Devon sat at his computer desk, staring at a digital photograph of Peter and Melanie Kissinger. They were both surprisingly young in the picture, barely twenty-two according to the attached news report. He could see himself in Peter’s face now. The long, oval shape and shallow cheeks were almost identical. They had the same wide mouth, too, but Peter had a sharpness to his features that Devon lacked. The angles cutting over Peter’s face were drastically softened on Devon, as though the gentler curves of Melanie’s features had come in and smoothed them out.

The picture was from when they were first arrested, just weeks after they’d been married. According to the report several documents detailing the need for religious communities to congregate had been traced back to Peter’s computer. They’d created what they called a “home church” which was held on their private property and claimed that because it was private and it was their home, they had not broken any laws.

Devon propped his chin on his fist and re-read the article. If it wasn’t for the two names attached to the story it would have read like any number of Consulate arrest reports. “The congregating of religious bodies is strictly forbidden, blahblahblah. Those known to be in support of such congregating are subject to Consulate interrogation, blahblahblah.”

Peter and Melanie were sentenced to a work camp on Gliese. Devon slid his finger over the desk, drawing up the next news report. Barely a month into their sentence they broke out. They weren’t the first to escape a work camp, but most who did so dropped so far out of society that they were never heard from again. Peter and Melanie weren’t so lucky.

The next report detailed their recapture on Europa Jumper Station. Lieutenant Sean Masterson received a commendation for his work in catching the pair. The ship that had been transporting Melanie and Peter was believed innocent and the haulers released after several hours in questioning. The identities of the haulers were withheld to protect the innocent.

Devon wondered what Jorry and Seach and done to secure that deal. He thought Masterson and company would have fought to make the whole thing public. They certainly hadn’t spared any details regarding how they caught the two “religious fanatics.”

Devon frowned at the report, trying to put himself in his parents – his real parents -- shoes. Jorry said he was three months old when the debacle on Europa Station happened. He counted the weeks from their escape to their recapture and felt suddenly ill. It was less than a year between Peter and Melanie’s escape and when they’d been caught. That meant Melanie had to have been pregnant going into that work camp.

He was the reason they’d broken out in the first place.

He must have been. It was the only scenario that made any sense.

Devon leaned back in his seat. He could still see Melanie’s gaunt, quiet face staring up at him from the photograph. She looked resigned in this later picture; tired and haunted. Offenders didn’t get a second chance in the camps. If they left and were caught again, they were executed. Melanie and Peter knew this when they made their run and they’d done it anyway.

Guilt sunk deep into his chest. He remembered his words to Paul, could hear his own voice shouting that they’d had a responsibility to him. Paul knew, he must have known, that Peter’s death had very little to do with religious convictions.

Devon covered his face and took a long, shuddering breath.

It was all his fault.

“Hey Dev,” Seach called from his doorway.

Devon straightened, rubbing his face with his hand in the hopes he could erase the emotions from his face. He should have known better. Seach paused, his eyebrow lifting when he caught sight of Devon’s expression.

“Everything all right?” Seach asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Devon said, shutting down his computer.

He wasn’t certain why but he didn’t want Seach to know he’d been researching his birth parents. It almost felt like a betrayal. He’d already gotten his birth parents killed or hurt just by existing, he didn’t want to hurt Seach and Jo too.

Seach glanced between the computer and Devon, obviously not buying his answer, but after a moment of silence he seemed to give up.

“I need your help raiding the cargo hold,” Seach said.

“What?” Relief was so palpable it took a moment for him to concentrate.

They never went into the cargo hold unless something was broken. Hauler policy or something, Devon remembered. You don’t mess with the goods once they’re loaded, otherwise people wouldn’t hire independent haulers anymore. They’d go through one of the unions, and Jorry loathed the unions.

“We’re almost out of heater cells,” Seach explained. “We’re hoping something in that last haul can keep us fed until we reach Jupiter station.”

“Oh, right,” Devon said.

He got up and moved to the door. He was tired of hunting through news articles and exhausted from the emotional hits each one gave him. Devon imagined a change of pace was in order, even if it meant walking through the cargo unit. Seach gave him a bemused look as they turned and headed for the central chamber.

“No exclamations about thievery?” Seach asked. “I’d have thought you’d be shocked or upset.”

“We became thieves when we left Neptune; I’ve had time to get used to it.” Devon was surprised at his own lack of concern. But then, he’d always suspected Jorry and Seach of piracy. Deep down he’d assumed he would be one too.

The family business, he thought with a smirk.

“Well,” Seach chuckled. “We’re not official until the seal is broken on one of the crates. Right now they could just think we’re running late.”

“Yeah, I’m thinking the way Mom decimated Neptune Station that they’ve figured something out by now.”

Seach’s mouth twitched with humor and he gestured to let Devon pass. Devon stepped into the loading bay and headed for one of the ladders. The cargo hold could only be accessed through either the conveyor belt or a tight access corridor just beside the front loader. The corridor was barred by a heavy steel door that required a passcode. Devon stood aside and watched as Seach input the code and the door clicked open, sliding up into the ceiling in one quick, smooth motion.

They had to walk single file for several feet and since Devon hadn’t visited the hold very much he let Seach lead. Devon watched the strong outline of Seach’s shoulders as they made their way into Zephyr’s belly. Seach had opted not to wear his jacket and Devon could see the silver indentions in his father’s forearm through his white shirt. He wondered if the taps were cold in his skin or if they bothered him at all.

“Do they hurt?” he asked suddenly.

His voice was swallowed up in the large, open space of the hold. Crates stacked high and neat on either side of the large conveyor belt. Five rear loaders hung from the ceiling, clawed and asleep. They ran along a similar belt above, this one branching out into perpendicular lines so the mobile loaders could arrange crates into aisles in the hold. It seemed strange that all of this was part of his home. He recognized Zephyr’s internal structure, but the hold felt foreign to him.

“Does what hurt?” Seach asked, walking to the shortest stack of crates.

“Your taps,” Devon said.

The stack of crates came to chest level. Seach paused to glance at him before gripping the top crate and hefting it. Devon grabbed the next crate in line and carried it to the belt. He dropped the crate next to Seach’s and bit his lower lip. He hadn’t thought the question would be too personal but Seach was still hesitating.

“No,” Seach said at last. “Not normally.”

Devon watched as Seach pulled out two long, hooked bars from his right cargo pocket. He passed one to Devon, who took it curiously. He hadn’t realized they had crowbars on board. Bars like this could only be used for a select number of things, such as breaking into crates, and he’d normally kept to the intricate tools of engineering. He set his crowbar to the steel crate and started to pry it open.

“Taps are only painful if we’ve overloaded ourselves. Like Jo did when she pushed the ship,” Seach said.

“Oh,” Devon said, grunting because the crate was being stubborn. “But they hurt when you get them put in, right?”

Seach strained against his bar, muscles bunching in effort. The lights flickered and the crate suddenly cracked open, sending a resounding snap through the hold. Seach lowered his bar quickly as the pressure released and straw packaging spilled onto the belt. Cold steam hissed out of the crate, curling around Seach for a moment.

So now it was official. They were thieves.

He thought he should feel worse about it but Devon could only muster a vague curiosity at the new status. Too many changes all at once, he imagined. He needed more time to process.

“Try to imagine someone hammering nails into your bones,” Seach said, reminding him of the conversation.

Devon shuddered. “They had anesthesia, right?”

“Yeah, they did. But afterward … when the surgery was done and they were shoving pain killers down our throats every hour it was still difficult to move.” Seach beckoned him closer and Devon abandoned his crate. “It took several weeks before my body got used to the new additions. I could feel them every time I moved … a strange sort of invasive presence everywhere.”

Devon began to help unload small boxes of perishable foods from Seach’s crate. Vacuum sealed apple slices, oranges, and pears were packed neatly inside the refrigerated crate along with several smaller, nondescript boxes. Devon assumed the smaller boxes contained eggs or something but didn’t open them to see.

“So why’d you do it?” Devon asked. “If you knew it would hurt so much?”

Seach froze, his arm half inside the crate. For half a second Devon saw something dark flicker in his father’s face and immediately regretted asking. He’d never seen that expression before and he hoped never to again. Seach returned to unpacking, the question hanging unanswered between them.

“Most of us didn’t have a choice,” Seach said, startling Devon. “Our commanding officers picked some unfortunate bastard to undergo the procedure.”

Right, Devon thought; the military. Soldiers rarely had a choice in such matters.

“Man, you sure must have pissed someone off,” Devon said awkwardly, trying for a joke.

“Actually, I volunteered,” Seach said, his voice flat.

Devon stared at him, confused by the confession. He wanted to ask why, to understand what would drive someone to such a thing, but something in his father’s face stopped him. There was too much pain there, too much darkness, and Devon felt his stomach knot.

“Don’t look so surprised. Jo did too. Though her reasons were very different from mine.”

Devon was almost afraid to ask, but he’d already jumped into this conversation and it seemed cowardly to walk away now. “How so?”

Seach looked uncomfortable, his face contorting like he’d swallowed something sour. They kept arranging the supplies in silence, grouping fruits and vegetables in their glossy bags on the belt. It all looked so good Devon almost forgot it was stolen. Heater cells and steamed food packages wore on a man. This was real food. His stomach rumbled and he eyed the apples again.

Because it was already stolen and because Seach’s silence was making him nervous, Devon grabbed one of the apple bags and tore it open. He popped a slice in his mouth and bit down, savoring the sweet, cool taste for a second. He groaned a little and shut his eyes.

Maybe piracy wasn’t so bad after all.

“Jo’s father was one of the founders of the Consulate army,” Seach said. “She joined because of him.”

Devon blinked. “You mean, Jo’s father made her volunteer for the program?”

“Not in so many words, no. Let’s just say it was expected of her.”

“What kind of father makes their daughter do such a thing?”

Seach shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t live there. But what I know about Jo paints a pretty grim picture.”

“Like what?” Devon asked, grabbing another apple slice.

“Every commendation she earned during the war she mailed to him. She never even looked at them.”

“Damn.”

“He died during the bombing of Mars in the middle of the war,” Seach paused his work. He stared into the crate, frowning. “When Relo delivered the news we both tried to get her to take some time. The Consulate wanted her to leave the front lines and join the brass for a media conference.”

“The brass?”

“Officers,” Seach said with a wry grin. “Old term, I guess. Officers don’t wear brass insignia anymore, but the nickname stuck.”

“Ah,” Devon said and nodded. “So what did she do? Mom, I mean.”

Seach’s grin turned wicked, his eyes glinting with amusement. “When the Lieutenant came to relieve her of duty she broke his nose. Told him the Consulate hadn’t spent a hundred thousand dollars training her to be a media monkey.”

Devon laughed.

“I thought for sure she’d be court martialed but …” Seach’s smile faded and he turned to the second crate. “I think the brass couldn’t afford to disgrace the Rorry legacy. They left her alone.”

Devon munched on his apple slice and tried to imagine Jorry back then. It had been thirty years and he couldn’t believe she was much different. Rigid, full of self-control, hard-working; the only alteration was that she used to take commands rather than give them.

And then he realized what Seach had done. He frowned and looked up at his father, who was too absorbed in opening the second crate to notice his scrutiny.

Very clever, Dad, he thought. Distract me with Jo rather than answer my questions.

He considered calling him out, letting Seach know he’d noticed the redirection but decided against it. Whatever his reasons for joining the Tapped Division, they couldn’t have been pleasant. And as curious as Devon was, he sensed he shouldn’t push.

They worked in silence for several minutes, cracking open the second crate. This one held several packages of powdered eggs and canned milk

“How are we going to use all of this?” he asked.

Seach grinned and pulled out a rolled up sheet of plastic from his other cargo pocket. With a flick of the wrist he untied the plastic and rolled it out onto the belt. Flattened there Devon could see two large spiraled rings at the center of the long plastic. Blue lights lit up the rim giving temperatures for him to choose from.

“It’s a survival stove,” Seach told him. “Military issue. It can be used anywhere, including a hauler class space ship.”

“Solar powered,” Devon said, noting the energy cells at each corner of the stove.

“Yep. So when it’s not in use it needs to be charging in the nest.”

“That’s clever, Dad. I didn’t know we had one.”

“Well, the real trouble will be when we actually have to cook something. Jo and I aren’t exactly chefs, you know.”

Devon chuckled and then paused. He could remember Paul saying he felt useless on the ship. Maybe this would help him feel more at ease.

“Let Paul do it,” he said.

Seach contorted his face in a mix of dislike and indecision. “I don’t know, Dev,” he said. “Jo’s still pretty mad about the nest incident.”

“That was Kenzie, not Paul.” Devon pointed out. “And we could sell it to Mom like indentured servitude or something. Tell her that the passengers need to start earning their keep.”

Seach laughed. “Indentured servitude?”

“It’s better than you or Mom having to do it.”

Seach shook his head and rolled the stove up again, sliding it back into his cargo pocket. “Alright. But you have to suggest it.”

~*~*~

Jorry stepped around the metal table and knelt behind it. Nine solid days of repair work had finally led her here; into the secondary nest where she’d been forced to push the ship. She glanced up at the empty wall straps, thinking of the way Devon had watched her.

Telling him the truth had been hard but it was here, with her taps on display, that everything had changed. He’d seen her, really seen her for the first time and Jorry wasn’t certain he would ever be able to look at her the same.

She sighed and focused on the cables running from the table into the floor. Hooking her fingers into the panel door she lifted a squarish section of the floor away, revealing a deep pocket of computer boards and cabling. Jorry took a pen-like flashlight from her tool kit and powered it on. Setting the kit aside, she held the flashlight with her teeth and lowered herself head-first into the panel. Zephyr’s flight systems were steady but she had to go slow anyway. There were too many computer boards surrounding her and she didn’t want to knock any of them.

“Zephyr, give me blue light.”

The light in the panel switched to blue and dozens of cables illuminated in sudden, pulsing white. She counted forty cables functioning where there should have been forty-three. Waist deep in the panel she began identifying which of the cables were out. She already had a suspicion what the problem was but she needed to be sure.

Boots hit the floor above her and she nearly withdrew from the panel. Devon’s voice stopped her and she went back to work, half listening to him.

“Is it just me or is there an inordinate amount of repair work this time?” He asked.

“It’s not just you,” she said, taking the flashlight from her mouth. “It seems I may have overloaded the ship in our getaway.”

“Need any help?”

She pushed a hand up through the panel opening. “Hand me a tag?”

She heard him move around her until he located the tool kit. A moment later a small clip-like device pressed into her palm. She pulled it down and connected it to the first dead cable. The tag would send a signal to Zephyr’s mainframe and let her know if the cable itself needed replacing or if the problem was elsewhere.

“Well, with all this work to do,” Devon said and she knew immediately that he wanted something, “I was thinking we should let Paul do the cooking.”

Jorry paused. Her initial reaction was to say no, to condemn Mr. Kelly and the Torda sisters to the silence of their rooms until they reached Mars. Kenzie was two seconds away from getting restrained as it was, but Zoe hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, Zoe had managed to help repair several of Zephyr’s systems while Jo was out cold. She’d double-checked the girl’s work to be sure, but it seemed Zoe had a natural gift with code. Zephyr was probably functioning better because of it.

“Fine,” Jorry said. “Just make sure he understands he’s not getting paid for his work.”

“Really?” Devon sounded surprised. “I thought for sure you’d say no.”

“I’m too busy to say no,” she said.

She heard Devon whistle. “The ship is that bad?”

She held back a wayward remark about how he would have known Zephyr’s status if he’d been paying attention instead of researching his real parents. She felt the bitter bite of jealousy and tried to push it away. Zephyr kept records of every web article accessed through the computer. That’s how she knew Kenzie had an overwhelming appetite for jazz, Zoe mastered every math game in the universe, and Paul Kelly was currently studying the nineteenth century holiness movement.

She made a mental note to corner Mr. Kelly and remind him that all such study should be done off her main computer line and focused on Devon again.

“Zephyr is surprisingly resilient,” she said. “She’ll be fine.”

Jorry reached out and stroked a bare section of the wall. It was cool and smooth under her fingers and she relaxed. She smiled fondly at her ship, comfortable in the dark recesses of the computer panel. Maybe Devon would leave her in the end, but at least the ship would stay true.

“Can I ask you a question?” Devon said from above.

“Of course.”

He was quiet for a moment and Jorry felt a sense of foreboding in her chest. She almost pulled out of the panel but chose to stay where she was, praying his question was something simple like where she hid the extra money. She busied herself with cables, growing more and more concerned the longer he took to choose his words.

“Why did you keep me?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled. Damn. Not a simple question.

Jorry pulled out of the panel and turned to face him. The halogen lights seemed harsh after spending so much time in blue light but she adjusted quickly. Devon stood beside the panel, looking strong and frail all at once, as though her answer could somehow shatter him.

“I know it was you,” he said. “Seach is strong and argumentative, but you’re the Captain. It was your choice.”

“Yes,” she said, rubbing the nape of her neck. “It was my choice.”

It hurt her to hear him say it like that. She thought about Seach and his demands to be treated as an equal and winced. Even Devon assumed they were still in a militaristic relationship.

“So why?” Devon asked. “Why keep me? Why not send me to an orphanage?”

Jorry took a deep breath and looked at her boots. “When I first saw you, you were lying in a crate. You were asleep and completely oblivious to the fact that your parents had just been arrested.” She didn’t dare look at him. She didn’t know why, she just couldn’t do it. “And you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. And I knew if I left you somewhere, if I dropped you off at the nearest orphanage and flew away, that somehow my life would be empty.”

She finally looked up at him. Why was this so hard to say?

She thought of all the times they fought, of his voice raising and his mouth tightening and that frustrated look he always got when she stonewalled him. She wanted to apologize for not telling him sooner, for keeping the truth from him, but she couldn’t. As much as she wanted to claim it was for protection she knew it wasn’t. She’d lied to him because she didn’t want to lose him and she knew it.

“Devon, I kept you because every fiber of my being couldn’t bear to be parted from you,” she said, her voice suddenly hoarse. “I love you. I always have. I may not have birthed you, but you are my son. That will never change, even if you do.”

He smiled faintly at her. She saw his shoulders relax and the look of frailty left his face. He took one step closer and yanked her into a tight embrace. Jorry held him hard.

“I haven’t changed, Mom,” he said against her shoulder. “Nothing has changed.”

She felt a tear slip hot over her cheek and squeezed him tighter. She wished to God that was the truth. Motherhood was so painful sometimes. Even the good moments were tinged with pain. So she held him as long as she could, proud of who he was and somehow mourning the little boy he had been, until at last they pulled away from each other and she hastily wiped her face.

He chuckled but didn’t say anything. She thought maybe that was because he looked a little misty-eyed himself.

“So how can I help?” he asked, glancing down into the panel.

“There’s no room in there for both of us to work,” she said, grateful for the change in topic. “But you can go tell Mr. Kelly his new job. I’m going to be starving come dinnertime.”

“Right,” Devon said with a laugh.

“And tell him if he burns anything he’s fired.”

Devon chuckled and headed for the ladder. Jorry watched him go and smiled.