I know where you sleep

[Sarah McFarlen]

Sparks

---

He had bought her a ship. Sparks stopped mid-stride, avoided tripping over a rough join in the floor, steadied herself and stared at the readouts. A physical, honest-to-God Fairdale-class auxiliary. Not quite a mobile shipyard, but close enough that anything less than a cruiser wouldn't notice the difference.

Sparks stared at the terminal, open-mouthed. The ship was ex-corporate, if she was any judge, but it could have belonged to anyone. Knowing Vaelin, it probably still did. Someone who likely wanted it back. As soon as possible, with the thieves spaced and the blood sponged out of the carpet, if you please. The theft itself didn't bother her. She'd done it herself. Often enough from people at least as violent as the corporations, and with fewer legal scruples. She couldn't deny the little thrill that came with taking something that wasn't yours. Besides, she was already a registered terrorist. Starship theft was small-time next to that.

It was just a surprise to see Vaelin doing it. He stole Anubis. She reminded herself. She knew that, but she was having trouble reconciling Vaelin the Fugitive with Vaelin the Thief. She filed it away for later and turned her attention back to the ship.

Fairdales crowded Manhattan skies like wasps, maintaining the sea of infrastructure that kept the planet connected to the world above it. They were the roadies and back-room janitors of the space industry, invisible workers that kept a dodgy thruster from kicking a station out of orbit and in to atmosphere. Given time, the nanorobots aboard a single Fairdale could drag a cruiser back to something resembling functionality from near-atomisation. They could scavenge the remnants of antimatter bombardment. A Fairdale at Zwickau would have saved lives. They were incredibly versatile ships, utility limited only by the crews willing to sign up for the inglorious duty of babysitting installations.

To part with one as a gift was incomprehensible.

Sparks twisted her arm terminal, changed the light. Closed the window and opened it again, to be sure. The readouts held their ground. She tried again, blinked a few times for good measure. The image refused to vanish, to drift back to the usual list of broken sensors and wounded ships. Vaelin's ship was real. As real as lines on a screen could be, at any rate. It wasn't that Fairdales were particularly rare. You didn't stop building something that worked. What they were was expensive, complicated, and distinctive.

The distinctive concerned her.

"Wow, thanks Chris." Surprise dragged her back to a familiar name. "I, wow."

For the first time in minutes, she pulled her eyes away from the terminal and looked at him. Vaelin stood, watching her like a puppy waiting for a treat. His expression was so sincere, so comically out of place that before she knew it she was laughing; doubling over, the sound tearing from her in great gasps. By the time it left her, the expression had vanished.

"You stole this, didn't you." It wasn't a question. Sparks sounded more amused than accusing. "Christopher Dangen, notorious outlaw and galactic criminal, ex-phantom and top-secret-spy, wanted on more charges than Liberty has laws..." She paused for effect, a ringmaster in her circus. "Christopher Dangen, with enough identities to start his own colony. Christopher Dangen stole me a repair ship. For Christmas!"

Another fit of laughter threatened to break through. Sparks let it come, revelling in the incredulity of the situation. He'd even named it after her! She would have to change it, of course. Flying around with her name stamped on the hull was as good as painting 'shoot me' on her forehead and walking through New Berlin customs. But it was a nice thought.

"Thank you, Vaelin. Really. I, er, I didn't get you anything. I didn't really know you were coming." She waved at the bare steel corridor. "We've been struggling to keep things together since Zwickau, and this'll help get us back on our feet that bit quicker. The repair crews really took a hit when the station did. There were a lot of technical people on board - engineers, scientists, a few political refugees that still wanted to fight. I don't know, with gear like this on our side again, maybe we can do something about it. Maybe stop it from happening again. I mean, we’ll have to be careful with how we stage the flight windows. Something that big’s going to show up planetside sensors, not much I can do about that." She shrugged. "We’ll figure it out. If we're lucky, and Freya wants to keep paying me after this, that is."

The Widerstand already had two Fairdale's, courtesy of the Liberty Navy. Sparks trusted no-one, and trusted the Navy less, so she had given the ships a wide berth. They had found use in the hands of less careful pilots to supplement repair crews, but there was always more work than there were ships. Everything helped.

Sparks spared a glance at her terminal, EMERGENCY banner still slung across the top like Christmas bunting. Her good mood sunk to somewhere in the area of her toes.

"We really should let someone know that was you, before they start sending out fighters." Or figure out I'm involved. Sparks tapped her terminal, slid the ship data into a pocket. "Since I'd prefer to not have to explain to the flight deck why half their wing got slagged trying to intercept Anubis, that heads-up's really going to have to come from you. Before someone decides to start sending out squadrons, if you don't mind."

Her fingers continued their dance across the terminal.

---

"This is really sort of a personal project of mine."

- James Arland, on single-handedly engaging an enemy regiment.

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