Breach of Containment. Elizabeth Bonesteel

and fuck it, Shaw, I can’t give them this thing.”

      She parsed that. “Wait. You have something somebody is after?”

      “Do you know what this fucking thing can do? I can’t sell it to them!”

      She closed her eyes. “From the beginning. What thing?”

      Huff. “Okay. Okay. I have this scavenger. Had this scavenger. Few days back, she brings me this thing she found on the surface. No idea what it is, but it’s warm, and it’s not radiating fucking poison, so she thought it must be something useful. Next day—a pack of those assholes from Baikul fucking vacates her. A good fucking scout, too, and now she’s a fucking frozen dessert.”

      Vacated. Local slang for exposing someone on the moon’s airless surface. Elena gave an involuntary shiver. “Could be unrelated.”

      “And then,” he went on, as if she’d said nothing, “I get an offer from some off-world trader I’ve never heard of to buy out my stock. A generous offer. A stupid generous offer, you know? Only it comes with a side order of take it or we’ll fucking kill you and take your shit anyway.”

      She frowned. “They were that explicit?”

      “Of course not! But it was clear. And it’s this thing, Shaw. This fucking thing. I know it is.”

      “Then why not just give it to them?”

      “Here’s the thing.” Huff. “I sell shit. I’ve always sold shit. Your shit, their shit, I don’t care. I have it, you need it, I’m taking your money, no questions asked. But … this thing, Shaw. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but I don’t want it in the hands of the we’ll fucking kill you anyway crowd.”

      “Why not?” Ethics seemed entirely out of character for Jamyung. “What is it?”

      “I just told you! I don’t know what the fuck it is. But …” She heard him swallow. “It talked to me, Shaw. It got into my head and fucking talked to me and I’d nuke it if I could, but with my luck it’s built to survive that.”

      “Hang on.” She sorted through everything he’d said. If the conflict on Yakutsk was finally—after centuries of low-level squabbling—escalating into a nuclear conflict, he was right to be panicked. Nukes could destroy domes with alarming efficiency. Everything else sounded like unrelated events strung into some loosely related cause-and-effect chain generated by his anxiety.

      Except the object.

      “How did it talk to you? Does it have a comms interface?”

      “It has no interface. It’s a fucking box. Nothing on the surface, no lights, no connectors, no nothing. Only it’s warm. Martine said it was warm when she found it, out on the surface in the fucking vacuum.”

      She had to ask. “What did it say?”

      “It said Get the fuck off Yakutsk, Jamyung. Smartest fucking box I’ve ever found. I need airlift, Shaw. I need someone to get me off this fucking rock before they shove me outside as well. You’re my last hope here.”

      There was the drop. The story of the object was likely a shaggy-dog tale couching his request … but she had known him a long time, and despite a business model that might have pushed him to do it, he had never lied to her.

      She owed the truth to him in return … but she didn’t think he’d want to hear it. Nukes on Yakutsk meant Bear would have to cancel the whole drop. Budapest was staffed with civilian freighter jocks who’d have no idea how to handle a nuclear zone, and she couldn’t protect them all on her own.

      “I can’t tell you when we’re going to get there,” she said, with a pang of guilt at the prevarication. “But Galileo is close. Less than four hours, I think. Tell them we talked. They’ll take you.”

      “After all this, you’re shucking me off on the fucking Corps?”

      “Best I can offer.”

      “Okay. Okay. Okay.” He sounded calmer. “Four hours? Okay. But this thing, Shaw. Four hours, and they’re after me, I know it.”

      “Hide it then,” she told him.

      “Where?”

      “Do I know your workshop? Someplace nobody else knows about.”

      “There isn’t—” He broke off. “Good. Yes. Good. Let them search. They won’t find it. Thanks, Shaw. Four hours?”

      “Four hours, Jamyung.” She hoped Galileo would not be delayed. And that they’d be willing to offer help to a paranoid small-time parts trader.

      Huff. “Thank you. Thank you. Four hours.” He disconnected.

      She leaned against a storage carton just as Arin crept hesitantly around the corner. He had picked up the cat, who blinked at Elena with bored green eyes. “Everything okay?” Arin asked.

      No, she thought. She turned and gave him an absent smile. “For now,” she said, not wanting to alarm him. “But I’ve got to talk to Bear.”

      Bear Savosky was an enormous man. Half again larger than anyone else Elena had ever met, he had broad shoulders, no neck to speak of, and a voice that carried even when he whispered. He had a severe jaw, shrewd eyes, and an entirely bald head covered in elaborate tattoos, nearly invisible against his night-dark skin. She had known him nearly nineteen years, and over all that time she had seen both his temper and his pragmatism. She had always found him to be consistent and fair.

      But she had learned, after six weeks and more culture clashes than she could count, that there were things about him she was never going to understand.

      The rest of the crew sat around her at the large common-area table, listening to her relate her conversation with Jamyung. She had expected a sensible response to the nuclear rumors, including a discussion about rescheduling the drop after the situation on Yakutsk had cooled down. Instead, when she finished, they all looked at Bear, awaiting his assessment. For Bear’s part, he was watching Elena, his dark eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

      “I’ve heard these rumors already,” he told them.

      She gaped at him. “Then why are we still headed there?”

      “Because,” he said, straightening, “nobody has actually seen any bombs. I spoke to one shop that ordered a few just to see what would show up, and they’ve had nothing but delays and excuses since then.”

      “So this is some governmental fear tactic.” This came from Naina Chudasama, the ship’s accountant, and the one Elena would have expected to be the most likely to want to leave the entire mission behind.

      “That’d be my guess,” Bear told her. “But Elena’s right: we don’t know, and if I’m guessing wrong, the downside is pretty big.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you all think?”

      Good God, Elena thought, he’s letting them vote. She fought to sit still, hands on her lap under the table, where nobody could see her fists clenching.

      “I think we should go,” Arin said.

      Bear shot him a look. “Some of us will be staying in orbit,” he said. “And that means you.”

      “But—”

      “Not now, Arin,” Bear said flatly.

      Arin slumped back in his chair, glowering. Elena felt a wave of sympathy for him, but she was relieved. At least Bear had heeded her enough to protect some of them.

      Naina glanced at Arin, then turned back to Bear. “Whoever goes,” she said, “I agree. We need to complete this delivery. The contract only calls for us to have someone on Yakutsk accept the cargo on the record. Once we have that, the funds are released. What happens afterward makes no difference to us.”

      “It’s