.

“My problem is I’m sick of this!” He slapped the table hard and stood. “Let me guess, Kraft. As soon as we land you’re gonna go out, deck yourself in black, get a ship, then find yourself the most dangerous jobs you can.”

“What does her fashion sense—”

“It’s mourning, Garrett. And I’m wondering if she’s ever going to come out of it.”

“I’m not mourning anything.” Kraft looked out the window in the ceiling. It was easier to concentrate on the vast nothingness than see the disappointment and the crushing reproach in Jace’s eyes.

“You treat life like it’s a damn punishment!” His voice rose in concert with his fury. “And how great this must be for you. You can punish yourself for being an IWOG assassin, you can punish yourself for the loss of your crew and now, now you can add the death of fifty IWOG to your mighty burden. You know what I think? You’re more afraid to live, but you won’t die either because then your punishment of yourself would stop, wouldn’t it?”

“I am not punishing myself.” Kraft stood. “And I’m not going to sit here and let you yell at me like I’m a wayward child.”

“The moment your life gets anywhere near happy you find a way to destroy it.” Jace stood as well and faced her. Not once in her life had any man called her out so directly, not even Fairing.

“Happy? When has my life gotten anywhere near—” Kraft cut herself off when the one time she’d been truly happy flashed in her mind. Those three incredible days with Jace. She had been happy then. So happy. And she’d gotten sucked into what might be. But she hadn’t been the one to destroy it. “You think what you want, Captain Lawless. You either take what I gave you or not, it doesn’t matter to me. Go back and deal with Trickster or Kobra again. I don’t care.” Oh, but she did care, way too much, and that was the problem.

“Right. Because you’ll be on your way soon enough.” Jace picked up the money belt and threw it at her. “Don’t forget your ticket to a new start at bigger and better punishments. I guess you really are a masochist. You seem unsurprised that I won’t be your sadist.”

The money belt flumped to the floor at her feet like a dead snake. Kraft did not want to touch it with her bare hands so she kicked it into the hall and picked it up using the cuff of her shirt, Jace’s shirt, to block her fingertips from making direct contact. When she got to her room, she dropped the mass of money on the table and left it there.

Kraft threw herself on the bed, winced when her belly protested, then pondered what Jace had said. It wasn’t true. When her life had been happy, he was the one who messed it up, not her. And she didn’t wear black because she was in mourning—she wore it because it didn’t show dirt. At least, that’s what she’d always told herself.

She’d started wearing black eight years ago when she’d taken Parkhill to Kali. After giving him most of the money from the sale of the ship, she sold her IWOG uniform to a woman hucking clothes off her doorstep. Kraft found crisp black clothes that fit her perfectly and a private place to dress. She emerged to the street from the cold, bare room.

“Riven’s,” the woman said, nodding. “Had ’em made for her love’s funeral, but she never made it that far.”

“Riven died before she could attend her lover’s funeral.”

The woman nodded resolutely, obviously pained that she would likely lose the sale for her honesty.

Kraft considered what she wore. The fabric was impossibly new, clear of any emotional impression. She’d felt nothing when she’d pulled the clothing on. Considering the exhausted woman before her, Kraft said, “You made it for her.”

“I did.”

“Black for a funeral.” Kraft looked down at herself again. Black was oft a color for mourning and, even though she had much to celebrate, Kraft had much to mourn. “Do you have anything else Riven or her love wore?”

The woman’s eyes did not light with dollar signs. Instead they burned with understanding. She fished about the racks of clothing and handed Kraft an almost impossibly worn soft leather duster and also a pair of thick black boots.

“Beck wore these, almost the whole of his life.”

“How’d you get them?”

“They forced her to cremate him. I found them in the trash behind.”

Kraft nodded. She knew well the drill. It was cheaper to burn them than to bury them. When Riven protested, they shot her. The IWOG officers striped them both then tossed the clothes and burned the bodies. “What do you want for them?” Kraft had still not touched the boots or the leather duster.

“In trade for an official IWOG officer uniform? I’d call it even.”

Kraft nodded. “So would I.”

To Kraft, it was a journey. A penance. Almost as if a crusade. She didn’t look to glorify any god, but only to find out who and what she really was. And she did it in cast off clothing…

She bolted upright on the bed. It
had
started as mourning. And she’d just gotten comfortable with it. Jace was a better reader than he knew. But he made it clear he didn’t want her on his ship. And if she was very honest with herself, she knew she’d fixed it so she couldn’t stay.

There was a tentative knock on her door. “Can I come in?”

“It’s your ship, isn’t it?”

Jace opened the door, his expression guarded. “It’s time for another round of let’s cut the crap and I still think it’s ladies first. You lied, didn’t you? You very literally killed yourself.”

“Yes.” The single word hung there for a moment, shocking her with how final it sounded. “There is no Julie, no Kraft. My fingerprints won’t trace back to anyone, anywhere. I’m a non-entity. And you have no choice but to put me off your ship.” Unable to look him in the eye, she turned her attention to smoothing her bedding. “You can now go legitimate. And with that you can’t have an unknown on board.”

“You really fixed it well, didn’t you?” She expected him to sound bitter or angry, but instead, he sounded sadly disappointed.

“I gave you back your life, as close as I could.”

“By killing yourself.”

His accusation grated because it was far too close to the truth. “It’s not like that.”

“Explain it to me. I’m too pretty to understand.”

She flashed him a brief smile that vanished when she saw the hard cast of his jaw. “I’m not like you. I’d never make it in the legitimate world because those old warrants of me are going to be floating around for at least another ten years. I’ve got no choice but to keep living in the very darkest reaches of the Void.”

“Just the way you like it.”

“You think I like being a hunted woman?” She practically snarled the question as she dug her fingers into the bedcover.

“You must. Because it didn’t have to shake out that way.” Arms tight at his sides, he refused to look away.

“Lord on high, you’ve got some kind of inflated notion of what I’m capable of doing. I can’t use the power of my brain and destroy all those old warrants. I can’t wipe my face from every IWOG ditto-head’s brain.”

“That warrant is eight years old, Kraft. And you don’t much look like that photo anymore.” He shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with her excuse. “I’ve not noticed one IWOG officer raise so much as a curious brow your way when you walk past.”

“I’m not going to argue this with you anymore.” Pushing herself up from the bed, she strode toward the bathroom.

“Because you know I’m right.”

She stopped mid-stride but didn’t turn around. “Because it isn’t your choice.”

“You’re right. It’s entirely up to you if you want to live like a cockroach.”

Slowly she turned and faced him. “Nice analogy.”

“It’s true enough, isn’t it?” Jace asked, arching his brows, challenging her with his gaze.

“What do you care?” she asked, challenging him right back. “In twenty-four hours I’ll be off your ship, out of your hair, and out of your life forever. You got my word on it.”

“Because I sure as hell don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?” He crossed his arms over his chest as if holding back the true force of his fury.

“Just for fun, let’s pretend that you do have a choice in the matter, what would you choose? Are you willing to toss the safety of your crew aside just so you can diddle me?”

Jace shook his head and looked at her dumbfounded. “That’s honestly what you think this is about? That I just haven’t scratched my itch enough?” He groaned and scowled. “If that’s what you think of me why did you tell me that you love me?”

Kraft felt the moment spin out like salt water taffy in the sun. She made the decision to end everything permanently by making it easy for him. “I lied.”

Jace stood there for a moment, just looking at her.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was fun and all, but nothing I’d be willing to give my life up for.” She studied her short nails, checked her non-existent watch. “If I told you that I loved you, you’d be more inclined to save me, just like you did.”

“Then why did you do all of that? Make up the bonafides, the bonded commission?”

“I felt sorry for you.” She laughed, deliberately low and mean. “You folks are so clueless! I can’t believe you’ve survived seven years in the Void running salvage. You’re better off going legitimate. Leave the tougher stuff to those who can actually handle it.”

“Like you.”

“Yeah. Cockroaches like me.”

“You are determined to leave this on a bad note.”

“No, an honest one. Like you said, I don’t pull any punches. You’d never survive the world I live in. You barely made it through seven years. If I hadn’t pulled your butt out of the flames, you’d be dead. Twice, no, three times over by my reckoning.”