The bolt holes were clean.
If the relay had sheared off during the hard landing, the holes would be warped. The metal would be twisted, torn by the force of the screws ripping out. But these were perfect little circles.
Someone hadn’t just neglected this ship. Someone had taken a wrench, unscrewed the bolts, removed the relay, and put the bracket back.
Her brother’s face flashed in her mind. Standing on the loading dock, hands in his pockets, looking bored while she did the pre-flight. Just needs a firm hand, Cait. He’d smiled. The arrogant asshole had actually smiled at her as he said it. She’d give him a fuc-fudging firm hand.
Then he’d sent her out here in a ship rigged to fail.
Insufficient. The voice in her head was louder now. It sounded a lot like her father. You missed it. You let him do it.
The bracket felt heavy in her hand, colder than the air around it.
Fred. Tell me I’m seeing things.
Accessing vis-comm lens. There was a pause and her vision flickered, just once, letting her know that Fred could see what she could. You are not seeing things. Primary assessment: sabotage.
“Show me.”
Micro-serrations on the incision. Consistent with a standard-issue maintenance multi-tool. There was a pause. Not like the first. This was heavy… loaded. Bolts are clean. No stripping. Someone didn’t just break it, kid. They took it apart.
She set the bracket down on the access panel. Carefully. Because if she didn’t do it carefully, she was going to put it through the hull plating.
Her hands shook. A fine, high-frequency tremor that started in her fingertips and vibrated all the way up to her shoulders. Not fear. Heat. Anger… no, this was fury, a nuclear fire that started in her gut and burned all the way up.
Kian.
The image of him on the loading dock checking his chrono and looking bored while she ran the pre-flight, hit her. She’d thought he was being his usual pain-in-the-backside self. The heir apparent, too busy for his little sister’s project. Too important to care about a supply run to the ass-end of the galaxy.
Oh no, now she realised. He hadn’t been bored at all. He’d been patient.
He’d handed her a coffin and smiled while he did it. Just so he could look at their father and say I told you so. Or worse—so she’d have to call for a tow, and he could be the hero who bailed out his incompetent little sister. Again. She’d thought she was the worst pilot in the galaxy… How many times had he done this before? How many times had he sabotaged her in the past?
“Son of a…” She choked the word off. “Fuc-fudging bastard.”
Language, Fred said automatically. I’m logging it. Secure file. Encrypted. The key is already randomized.
“Good.” She picked up the bracket again, turning it until the sun caught the pristine threads. “Get every angle. Every tool mark. When we get home, and we are going home, Fred… I’m going to shove this evidence down his throat.”
Straightening, she wiped the grease from her hands onto her flight suit and looked out toward the garrison. The heat haze distorted the perimeter fence, twisting the grey metal until it looked like a mirage.
Parac’Norr.
She knew what was on this planet. Well, she’d read the briefing… Blood Rage. Mad men. Alien monsters… all locked away where they couldn’t hurt anyone and only let out to go onto the battlefield.
She’d signed up anyway. High stakes, high reward. It wasn’t about the money though. This was the kind of run that proved she wasn’t just a silly little girl kept around as eye candy.
It was her audition. Her chance to prove she belonged at the table. So she’d signed up for the hostile planet… she’d accepted that the universe might try to kill her.
But she hadn’t signed up for her own brother holding the knife.
“Right.” The word scraped past the knot in her throat. “Okay. What’s next?”
Hydraulic cylinder… port landing strut. Power relay… housing, starboard.
She hesitated, then added a third item. Fuel line patch. Fred had flagged a weep during descent. It was a minor thing, barely worth noting in atmosphere. But minor became critical in the vacuum of deep space, and she was done underestimating what minor could do to this ship. Or to her.
“Read back,” she muttered, staring at the list as it scrolled through her eyeline.
