Free Conviction by Tammy Salyer

grown-up and start learning how to be one.”
    His glare could incinerate stone. He’ll have to work on his poker face.
    “Aly, how’s it going out there?” David’s voice coming through my VDU takes a front seat to the tension.
    I hold Drew’s eyes as I answer, waiting to see a spark of either understanding or further rebelliousness. I need to know what exactly I’m dealing with. “We’re just sorting out the kid’s quad. Sentries are online and ready to be released.”
    “Good. See you in a few.”
    The kid seethes for another few seconds as I pretend to double-check the quad’s interior. Not that I’m actually going in there myself. Uh-uh.
    His voice has lost most of its edge—a good sign—when he says, “I have a plan.”
    I bite. “Yeah?”
    “I’m going to work for a smuggler.”
    Hiding my doubt, I comment, “And your brother?”
    “He’ll come too. He can be useful, he’s smart, and he can already shoot pretty well. Not as well as me, but he’s good enough.”
    “Sounds like a plan. Now you just have to live through the night.” Crawling off the quad and activating the sentries, I ask offhandedly, “Is it the same runner your pops knows?”
    He nods. “Besides, when I tell him what I, uh, did today, it’ll give him more confidence in me.”
    Is that pride in his voice? I decide it’s my civic duty to set him straight. “Kid, this smuggler is nothing but a bullet bouncer, a gunrunner. The only thing they ever care about is how big their take is. It’s not about confidence, it’s about how many other scavs they have to go through to get what they want.”
    Drew says nothing.
    “You want to be a smuggler? Then I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you one percent of my split for the e-craft if you give me your word you and your dad aren’t planning some kind of cheat or backstab on this sale. If you make sure to keep things on the level with this smuggler, I’ll make sure you get your own share of the take. And if you don’t…” My eyebrows arch in promise, making the “if you don’t” part as clear as if I’d spoken the stakes aloud. “Deal?”
    “Fuck yeah!” he says instantly. This time, I’m glad for his piss-poor poker face. This kid doesn’t have the spirit of a criminal, even if he has the goal to be one. Not yet anyway. But in a few years, after life out here on the border of civility, who knows?
    I reach out and he shakes my hand.
    “Does this runner we’re going to meet have a name?”
    “János Rajcik.”

9
CHAOS THEORY
    “Drew’s tucked in. I put him and his midget mortar chucker on sentry duty outside for the night. That’s a solid piece of equipment.”
    Soltznin sits at the pilot bench monitoring our visual feeds, and David is stretched out on one of the bunks. For the first time since landing on this rock, the tension in my muscles releases briefly, like a flag going limp after hours of being buffeted by a hurricane. Then I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the nav seat console. The grit and gore I accumulated in our surprise firefight have dried to a hard shell. Instead of doing what I want to—grab something to eat, then get horizontal for a few hours—I head immediately for the ship’s onboard wash station.
    “So much for new civvies,” I mutter, disgusted at the state of my recently acquired clothing.
    After I peel off the stained duds and wedge myself into the tiny shower stall, the overpressurized recycled water blasts into me with exuberance, but the sting against my crusty skin feels a thousand times better than the tacky blood spatter I’d been wearing. Once I’m done scraping it all off, I feel almost renewed, almost ready for the next surprise.
    And I don’t have long to wait.
    David slouches casually on the bunk when I come out, his long legs splayed out in front of him, looking laid back and relaxed. Except for his face.
    “What?” I ask, running my hands through my damp hair to pull out the tangles.
    His glance toward Soltznin