Children of the Fleet (Fleet School #1)(67)

“I know you’re really sad right now,” said Monkey, “but I’m not. I’m kind of glad, because I figured that you were actually a human boy inside. Really, really deep inside. And here you are—first time I went looking for him, and he came right out. So I’m feeling really proud of myself. That’s probably annoying but I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t trying to get through to you because I’ve got nothing to hide. If you want me to go away, I’ll go.”

“I don’t want you to go away,” said Dabeet. He took a couple of deep breaths to clear his head and get rid of the unwelcome emotion.

“Because you need my help,” said Monkey, “and I’m fine with that. Bacana, né? I’m eager to be part of it.”

“Not if you can’t keep it a secret,” said Dabeet.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” said Monkey. “People won’t think I’m your girlfriend or something. They really do think of me as a kind of pet and neither of us is anywhere near puberty.”

“The secret isn’t the fact that we’re friends,” said Dabeet.

“I’m glad that it’s a fact,” said Monkey.

“The secret belongs to somebody else. Some ugly things are about to happen and I have to get ready without letting anybody else know.”

“Except me,” said Monkey.

“You’ll know what I ask you to do,” said Dabeet, “but I’m not sure I can tell you why I’m doing it.”

“Dab, I’m really smart. In the test scores, yes, but I’m ship-smart, too, I figure out how things work, I feel it in my bones. You really think I won’t guess?”

“You’re smart, but you’re not insane,” said Dabeet. “And my secret really is insane. So I don’t know if you’ll figure it out. But you have to promise me that you’ll keep secret the things I ask you to do to help me, and also keep secret anything you figure out or think you’ve figured out or even speculate about.”

“I get it,” said Monkey. “I promise.”

“Are you good at keeping secrets?”

“I’m brilliant at not blabbing,” said Monkey, “because if you don’t learn how to not-blab on a mining ship, especially a corporate ship like the one I mostly grew up on, then pretty soon you’ve got an eight-percent kuso atmosphere and you can’t breathe that.”

Dabeet grinned. “You sound pretty sure of that. Experience?”

“Toilet repairs. You know, sometimes the gravity generator goes down or misdirects when you’re in the middle of your business. Not me, but a couple of little kids, both of them sick, and I was on the clean-up crew. In a hazmat suit. Because I told them I didn’t mind getting the mess out from behind the appliances, and by the end, it was true. So yes, Dab, I’ve had my face mask covered in other people’s vomit and poo and I only threw up twice inside my helmet, and both times I got it all into the spit bell so the suit could dispose of it. Well, almost all.”

Just picturing this made Dabeet feel faintly nauseated, but because she was telling it humorously and a little bit proudly, he laughed instead of gagging. Or in addition to it. Gag-laughing.

“Don’t choke to death,” she said.

“I do need your help. Or I will, if I can find a way into the bones of the station.”

Now the laughter ended. She regarded him steadily, then sat down on the floor. She patted the floor in front of her. “Sit,” she said.

Dabeet sat.

“My shortness is mostly in my legs, so when we sit down we’re more the same height so I don’t spend the whole conversation craning my neck to look up at you. Also, if nobody can see us then nobody’s going to come over to find out what we’re talking about.”

It made sense.

“I accept that you can’t tell me everything, but you’ve got to tell me something or how can I figure out how to help you?” she asked.

Dabeet shook his head. “I’ve got to find some stuff out before you can possibly help me. There are jobs where I need another pair of hands, but before I get to those jobs—”

“Wrong answer,” said Monkey. “Come on, Dab, don’t be such an oomay. I’m not just an extra pair of hands, I’ve got a brain. Tell me what it is you’re trying to find out. You said the bones of the station, what do you mean? What do you need to do?”

“I’ve already tried to break out of the student and teacher computer systems but they’re both in a virtual box and the real system is inaccessible.”

“And it’s all fingerprint-and body-heat-sensitive,” she said, “so you’re never getting in unless they appoint you to the faculty.”

“The faculty doesn’t have access either,” said Dabeet. “I’m talking about station stuff, not Fleet School stuff—mechanical things, life-support things.”

Her eyes got a little wider. “You don’t mess with life support, Dab,” she said. “You’re a dirtbaby, you can’t help that but it means you don’t get what it means to Inks and Miners. If anybody finds out you’re planning to mess with that, somebody’s going to try to kill you. I’m not exaggerating.”

“Is one of them going to be you?” asked Dabeet.