Live to Venture (#0)

29 | The Knot of Adventure

Vallin was a master of distraction. Instead of festering in his heartbreak or replaying all those things Silta said to him, he simply put his mind on the ship, on strategy. He had other things to worry about, like Jon Slint, the captain of the Starling.

It wasn't that Slint was in possession a particularly stunning or powerful ship; it was his modernism. He had newer weapons and an unflinching need to be the best. Vallin had been discreetly asking about him in port, and he sat down with Britter and Everson to discuss what he'd found.

He'd opted for the strategy room rather than the captain's quarters. Because his desk, his chair, his entire room—she'd infested it all. His sheets smelled like salt and he kept finding her long black hair everywhere. Everywhere, like she'd purposely left as much of herself behind as she could to taunt him.

He did his best not to not think about Silta when Everson was around, since his first mate kept throwing glances at him like he'd done something, which perhaps he had. Everson had marked Silta over and over. His territory, his girl. Vallin had probably broken some sort of code, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care now that it was over.

Britter, however, looked at Vallin like he was a soft, emotional puppy. Still, the strategist was playing both sides. Ranting about the whole situation with Silta, then turning around and supporting Vallin. He was smart to do it—one of them was his captain and the other was the most popular person on the ship, but it still irked Vallin.

Everson tapped the table. "What do we have on Slint?"

Vallin leaned back. "Nineteen years old, well-respected and modern. Crew about half-half with women."

"Competent women?"

"Not like Miller or Silta," Vallin said, her name dry in his mouth, "or even Tailsley. But they are good."

"So we're obviously better," Britter said. "In terms of skill. But if we're worried about him causing us some damage or even losing a crew member or two in a fight, we could send an assassin in for just Slint. Pull up next to them at night and throw Silta over. She'd get it done, and no one knows it was us."

Vallin watched Everson tap the table quick and fast. He spoke, still watching Everson's finger, "It would deter them, I think—Slint is the driving force behind that ship. But I disagree. I think everyone would know it was us, and the assassin move is dirty. Makes us look weak."

"Captain's right," Everson said. "But let's keep it in our hands for now. Do we know anything else about Slint?"

Vallin shook his head. "He's kept himself under wraps. Finding a weakness of his or even blackmail would be my next idea; I'm just not sure how to find it."

Britter grinned and spread his arms. "Well gents, I believe this issue has the same answer as most: Silta. We dock at port with them, we get Silta to read him. If she can't get enough information from just that, she plays Siren on him. Slint's nineteen, you said? Easily done. Plus, he has no clue she's ours."

Everson nodded. "Works for me. Might as well try it."

Vallin leaned back in his chair. Silta hated playing Siren; he knew that. Was he wrong if he asked her to do it again?

No. He'd be wrong for asking that of her if they were together. Asking her to play Siren now was simply the best thing for the ship.

"Captain?" Britter asked. "You'll tell her?"

Vallin glanced at him. He should tell her, but he desperately didn't want to have to. He didn't want to hurt her, didn't want to make her mad.

"I'll tell her," Everson said, standing up.