“We’ll be done faster if you let me run down for the supplies while you finish up with the fuel,” Devon said.

He could see the debate in his father’s face as he processed the request. They’d already loaded spare fuel onto Zephyr’s docking bay and were standing by as the ionic tanks were filled. All in all, they’d been docked on Neptune station for two hours. The fueling process would only take another thirty minutes and then they were supposed to go down to pick up heater cells and soap, but if Devon got the supplies for them they could leave as soon as Zephyr was fueled.

And Devon desperately wanted to leave. Aside from the initial customs agent who greeted them upon docking, no officials had stopped by to interrogate them but Devon couldn’t help feeling that time was running out. Any minute now someone was going to come and arrest them, he just knew it.

“You know what to look for?” Seach asked.

“Of course. Mom forgot the soap last time and we need heater cells so we can eat,” Devon tapped his temple with a finger. “I’m smart like that.”

“All right,” Seach said reluctantly. “But don’t wander far and I’ll be down as soon as I’m done, regardless.”

“Gotcha!” Devon said and turned to leave, relieved to be moving.

He felt exposed and vulnerable and wondered how his parents could act so calm about everything. They were about to take off with a load of Grecco Foodstuffs still in their cargo bay, which was essentially stealing. He had the awful thought that his parents had stolen before, but decided not to pursue it. They didn’t have a choice here and he doubted the Consulate had given them much of a choice in the past.

“And Devon,” Seach called.

He turned again.

“Be careful.”

Devon sent his father a mock salute and left the bay. A few people crowded into the first terminal he came to, most of them haulers and Devon ducked inside. None of them looked very pleased to be there, but Neptune wasn’t exactly a popular station. Aside from acting as a staging area for jumper ships, the only thing the planet was good for was hydrogen mining. And no one in their right mind wanted to be a hydrogen miner.

The winds that whipped around Neptune had a tendency to throw little mining vessels around. Sometimes they went deeper into the gas giant, and sometimes they got spit out of the atmosphere. Either way the pilot was screwed. Mining vessels were too small, they lacked the equilibrium to recover, and their thrusters were a poor excuse for flying.

If he got through University, he’d try to make a safer mining vessel, something that could withstand winds and the cold long enough for miners to do their job.

His mind stumbled to a halt.

There would be no University for him, not now. He was actively engaged in smuggling Kenzie and Zoe out of Consulate space, deliberately evading Consulate authorities; he couldn’t possibly go to Gliese.

Devon held tight to the safety bar in front of him, barely noticing the familiar jostle of the terminal as it slid down the access tube. His life had changed so drastically in the last few days that he felt torn in half; one part mourning over the loss of his dream and the other part indignant over that grief.

After all, what right did he have to go to school while people like Kenzie were being harassed by the Consulate? This was bigger than University, bigger than his dreams of being an engineer.

The terminal opened and Devon waited his turn to exit, and then headed for the jumper store. It took everything he had not to stare at the number of security agents lining the walls. He coached himself to act natural, to keep from fidgeting as he crossed through the customs bay. None of these men knew his face. He wasn’t wanted by the Consulate and nothing he intended to buy was illegal, so he had nothing to worry about.

Nothing to worry about except for the three people hiding on Zephyr and a fake docking procedure that could be discovered at any moment, he thought; Good God, how had his life come to this?

He walked into the store, more confident now that the agents were out of view. Heater cells occupied the first shelf. That made sense because even haulers had to eat. He grabbed a crate and headed for the soap, checking the door often to see if Seach had come after him yet.

He found fresh fruit from the station’s hydroponics bay, but it was priced so high he actually laughed. His voice echoed in the barely occupied store and he self-consciously glanced around. No one seemed to have noticed him. He turned down the next aisle and found medicines of every variation. A moment later he located the soap and grabbed a crate, stacking it on top of the heater cells.

The combined weight of both crates was substantial and he grunted, carrying them to the front counter where a white-faced, featureless bot rang him up. Devon took a deep breath and tried to remain calm as he swiped the underside of his wrist across the sensor pad to pay. Jorry promised the chip embedded in his gloves would trace back to an anonymous account, but that didn’t comfort him. Just owning a chip like that was illegal.

For a tense moment Devon tried to map out what he would do if he was caught. The nearest terminal was thirty feet away, out of the store and across the bay. He could sprint if he had to.

The transaction pad flashed green, telling him the payment had been approved and he hissed a breath of relief. He reached for the crates as Seach walked in the store and hesitated, immensely pleased to see his father again. It felt silly to be so reliant on Seach, especially at his age, but at the moment he really didn’t care.

“Found everything?” Seach asked.

“Yeah,” Devon said, nodding at the crates.

“Good, let’s get back to the ship.”

Seach took the top crate and Devon grabbed the heater cells. They both turned and left the store, Seach leading. For a moment Devon admired his father’s calm demeanor, the sure set of his shoulders as he led the way to the nearest terminal. The man didn’t look like he had a care in the universe, not even when they passed two agents, and Devon suddenly decided that he was going to interrogate his parents as soon as they were safely away.

To hell with his birthday, he wanted answers now.

They made their way to the terminal and stopped, waiting for the doors to open. People milled through the bay at a leisurely pace, all of them too absorbed in their own lives to take notice of them. Devon took another breath and tried to remind himself that he wasn’t wearing a sign branding him a criminal.

He spotted a girl in a well-worn travel uniform sitting by the customs restaurant. This Jumper Station seemed to feature Italian food because the flashing sign above her head read Romio’s and several pictures of noodle-filled dishes filled the screen. The girl had her foot propped on one of the seats and was drawing on her pant leg. He could see intricate swirling patterns interspersed with different flowers inked into the uniform and almost smiled. He’d done that when he was a boy, too. Ink was expensive but there was something satisfying about its permanence, something freeing about making a uniform your own. Devon imagined many hauler’s children felt the same way.

He looked at his father and his smile faltered. Seach’s face set at grim lines and his gaze fixed on a point just to their left. Devon felt his stomach knot and slowly turned to look, immediately spotting the five agents headed their way. His first thought was that they might be after someone else, but he knew it wasn’t true. They were too intent and they were staring at Seach.

“Stay calm,” Seach said. “Don’t say anything.”

Devon glanced at Seach again and frowned. He wanted to argue and at the same time he couldn’t. Seach had a better handle on this situation than he did. Seach would know what to do. So he shut his mouth and clenched his teeth, turning to face the agents as they stopped just before them.

“Lieutenant Samson Marsai?” the lead agent asked.

Who was Samson Marsai, Devon wondered.

“Is there a problem?” Seach asked.

Devon blinked, realization hitting him. Fake docking procedure, fake names; good God, they really were pirates.

“You need to come with us.”

“What for?” Seach asked.

“Don’t ask questions, just come with us.”

Seach shifted the crate in his arms, his amber eyes narrowing at the agent. “My hands are a little full right now,” he said. “Mind if I give the crate to the kid?”

The agent looked to Devon and shook his head. “The boy comes too.”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that, officer. Damion is under age and …”

In response, the agent pulled his galvanizer and leveled it at Devon. Devon stiffened, imagining thousands of volts pumping through his body, killing him instantly. They claimed it was the most humane weapon ever created. There was relatively little suffering, little blood loss, and most organs could be harvested, but from where Devon was standing he could see nothing humane about getting fried.

“Don’t,” Seach said immediately. “Of course I’ll come.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Devon held back the impulse to slam his crate into the man’s face. He wanted to make a run for it, to fight their way out of the custom’s bay, but Seach held his gaze for a moment and what Devon could see there stopped him. It was the same look his father gave him when he was stuck in an argument with Jorry, telling him to let things go and trust him to handle it. Devon hissed through his teeth and followed Seach as they were led from the room.

~*~*~

Seach handed over his crate as the agents led them into the private offices of the station. He’d been ignoring a bad vibe from the moment they’d reached the station and he was kicking himself for it now. Maybe if he’d listened to his instincts Devon would be safely on Zephyr and he could take care of this the old fashion way.

He thought of Pluto and the mess with DeFrain and wondered if it even mattered anymore whether or not he hid. Devon knew about the taps. What would be the harm in showing the boy everything he could do?

But then, there was more to worry about than Devon and Seach knew it.

They were delivered to a small holding cell devoid of windows and features. Two chairs sat in the center of the steel-encased room and Seach didn’t bother fighting when he was told to take one. He sat down and let them strap his forearms to the metal armrests, deliberately watching the lead agent standing in the back.

The agent was a paunchy man, olive-skinned and mean-faced. Agent Malone, his tag read. Seach felt a flutter of fear in his chest as he noted Malone’s attention fastened on Devon and for the first time in twenty years he itched for a velocitor.

Devon took the chair beside him, looking pale and terrified. Seach smiled at him and winked, hoping to reassure him somehow. This was bad but it wasn’t terrible, and if he’d learned one thing from Relo it was that focus could be the determining factor of any fight. So he focused, watching as three of the agents filed out of the room.

All right, so this was really bad, but Seach wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet.

Official Consulate business required more than two men interacting with a prisoner. And the cameras should have been running. He glanced up at one of the security cameras, visually confirming that the red power light was off. He already knew it was, could sense it through his taps, but he wanted the agent’s to know he knew it too.

“How can I help you today, agent?” Seach asked, mustering the driest, most bored tone he could.

Malone eyed him, his lips twisting into a not-quite scowl that probably terrified lesser men. Seach thought about contacting Jo, pressing the earwire and letting her know there was trouble, but he wasn’t certain what these men wanted and he needed to know what code to give her. Abort, retreat, fight; he seriously doubted she’d leave them, code or not, but it was worth a shot if this was a Consulate trap. So he waited, smirking up at Malone as the man advanced on him.

Violence thrummed between them, warned Seach of what was to come, and still he waited. Malone wouldn’t ask him anything yet, not until he’d set the parameters on what he was willing to do to get his information. It was almost a relief when Malone finally struck, his fist slamming into Seach’s belly. A hard knot coiled in his gut and Seach gave a wheezing grunt. The man hit like a hammer, all bone and force and Seach slumped forward in his chair for affect, only half as breathless as he let on.

Seach chuckled and grimaced. “You brought me here to hit on me? I’m flattered.”

Malone struck again, his knuckles breaking open the skin just under Seach’s left eye. Seach felt his skin tear, felt the numbing tingle of shock through his face followed quickly by a deep, familiar ache.

Seach raised his head again and met Malone’s gaze with a grin. “One more time,” he said, “And I might give you my web number.”

Devon choked on a laugh. Malone glanced over at the boy, scowling as though he’d forgotten Devon was even there. Straightening, Malone shrugged off his uniform jacket and began rolling up his sleeves.

“What kind of a name is Samson?” Malone asked.

A strange question, but Seach was willing to play along.

“A really old one.”

“A really fake one too, I’ll wager.”

Actually it wasn’t, but he didn’t intend to tell Malone that. The only person in the Universe who knew it was Jo and Seach planned to keep it that way.

“Well …” Seach affected a shrug. “It’s better than the one my parents gave me.”

“Well, Samson,” Malone said, his tone turning professional. “It’s come to my attention that your vessel had three passengers when it left Pluto. I would like to know where they are.”

So this was about Zoe, Seach thought and relaxed. That was good news.

“Hell if I know,” he said. “Captain cut ‘em loose when we docked. They were a mite too needy for our tastes. And the man had a weird reaction to garlic. Stunk up the ship.”

He could see Devon’s eyebrow hike in surprise. Seach wasn’t certain what his son was thinking but he prayed to God Devon paid attention. Because as soon as Malone realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him, he’d turn his focus on Devon. Seach didn’t think Malone would strike an underage boy but he also didn’t know how desperate the man was.

“You don’t mind if we check your ship, do you?” Malone asked with a sharp grin. “Just to make sure.”

“Be my guest.”

“Perfect … Now, what is your dock number?”

Seach shrugged slowly, craning his head to the side. He felt the bump behind his left ear and squashed his head against his shoulder, hearing the earwire click on. They hadn’t used the earwires in so long he was almost afraid it wouldn’t work, but he heard the sudden crackle, the squeal of feedback, and breathed in relief. He silently apologized to Jo, who was about to get a rude awakening and refocused on Malone.

“Let’s see …” Seach said. “I think it was dock three hundred ninety five.”