Four Bays Away
Posted on Thu Aug 20th, 2026 @ 11:48am by Taryn Rook
7,145 words; about a 36 minute read
Mission:
Between The Orders
Location: USS Wayfarer
Timeline: 2385
Taryn had discovered three things about being stuck aboard Wayfarer for any length of time. The food was annoyingly good, Remy’s crew had a suspicious relationship with tidiness, and there were only so many times she could wander down to the shuttlebay to check Foxglove before somebody started asking whether there was actually anything wrong with her.
There wasn’t anything wrong with her now, which was exactly the problem. With no medical excuse left to complain about and Foxglove perfectly capable of surviving a few hours without supervision, she had ended up folded into the corner of an observation lounge with her boots on the seat, her jacket bunched behind her shoulders and her wrist unit throwing courier listings across the low table.
Outside the viewport, stars moved steadily past under warp. Somebody had turned the lounge lighting down for the ship’s evening cycle, leaving the windows darker than the room and the tables mostly empty. Taryn had decided she didn’t hate it.
“Next.”
“Medical supplies from Deneva to Trill. Priority three.”
“Too far.”
The listing vanished and another took its place.
“Passenger transfer from Coridan. One adult, two children and an animal requiring a music-free environment.”
Taryn’s thumb stopped halfway through dismissing it. “Wait. What kind of animal needs a music-free environment?”
“The veterinary certification does not specify why the restriction is necessary.”
“That sounds deeply suspicious.”
“You routinely accept sealed cargo whose owners decline to specify its contents.”
Taryn looked down at the wrist unit. “Yeah, but parcels don’t usually get upset because somebody played them music.”
“You do not know that.”
She stared at the display for a moment, trying to decide whether Foxy had somehow won that one, then flicked the contract away before the question became irritating.
“Still not carrying it.”
“I had not suggested that you should.”
“Good. We agree.”
The next few listings were worse. Agricultural equipment that needed three separate customs clearances, industrial sealant, then a passenger run with six scheduled stops and a turnaround time apparently designed by someone who hated pilots. Taryn skimmed the route, made a face and dismissed it.
A commercial traffic bulletin slid up underneath.
Her thumb was already moving when the Red Thread header caught her eye.
She stopped.
Nothing from the station had crossed her feed in a while. She hadn’t blocked it, despite checking more than once to make sure Foxy hadn’t decided to be helpful without permission. There had simply always been another contract somewhere else, another transfer that made more sense, another reason Foxglove did not need to point herself back towards Red Thread.
Taryn opened the bulletin.
Most of it was exactly what she expected. Temporary berth changes around reconstruction work, revised cargo restrictions on part of the lower ring, maintenance notices, a new food concession on the promenade charging enough for replicated noodles that she briefly considered filing a complaint on principle. She skimmed two freight announcements before something registered late enough to make her scroll back.
**RELIANCE INTERSTELLAR**
Her eyes stayed on it.
“Foxy.”
“Yes?”
“You saw that?”
“I assumed you had. You are currently looking directly at it.”
“I know I’m looking at it. I’m asking if you saw it before now.”
There was a pause that felt suspiciously considered.
“Reliance Interstellar was not included in any of your active filters.”
Taryn lowered her boots to the deck and sat properly upright. “That wasn’t my question either.”
“No.”
She gave the wrist unit a look, then opened the notice across the table before Foxy could get any more pleased with herself.
Reliance had established an office and operational base on Red Thread. Reconstruction contracts. Recovery services. Freight brokerage. Insurance work. Emergency passage arrangements. The notice was almost painfully ordinary, complete with contact details, registered operating hours and station-approved commercial identifiers. Nothing hidden. Nothing buried behind shell routing or encrypted freight traffic.
“Since when?”
“Reliance began registering local operations nineteen days ago. Their permanent office listing became active six days ago.”
“Nineteen days?”
Taryn pulled up the station map before Foxy could simply repeat the number.
The lower docking ring unfolded across the table. Reliance occupied a block of commercial space attached to older freight storage and service corridors, with offices on the public level and cargo access underneath. Proper lease markers. Proper station authorisations. Everything where it was supposed to be.
She zoomed in until Bay Twelve filled one side of the display, then dragged the map four bays along the curve.
Her usual berth lit up almost beside Reliance.
The same berth she used because the dockmaster had long since stopped asking awkward questions about Foxglove arriving with slightly different transponder paint from the last time he had seen her.
Taryn zoomed back out to check the relationship between the two spaces, then in again.
“That’s close.”
“Three hundred and twelve metres by the shortest public route.”
“I wasn’t asking for metres.”
“You did not ask anything.”
Taryn looked towards the nearest speaker. “You know what I meant.”
“Yes.”
That took some of the fight out of whatever she had been about to say.
She closed the map and opened the Reliance registration instead. Local managers filled the screen, followed by freight contacts, claims administration, reconstruction supervisors and business representatives. All proper. All public. The sort of names most people would glance over once and forget.
Her finger slowed near the top.
The executive entry was already there. She didn’t need to open it to know what she was going to find.
She opened it anyway.
**ADRIAN DAVOR**
Taryn’s hand came away from the display.
She tucked it into the sleeve of her jacket, thumb rubbing absently against the inside seam while she kept looking at his name.
The lounge doors opened behind her.
Two crewmen came through discussing a shift change and crossed towards the replicator. Taryn collapsed the display before either of them got close enough to see what was on it, leaving a harmless courier manifest hanging over the table instead.
One of them laughed at something while the replicator worked. A mug changed hands. Somebody complained about Beta shift stealing all the decent coffee.
Taryn waited.
They left.
The doors closed.
She brought the Red Thread bulletin straight back.
Reliance Interstellar. Lower docking ring. Adrian Davor.
Then the station map beside it.
Four bays.
“Foxy?”
“I’m here.”
Taryn traced the public corridor running between the Reliance office and the part of Red Thread she knew well enough not to need a map for.
“Pull everything public on the Red Thread office. Who’s working there, what they’ve leased, contracts, cargo, whatever they’ve put their name on.”
“That may produce a considerable amount of information.”
“Good.”
Her finger settled over Davor’s name again.
“I want all of it.”
# Section Two
Foxy took her literally.
By the time the first search finished, the table was crowded with enough public material to make Reliance Interstellar look painfully respectable. Red Thread commercial notices sat beside contractor listings, recruitment adverts, reconstruction updates and a collection of station-feed articles that Taryn suspected nobody had ever read voluntarily.
She dragged the first batch closer.
“Twenty-three new employees?”
“Twenty-three positions publicly associated with the Red Thread operation. That does not establish the total number of personnel.”
“Can you establish it?”
“Not without accessing private employment records.”
Taryn glanced towards the speaker. “You used to be more fun.”
“You used to ask less illegal questions before dinner.”
“I haven't had dinner.”
“That does not improve the question.”
Taryn ignored that and opened the recruitment notices.
Cargo handlers. Claims staff. Pilots. Two engineers. Administrative support. Somebody to manage local procurement. All normal jobs with normal pay attached to them, and judging by the dates, Davor had started hiring almost as soon as Reliance had space to put people in.
Local hiring too.
That bothered her.
She scrolled further.
“Any names I know?”
“You have not provided me with a complete list of people you know.”
“You know what I mean.”
Foxy searched anyway.
Three names came back with previous appearances in Taryn's Red Thread traffic. Nobody important. A cargo dispatcher who had cleared Foxglove twice. Someone from a loading crew she'd probably spoken to without remembering. A woman attached to a freight brokerage she'd used once when a customer on Bolarus had changed delivery instructions halfway through the run.
Ordinary people.
Taryn closed the list.
The next window held photographs from a station business feature about the reconstruction work. She almost skipped them until she recognised the lower concourse.
Her hand slowed.
The first image showed crews working around rebuilt frontage where damaged sections of the ring had been opened again. The second had been taken outside the Reliance office, people standing around with drinks while somebody had apparently decided this counted as news.
Davor was near the middle.
Taryn enlarged the photograph, then immediately moved past him to the background.
The freight directory was there. The battered public terminal beside it had somehow survived. A little further along, partly hidden behind two people, was the corner of Kepler's Exchange.
Her coffee place.
The coffee was awful. That had never stopped her using it.
She knew which table wobbled. She knew the replicator nearest the window sometimes gave you the wrong sweetener. She knew the woman who worked mornings would let Taryn sit there for ages with one drink as long as she didn't block the terminal.
Davor was standing less than thirty metres from it.
Taryn closed the photograph.
A second later, she opened it again.
“Would you like me to search the image metadata?”
“Already did.”
“Yes.”
“Then why ask?”
“You appeared to be looking for something.”
Taryn enlarged the edge of the image until the resolution began breaking apart. “I'm looking.”
She wasn't sure what for.
People around Davor looked comfortable. One station worker was laughing at something he had said. Another had a Reliance mug in one hand and his other tucked into a jacket pocket. Nobody looked like they were being watched. Nobody looked particularly impressed either.
They just looked normal.
That was worse somehow.
Taryn moved on.
Reliance had sponsored repairs to part of the lower commercial ring. Another notice thanked several businesses for contributing towards reopening costs after the earlier disruption, with Reliance listed among the largest contributors.
She opened that.
“What did they pay for?”
“The public statement does not itemise individual claims. It states that Reliance Interstellar agreed to cover verified repair costs associated with damage near Bay Twelve and contributed to a general hardship fund for affected workers and traders.”
Taryn stopped scrolling.
“Associated with Bay Twelve.”
“Yes.”
“My damage.”
“Some of it.”
She read the statement herself.
There was no accusation in it. No mention of her name. Reliance had simply agreed to cover outstanding costs connected to the incident and provide additional assistance where station compensation had fallen short.
Taryn frowned harder the further she got.
“Can you see who got paid?”
“Individual claims are private.”
“Can you tell if anyone didn't?”
“Not reliably.”
She sat back.
“Great.”
Foxy gave her a moment before adding, “There are public comments.”
Taryn looked at the screen again.
“From who?”
“Local businesses and individuals discussing Reliance's recovery assistance.”
“Show me.”
They weren't official testimonials. That would have been easier to hate.
Most were ordinary station-feed posts. A workshop owner saying Reliance had covered replacement equipment faster than his insurer. Someone else thanking them for paying lost wages during repairs. A freight operator saying one of Davor's people had sorted out a storage problem without charging extra.
There were complaints too. A delayed shipment. An argument over docking priority. Somebody accusing Reliance of undercutting local freight brokers.
Taryn read those twice.
She liked those people better.
But there weren't enough of them.
“Public sentiment is predominantly favourable.”
“Don't call it sentiment.”
“Public commentary is predominantly favourable.”
“That isn't better.”
She pushed the comments aside and went back to the photograph.
Davor was still laughing.
Taryn enlarged it properly this time.
He looked exactly the same.
Not literally. Clothes changed. Hair changed. People aged.
But the way he stood hadn't.
He had one hand resting against somebody else's shoulder, easy enough that most people probably wouldn't think about it. The people around him had naturally made room without looking as though anyone had asked them to.
Taryn knew that bit.
She reduced the photograph until it sat beside the other Reliance material.
“Who are they doing business with?”
“Publicly?”
“Yes, publicly. I'm not asking you to hack the station.”
A small pause.
“You were considering it.”
“I was thinking about asking.”
“That is usually the stage immediately preceding asking.”
Taryn pointed at the speaker grille. “Don't get clever.”
The contract results replaced the image.
Several reconstruction firms. Freight companies. Independent hauliers. A relief supplier. Two local businesses she recognised from passing through the station. Nothing especially interesting on its own.
Together, though, they spread well beyond the Reliance office.
Taryn dragged one connection across the display, then another.
His name wasn't on most of them.
It didn't need to be.
She looked back towards the viewport, but Red Thread had already rebuilt itself behind her eyes. The docking ring. Kepler's. The freight terminal. The little maintenance cut-through she used when she was late. People she'd nodded to enough times that they had stopped being strangers.
None of it had ever needed to mean much.
That had been part of why she liked it.
Now Davor knew where the coffee was.
Taryn's mouth tightened.
“Can Reliance see my arrival if I dock there?”
“Your arrival would appear on Red Thread's public traffic register unless you requested privacy restrictions. Reliance has no documented access beyond that.”
“No documented access.”
“Correct.”
Taryn looked at Davor's photograph again.
“He doesn't need a terminal.”
Foxy didn't ask what she meant.
Taryn started pulling up the names of the companies Reliance had worked with instead.
“Keep going.”
“There are several hundred related records.”
“Then start with the people.”
She pulled her legs down from the seat and leaned over the table, pushing the forgotten drink aside to make room.
“Anybody who's worked with him more than once. Anyone suddenly getting contracts through Reliance. Anyone who's started showing up around that office a lot.”
“Some of that cannot be established from public records.”
“I know.”
Taryn looked at the photograph one last time before shrinking it into the corner of the display.
“Just show me what can.”
Foxy worked through the records while Taryn watched the connections build across the table.
At first there was nothing particularly interesting about them. A transport cooperative had used Reliance twice in three weeks. One of the reconstruction firms had picked up another contract after finishing its first job early. A freight broker working out of the lower ring had started routing several consignments through Reliance storage instead of the independent depot she had used before.
Ordinary business.
Taryn knew enough about cargo work to know that repeat contracts were not suspicious. If somebody paid on time, didn’t lose your freight and answered a comm when something went wrong, you used them again. Half the independent trade network ran on remembering which people had been slightly less awful than everybody else.
She dragged one of the companies aside.
“Who owns this?”
“Ressa Freight and Handling. Privately held. Registered to Ressa Tov, Bajoran, Red Thread resident for eleven years.”
“Reliance own any of it?”
“No public ownership connection.”
“Debt?”
“Private financial records are unavailable.”
Taryn made a small face but moved on.
The next company came back clean too. So did the one after that.
There were no obvious shell structures tying everything back to Reliance, no convenient ownership trail that would let her point at the screen and feel clever. Mostly there were people who had worked with Davor once and then decided to work with him again.
That was starting to bother her more.
“Show me the comments from the contractors.”
Foxy pulled them from public feeds, company notices and a couple of local station forums. Taryn skipped anything obviously written by a publicity department and concentrated on the messier stuff people posted when nobody had asked them for a quote.
A cargo captain complained about Reliance paperwork but admitted they had paid him six hours after unloading. Another said Davor’s people had found replacement parts for a damaged tractor beam when the station stores couldn’t. Somebody from one of the reconstruction crews wrote that Reliance had covered meals during an overnight repair shift without docking it from the final contract.
Taryn scrolled back.
“Meals?”
“Yes.”
“I can read, Foxy.”
“You sounded surprised.”
“I’m not surprised.”
She was still looking at it.
The post was nothing. A couple of lines from somebody she didn’t know, complaining about the hours before adding that at least the food had been decent.
Taryn opened the attached photograph.
Long tables had been set up in one of Red Thread’s cargo spaces while repairs continued around them. Workers sat in whatever clothes they had finished their shifts in, plates and mugs scattered between tools and PADDs. Someone had hung temporary work lights from the overhead supports, warmer than the usual station strips.
Davor wasn’t in the picture.
That should have helped.
It didn’t.
Taryn shrank the image until the tables disappeared.
“Anything else?”
“There are several references to Reliance providing meals during extended shifts.”
“Right.”
She moved on quickly enough that Foxy didn’t need telling.
Another name appeared in several places. Marek Vellis, one of the freight supervisors attached to the reconstruction work. Reliance had hired his crew twice, then put them onto a third contract after one of their people was injured. Publicly, that was about all there was.
Taryn stared at the name.
“Does he have family?”
“Public records identify one daughter. Why?”
Her finger stopped.
“No reason.”
Foxy didn’t push.
Taryn closed Marek’s file and opened something else, though she barely read the first paragraph. The question had come out before she had really thought about it.
Of course Davor would know.
Maybe not yet. Maybe this Marek was just another name on a contract and Taryn was seeing things because she knew what she was looking for.
But she could picture it anyway.
Davor remembering the daughter’s name the next time Marek walked into the office. Asking how her school was going. Finding out what she liked. Not because somebody had ordered him to keep notes on employees, but because he genuinely remembered things like that.
He had always remembered.
That was part of the problem.
Taryn pushed back from the table and got up.
The lounge suddenly felt too small with all the Reliance windows hanging over it. She crossed to the viewport, rubbing her thumb against the edge of her wrist unit while the stars moved past on the other side of the glass.
Behind her, Foxy continued sorting records.
“There are additional repeat contractors.”
“How many?”
“Nine with more than one publicly recorded Reliance agreement since operations began on Red Thread.”
“Nine already?”
“Yes.”
Taryn turned back.
Nine wasn’t an army. It wasn’t even a particularly successful business network.
It was enough to start knowing people.
She returned to the table and opened the names herself. One had received help replacing a cargo loader. Another had been given extra work after a contract elsewhere collapsed. A small repair shop had started supplying parts to Reliance after the company covered an emergency order up front.
None of it was evil.
That was the stupid part.
Taryn kept looking for something ugly enough to make the rest easier to dismiss. Something hidden in the language. Somebody complaining they had been threatened. A contract that had gone bad because the owner wouldn’t play along.
There had to be something.
“Search for disputes.”
“Commercial disputes involving Reliance?”
“Anything. Complaints. People refusing contracts. Arguments. Somebody saying Davor’s a complete asshole would be nice.”
“That is not a standard search category.”
“You know what I mean.”
Foxy did.
There were disputes, because businesses had disputes. A delivery charge contested. A contractor unhappy about scheduling. A freight operator complaining that Reliance had started undercutting his routes. One public argument over storage allocation had become nasty enough to attract station moderation.
Taryn opened that one first.
The person complaining about Reliance had spent most of the thread calling Davor various things that would have made Remy raise an eyebrow.
Taryn read every word.
Then she reached the end.
Three days later, the same freight operator had posted again.
The dispute had been settled.
He was working for Reliance now.
Taryn stared at the update.
“Of course he is.”
“The later post describes the arrangement as favourable.”
“Yeah. I bet it does.”
There was more behind that answer than she wanted to hear in her own voice.
She closed the thread.
For a while she stopped searching and simply looked at what she had already found. The connections were messy rather than organised. People taking work. People getting paid. Someone helping somebody else because it made business sense. Davor’s name appearing here and there without needing to sit over all of it.
She had seen that before.
Not on Red Thread.
Somewhere with different walls.
The memory came without much detail attached to it: warm lights over a long table, plates being passed from one end to the other, somebody laughing too loudly because Davor had told a story and everybody knew when he wanted the room with him. There had always been enough food. More than enough, usually.
Taryn had understood that much even when she had been little.
People liked eating at his table.
She remembered liking it too.
Her hand went still against the edge of the display.
That bit was worse.
Not the table. Not the food.
Remembering that there had been days when she had liked him.
Taryn shut down half the open windows in one sweep.
The lounge table went darker.
“You have closed active search results.”
“I know.”
She stayed looking at the empty part of the display.
Davor had never needed everybody afraid all the time. That would have been exhausting, even for him. Mostly he made things easier. He fixed problems. He knew who needed money and who needed work and who needed somebody bigger standing behind them when another person came asking questions.
Then one day you looked around and half the room had some reason not to tell him no.
Taryn reopened the Red Thread contractor list.
“Keep those nine.”
“Flagged.”
“And anybody new who starts showing up more than once.”
“I can monitor public records for recurring associations.”
“Do that.”
She brought the photograph of the Reliance office back onto the table.
Davor was still there with his hand on another man’s shoulder, laughing about whatever had been funny four days ago. Behind him, Red Thread carried on as though he had always belonged in the picture.
Taryn looked past him again, towards the freight directory and the turn leading down to the docking bays.
Weeks ago, that corridor had been somewhere she knew.
Now she found herself wondering which people in it knew him.
When she had first started using Red Thread, nobody there had known anything about where she came from. They knew Foxglove, eventually. They knew she argued about berth fees, was occasionally late with paperwork and had a habit of appearing for jobs nobody else wanted. That was about it.
Nobody knew Davor.
Nobody knew the old routes, or the places before Foxglove, or any of the names she'd spent years making sure stayed behind her. Red Thread had just been somewhere she could land, work, eat terrible food and leave again when she felt like it.
She had never thought about how much she liked that until his name appeared on one of its doors.
Taryn pulled the Reliance registration back alongside the photograph.
There were perfectly good reasons for him to be there. Red Thread was rebuilding. Reliance did reconstruction and recovery work. There was money moving through the station, freight contracts opening up and space available for somebody with Davor's kind of business to use.
She knew all of that.
It didn't make the timing feel any better.
“Foxy, was Reliance looking at Red Thread before...”
Taryn stopped.
Before what wasn't exactly difficult to finish.
She tried again.
“Before I ran into him. Was there anything?”
“No public Reliance registration activity predates your encounter with Davor Senn. That does not establish when the decision to expand to Red Thread was made.”
“Yeah, I know.”
She picked at a loose thread on the cuff of her jacket, eyes still fixed on the dates.
“Anything from his other companies? People connected to him checking leases, freight space, whatever?”
Foxy searched for longer this time.
“Nothing I can verify through public records.”
Taryn nodded once.
That should have been the end of it.
Davor had businesses all over the place. Red Thread was useful. He didn't need her permission to notice that, and deciding every move he made was secretly about her would be completely insane.
She looked at his photograph again.
Completely insane didn't mean impossible.
Taryn closed it.
The Reliance marker remained on the station map underneath.
Four bays from hers.
“Would you like me to continue?”
Taryn leaned back in the seat, arms folded loosely across herself.
“Yeah.”
She watched the next set of names begin populating the table.
“Keep going.”
The next collection of results arrived, but Taryn had stopped reading them properly.
Names moved across the table while Foxy sorted them into the categories she had asked for. Contractors, freight companies, station businesses, repeat associations. Taryn opened one, skimmed half a paragraph and closed it again. The next barely lasted longer.
Her attention kept wandering back to the station map beneath them.
Red Thread.
Four bays.
She pulled the map out from under the search results and expanded it across the table.
“What's Foxglove's status?”
Foxy answered without hesitation.
“All primary systems are operational. Warp drive has completed post-repair testing. Starboard manoeuvring control remains within normal tolerances. Shield generator efficiency is ninety-four per cent.”
Taryn's fingers were already moving through the status report. “Weapons?”
“The defensive phaser emitter is functional.”
“Fuel?”
“Sufficient for all currently registered courier routes.”
“What about Red Thread?”
There was a slight pause.
“Sufficient.”
Taryn glanced towards the speaker nearest the lounge ceiling.
“What?”
“You asked whether fuel reserves were sufficient to reach Red Thread.”
“I know what I asked.”
“Then I have answered.”
She looked back at the table.
That was the irritating thing about Foxy when she decided to be literal. No argument to push against. No lecture she could dismiss because somebody else didn't understand. Just an answer sitting there waiting for Taryn to decide what to do with it.
She opened navigation.
A route request appeared beneath her hand.
**DESTINATION**
Taryn entered Red Thread Station.
The computer populated the rest almost immediately. Distance. Estimated warp time. Fuel consumption. Several navigational advisories around civilian shipping lanes and a minor course adjustment that would take them clear of a survey operation underway two systems out.
It looked easy.
She shifted the departure time forward until Foxglove could be off Wayfarer after the next scheduled systems check. There was no reason she couldn't go. Her medical restrictions were long gone. The ship was hers. Remy didn't own her schedule, even if he occasionally behaved as though having an emergency override gave him shares in it.
Taryn started checking available berths.
Her usual one came back occupied.
She stared at that longer than necessary, then chose another on the upper docking ring.
Better anyway.
Different approach. Different part of the station. She wouldn't have to go anywhere near Reliance unless she wanted to.
The route settled into place.
“Flight plan complete.”
“Don't file it.”
“Understood.”
Taryn left it sitting there.
Going back made sense. More sense than trying to understand Red Thread through public feeds from somebody else's ship. She could see what Reliance had actually done, work out who Davor had around him, talk to people without asking questions that sounded like questions. Half the information she wanted would never make it onto a public station network.
And he wouldn't expect her to walk back in.
Her fingers stopped over the display.
That last thought felt good for about two seconds.
Taryn pulled up Foxglove's old telemetry instead.
The file was still there, buried exactly where she'd left it after the engineers reconstructed the pursuit. She didn't open the whole recording. She didn't need to. A few seconds were enough to put the waste-heat plume back on the screen, Merrow's Debt behind her and Davor's firing solutions appearing and disappearing around Foxglove.
She closed it again.
The flight plan to Red Thread waited underneath.
“Your previous visit resulted in significant damage to Foxglove, failure of primary life support and a period of unconsciousness lasting several hours.”
Taryn looked towards the speaker.
“Thanks. I was there.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“You appeared to be considering a similar journey.”
“It wouldn't be similar.”
Foxy said nothing.
Taryn hated when she did that.
“It wouldn't,” she repeated, quieter now. “I know he's there this time.”
“Yes.”
“I'd use the upper ring. I wouldn't go anywhere near his office until I knew what I was doing. Nobody even has to know I'm there.”
The words came out while she was still arranging the thought, and somewhere around nobody even has to know, Taryn stopped.
She looked at the route again.
Upper ring. Different berth. No filed flight plan.
Nobody knowing where she was.
Her hand drew back from the controls.
The lounge around her had gone quiet without her noticing. Somebody had collected the abandoned cup from the far table. The stars beyond the viewport were unchanged, sliding past in long steady lines while Wayfarer carried on towards wherever Remy had decided it was going next.
Taryn leaned forward again and opened the station map.
Reliance remained where it had been.
She imagined landing on the upper ring, keeping her head down and telling herself she was only looking. Maybe she'd find something. Maybe Davor would never know she'd been there.
Maybe he'd know before the docking clamps finished cycling.
That was the part she couldn't get rid of.
Davor had known she'd come back for the signal because he'd given her exactly enough to make leaving it alone impossible. He'd known she'd run when he closed in. He'd even known what direction she'd take once staying put stopped feeling safe.
Not every move.
The plume had proved that.
But enough.
Taryn rubbed both hands over her face and left them there for a second.
“This is stupid.”
“Would you like me to cancel the flight plan?”
“No.”
Her hands dropped.
She stared at the route.
A tiny part of her still wanted it. Wanted to turn up on Red Thread without warning, walk straight through the place and prove that Davor hadn't taken anything from her. She wanted her berth back. Her coffee place. Her corridors. She wanted to look at the Reliance sign and feel absolutely nothing.
Mostly, she wanted him to see that she wasn't scared of him.
That thought made her sit back.
Because Davor would like that too.
Taryn reached across the table and deleted the route.
No ceremony. No saving a copy. The line between Wayfarer and Red Thread disappeared, leaving the regional chart underneath.
Foxy waited a few seconds before speaking.
“Flight plan deleted.”
“I can see that.”
“Yes.”
Taryn gave the ceiling a tired look. “You are being incredibly annoying about not saying anything.”
“I have said several things.”
“You know what I mean.”
This time Foxy really did leave it alone.
Taryn pulled the Reliance material back onto the table. The contractor list was still there, along with Davor's photograph and everything they had managed to collect without crossing into systems they had no business being inside.
She looked at it differently now.
Going back would get her closer.
It would also put her exactly where Davor could reach her.
Taryn picked up her wrist unit and started closing the remaining windows one at a time, keeping the flagged files but clearing them from the lounge display. When she reached Davor's photograph, her finger hovered briefly before she closed that too.
“Keep watching all of it.”
“Monitoring remains active.”
“And if anything changes on Red Thread, anything with Reliance, Davor, those nine contractors, whatever, tell me.”
“I will.”
Taryn stood and pulled her jacket straight.
The decision she'd just made should have made things easier.
Instead, she found herself standing beside the table with no route to Red Thread and absolutely no idea what to do with the fact that she still needed to know more.
Her wrist unit rested warm against her palm.
There was somebody aboard Wayfarer who could find things she couldn't.
Taryn made a face at the thought.
“Don't.”
“I did not say anything.”
“I know.”
She headed for the door anyway.
The lounge doors closed behind her and Taryn immediately wished she had stayed sitting down.
Not because she had changed her mind.
She was just thinking about it.
Wayfarer had settled into the quieter part of its day, corridors carrying more crew than the observation lounge but none of the rush of a shift change. Taryn fell into the flow without much trouble, hands pushed into her jacket pockets while she headed towards the nearest lift.
She could still go back.
That thought followed her as far as the first junction.
She could spend another hour digging through Reliance records. Foxy might find something better. Something useful enough that she wouldn't have to involve anybody else. Give her enough pieces and Taryn was usually quite good at making the gaps behave.
The problem was Davor knew how to leave gaps.
She stepped into the lift.
“Deck four.”
The doors started closing.
Taryn watched them come together.
“Actually, deck six.”
They stopped, reopened slightly, then closed again.
Foxy's voice came quietly through her wrist unit.
“Remy is on deck four.”
“I know.”
“You changed the destination.”
“I also know that.”
The lift began moving.
Taryn leaned back against the wall and watched the deck indicator. Six was the shuttlebay level. Foxglove was there, fuelled, repaired and ready enough that she could be gone before anyone worked out what she'd done.
She hadn't filed the route.
That didn't mean she couldn't rebuild it.
The lift slowed.
Taryn stared at the doors.
They opened onto deck six.
For a few seconds she could hear the distant shuttlebay through the corridor: machinery, cargo movement, somebody calling out a systems check. Familiar sounds. Easy sounds.
She didn't get out.
The doors waited.
“Deck four.”
They closed again.
“Changing destination.”
“Don't make a thing out of it.”
“I changed the destination.”
Taryn glanced down at the wrist unit. “Good.”
The lift carried her upward.
That had been the easy part, apparently.
Now she had to work out what she was going to say.
I need a favour.
No.
That sounded like she wanted Remy to help her smuggle something through customs.
Can you look into someone for me?
Worse. That sounded casual, and if she made it sound casual Remy would know immediately that it wasn't.
There's something you need to know about Davor.
Absolutely not.
Taryn pushed herself away from the lift wall as the doors opened onto deck four.
“Why is talking to people horrible?”
“That question exceeds my current diagnostic remit.”
“Useless.”
“Frequently.”
She headed into the corridor.
Remy wasn't far away. That should have been helpful. Instead it meant she had less time to come up with a version of this conversation where she didn't have to say anything embarrassing.
The first problem was that asking him to investigate Davor meant admitting she couldn't do it herself.
The second was that Remy would ask why.
Not because he was nosy.
Well. Not only because he was nosy.
He'd want to know what he was looking at, and Taryn had spent years getting very good at making sure nobody had enough pieces to ask the right questions.
She passed two crew coming the other way and waited until they were gone before looking down at her wrist unit.
“Foxy, how much does he already know?”
“Clarify.”
“Remy. About Davor.”
“He has access to the telemetry and communications downloaded after your previous encounter. I cannot determine what conclusions he has drawn from them.”
Right.
So Remy had Davor's voice. The pursuit. The weapons fire. Probably enough station reporting to know Taryn had recognised him before she had ever explained who he was.
That was both better and considerably worse.
She kept walking.
Remember the man who nearly killed me?
No.
The guy from Red Thread has an office there now.
Too stupid.
Davor's setting himself up on the station and I think you should look at him.
Closer.
Then Remy would ask why.
Taryn shoved both hands deeper into her pockets.
“Maybe I'll just send him the files.”
“You are currently walking towards him.”
“I could stop.”
“Yes.”
“You're meant to tell me that's a bad idea.”
“Would that alter your decision?”
Taryn thought about it.
“No.”
“Then I have conserved processing time.”
“You're getting smug again.”
Foxy did not dignify that with an answer.
Taryn reached the end of the corridor and slowed.
Remy's door was ahead.
She stopped several metres short of it.
Nobody was forcing her to do this. That was almost irritating in itself. There was no medical team marching her somewhere, no docking clamp refusing to release, no alarm making the next choice for her. She could turn around, go back downstairs and be aboard Foxglove before Remy knew she'd ever been outside his door.
Her wrist unit felt heavier in her pocket than it had five minutes ago.
Taryn pulled it out.
The Red Thread notice was still sitting in her recent files. She opened it again, smaller this time, just enough to bring up the Reliance listing and the photograph attached beneath it.
Davor smiled back from somebody else's station feed.
Behind him were the corridors she knew.
The stupid coffee place.
The turn towards the docks.
All those ordinary bits of Red Thread that had managed perfectly well without him until now.
Taryn closed the photograph and opened Reliance's registration instead.
**ADRIAN DAVOR**
Her thumb rested against the edge of the display.
She could deal with him herself.
The thought still came easily.
It just didn't sound quite as convincing anymore.
Taryn locked the wrist unit and crossed the remaining distance to Remy's door.
She raised her hand towards the chime.
Stopped.
“Foxy?”
“Yes?”
Taryn stared at the panel beside the door.
“If I change my mind, don't say anything.”
A pause.
“About which change of mind?”
Taryn almost smiled despite herself.
“Exactly.”
She looked once down the corridor she had come from.
Then she pressed the chime.
RSS Feed