Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Edward took a deep breath as he approached the galley hatch, using the moment to smooth down his guard uniform. It wouldn't do to look anything less than perfect for her.
He stepped inside, the first true smile of the morning lighting up his face as he caught sight of her.
Sinclair with her short hair looked like a particularly pert pixie next to her elfin sister, Ansa.
Sin and Virtue, or so they called one another.
If he hadn't seen her file, he would have believed the Central Intelligence had made a mistake in sentencing them to work on a prison ship.
He still believed it was possible they'd both been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as Virtue insisted.
Sinclair never said that, though. He longed to ask her why, to find out what really happened, but he didn't dare.
He had to maintain a professional distance, and he did, but by the stars, it was hard.
Especially when she looked at him like that, as though daring him to ask what the joke was that had her eyes laughing.
"Can't have breakfast this morning. The food dispenser's broken," Virtue said, jerking her thumb at the machine.
That wasn't good. Sin and Virtue were the most cooperative prisoners on the Vice. All the other inmates were hardened criminals, every man among them. If they didn't get breakfast before starting the work day, he'd have a riot on his hands.
"What's the problem?" he asked.
"Well, it'd forgotten how to make tea," Sin said, getting up. Behind her, something had scored the table so deep there were holes all the way through. "That's what it put in my cup."
"You asked for tea and it gave you…concentrated acid?" Edward asked doubtfully.
She was a prisoner, he reminded himself. The Central Intelligence had declared her a terrorist and sentenced her to labour aboard this ship for the duration of her sentence. She could be lying, taking advantage of her looks to distract him while plotting an escape or worse.
But the food dispenser wasn't supposed to provide anything that would destroy a plassteel table. Not even the coffee Captain Solon drank was that strong.
Sinclair shrugged. "I don't know what it was. I'm no chemist. But it's stars-crossed corrosive, that's for sure. Imagine what that stuff would've done to my insides, if Virtue hadn't caught me before I could drink it."
Edward shuddered. Prisoners or not, none of the inmates deserved that. "I'll reset the system while I check for today's orders. Don't let anyone use it until I get back." As if these two girls would be able to stop a horde of hungry men. "I won't be long." He hurried off.
"And I'll make an out of order sign!" Virtue called after him.
Luckily, even in this enormous mining ship, the crew areas were relatively close together, so only a few moments passed before Edward scanned his security wristband over the door controls to gain access to the guard office.
He waved his hand over the wallscreen, waiting for it to wake.
When it did, he frowned at the display. That was yesterday's schedule.
Today's one should have arrived by now. He told it to refresh, and when the display didn't change, he checked his messages.
Work orders coming in late he could believe, but no new messages overnight?
That never happened. Even on quiet days, there should have been a reminder from the People Department, reminding him that while he was halfway across the solar system from home, he wasn't actually alone, or to stay safe.
And where was the solar weather report? There'd been a warning of increased solar flare activity earlier in the week.
Maybe a flare was the cause of the break in communication. That could be it. Once the sun calmed down, a flood of messages would come in, and he'd be wishing it was quiet again.
Edward blew out a breath he hadn't even known he was holding.
In the meantime, he'd need to give the work crews their orders for the day.
Well, they were mining the same asteroid, and as long as the pegmatite deposit wasn't completely mined out, yesterday's orders should still work.
If the prisoners questioned him, he'd just shrug and say that's what the Central Intelligence had sent.
Everyone knew the Central Intelligence didn't make mistakes, unlike people, so they'd grumble a bit, but they'd get to work.
He sent the new work orders to the viewscreen in the galley, then ordered the computer to do a full system reset. The lights flickered for a moment, then came back on, as bright as ever.
There. That should fix the food dispenser.
He hurried back to the galley. Not only did he need to keep order among the prisoners, but he needed a coffee.