Okay, fine. So she’d handled it badly—the whole loss of Jien, Tann’s appointment to take her place, and destruction of the station. She hadn’t even mourned, not yet. She couldn’t. Not until the station, Jien’s legacy and the hope of thousands, was operational again.
Not until the Pathfinders arrived.
So she clenched her hands and pitched her voice an octave into shut up. “The point here,” she said loudly, “is that we have to decide what to do with the criminals and then how to proceed. We are not spacing them,” she added, glaring at Sloane.
The woman shrugged, saying nothing.
“So let’s return them to cryostasis,” Addison suggested.
Sloane shook her head in pure disbelief.
“Hmm,” Tann breathed. “Defer judgment until a more appropriate time. Wise. That might work. It implies a lack of authority on our part, but perhaps refraining from executing people would be good for morale.” This last he pointedly threw at Sloane Kelly.
“They attacked Nexus security,” Sloane said, her tone thin. Practically a knife. “You’ll only encourage more of that, put more of my people on the line.”
“Isn’t that your job, Security Director Sloane?”
Her teeth bared. “At least it is my job, Acting Director Tann.”
“Enough.” Addison all but leapt between them, arms spread. “This isn’t helping anything!”
Tann’s eyes narrowed, but at least he withheld any comebacks. Addison had no doubt there’d be more to spare later. With patience and absolute finality he said, “I’ve made my decision. Make the arrangements to return the prisoners to stasis until such a time as a proper court can be established.” He waited for Sloane to argue, but the security director finally, mercifully, backed down. Tann went on. “Document everything, as you would any case, so that it can be addressed fairly and properly when the time comes.”
Sloane sneered. “If you think I’d do anything less—”
“I didn’t say that,” Tann said, “I just want to make sure we’re all clear.”
“Clear,” Addison said. She glanced at Sloane.
“Yeah, okay,” Sloane said. “Clear.”
Addison took another breath. “The real question is how we prevent this from happening again.”
Sloane, head hanging, nevertheless moved on from the conflict with surprising speed. “Re-code access, before someone else we haven’t vetted finds their way into a mission-critical space.”
“I agree,” Addison said. “As for the hangar, set Kesh’s team to repair and reinforce it.”
Tann’s long, spindly fingers began to tap together as he mentally worked out the calculations. “We can spare workers, but it’s going to require time and equipment. Two things that remain in short supply.”
“Equipment we can find,” Addison pointed out. “Kesh will know where.”
Sloane sat back in the chair, draping an arm over the back. “I’ll have my people start stepping up patrols. We’ve been too complacent,” she added, a thin thread away from accusation as she glanced at Tann. “We need to stop assuming everyone here is still a hundred percent on board with putting the mission before themselves. The assholes who tried to take our ships, for example.” Her displeasure was obvious. Hard to tell, though, if it was directed at herself or the situation. “Their approach wasn’t detected, not quick enough. It should have been.”
The salarian frowned, but he didn’t disagree.
“If there are any more…” Sloane paused, choosing the word carefully. “…unsatisfied people on this station, they’ll need to be dealt with. The trick is spotting them.”
“With tact, I hope,” Tann said pointedly. “Should you lack the means—”
“Sounds great,” Addison said, again too loud. When they both looked at her, she made sure there was steel in her smile. “We know what to do. Let’s get on it.”
Maybe that did it. Maybe, she figured, it was enough to remind them what was at stake.
“Meeting adjourned.” Tann turned toward the door. “Let us not lose sight of the ultimate goal here.”
“Yes,” Sloane repeated, watching him walk out. “Let’s not.”
Addison barely managed to bite off a curse.
Or maybe she was just surrounded by people so thick-headed, they gave the krogan a run for the gold star.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Things were going as well as could possibly be expected. Life support hadn’t failed yet, and people were learning to count on Calix’s team to keep it that way.
The krogan had managed to clear out enough working space that bodies weren’t bumping into each other every time they took a breath. Careful maintenance and hair-trigger calibrations ensured that the most basic of failsafes didn’t go haywire when the power shorted out anywhere aboard the station.
As they battled the chaos of a heavily damaged systems array, Calix Corvannis surveyed his team with a steady, critical eye. They were exhausted, worn down to the bone, and the muttering between them had intensified. He’d seen this exact scenario play out before, with this very team.
Same situation. Different ship. A frigate called the Warsaw, where a string of bad decisions by a stubborn captain had led to the near total loss of the ship.
Calix had been ordered to work his team to the brink of exhaustion and beyond. Get the job done, whatever it took.
Eventually, they’d figured out that the goal was not to fix the ship, it was to put his team in a position to plausibly blame for its condition.
Calix had refused.
His action had bordered on mutiny, but he’d won. In the face of losing his entire life-support team, the captain had backed down.
Calix had also won the undying loyalty of his team in the process. The whole affair had earned him “administrative reassignment” off the Warsaw the moment the ship made port, but that was fine. Calix had left without a second thought.
He just hadn’t expected his team to follow. Off the Warsaw, and into the Andromeda Initiative. They could have stayed and let him take the fall. Could have done so much more with their independence. But they chose to follow him.
These were hardworking, knuckle-scraping, straightforward people who believed in one cause above all else: loyalty. They said they’d follow him anywhere. Truth was, who else would take them? They’d walked away from their posts in protest of his dismissal, a mark on their records few employers would overlook.
Except Kesh.
Of course, the fact that things were going as well as could be expected didn’t mean the situation was good. It just meant they were all hanging on—barely. His team, the Nexus, the future.
“Ammonia reserves at thirty percent.”
Calix glanced at the speaker, a human named Nnebron. Lawrence Nnebron. Alliance stock, Earth-born, trained and capable… but very young. Calix’s fingers dug into the systems frame. Thirty percent. Not enough. Not nearly enough for his peace of mind.
“Can we shift to electrics?” he asked.
“We’re already skirting dangerously close to shutting down portions of the grid. This kind of additional draw, we’re liable to trigger a blackout.”
“Well,” Calix mused, “we wouldn’t want to be the ones responsible for that.”
Irida Fadeer looked up from her calculations. “No, we wouldn’t,” the purple-skinned asari muttered. “Lest Their Royal Highnesses come barging in.”
Calix didn’t look at her. He was afraid of seeing the irritation on her face, the simmering anger behind all the exhaustion, and echoing it. He was tired, too. Of the hours. Of the orders coming down the chain of laughable command, each circumventing the last.