Waypoint Kangaroo by Curtis C. Chen

than you do. The agency refused to put me in the field when I first joined, and while Paul wrestled that red tape, he put me to work sanitizing military footage from the invasion. I saw a lot of things that no teenager—no human being, really—should ever have to see. “I’m very sorry for your loss, Gemma.”
    Her hasty smile threatens to twist her face into something else. “I didn’t say anyone had died.”
    â€œYou didn’t have to.”
    She blinks wetness from her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to completely derail the tour like this.”
    â€œIt’s okay,” Ellie says. “The war was difficult for all of us. But that’s why Princess of Mars Cruises built Dejah Thoris so soon after the conflict.” I can tell she’s reciting this bit. “We feel it’s important to maintain commerce between our two worlds, to share the best of our cultures with each other and remember what we all have in common.”
    â€œThe desire to get really, really drunk right after this?” I say. That gets at least a chuckle from everyone. Parvat seizes the opportunity to retake control of his tour.
    â€œOkay, thank you, Chief Engineer Gavilán!” he says, clapping his hands. We follow his lead in giving her a short but at least fifty percent enthusiastic round of applause. “Now if you’ll follow me, please, our next stop is one of the ship’s power generators, where plasma energy is converted into electricity…”
    I let Jason and Arnold lead the way, then wave Gemma ahead of me and bring up the rear again. I don’t like it when strangers walk behind me. As we start exiting down the main hallway toward the elevator, I feel a hand on my shoulder.
    I turn around. It’s Ellie.
    â€œHey, thanks for doing that, Evan,” she says. “I’m pretty good with machinery, but not so much with people.”
    â€œNo, you were great,” I say. “Thanks for the tour. Sir.”
    She smiles. “How did you know about Gemma, by the way?”
    â€œLucky guess,” I say. “Like you said. The war was tough on everyone.”
    Ellie nods. “You’re a pretty good guesser.”
    I put on my innocent face again. “Thanks. I deal with some difficult people in my line of work.” It’s not a lie. “I’ve learned to ‘read the room,’ as they say.”
    â€œWell, thanks for your help,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your tour. And the rest of the cruise.”
    She shakes my hand and walks away. I don’t move for another second, mesmerized by the sight of her ponytail swaying back and forth.
    I’m not complaining about the attention, but there’s no reason she should be personally interested in me. Is there? Why else would a spaceliner’s chief engineer be curious about a guy who claims to be a deskbound researcher, but seems to know quite a bit about interplanetary spacecraft drive systems and military power implants?
    She turns and waves at me over her shoulder, still smiling.
    Goddammit. I really hope she’s not in the loop.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    Dejah Thoris —Deck 6, Stateroom 6573
    7 hours before I start causing trouble
    My job is to gather information. When I’m not in the field actively collecting it, I’m sitting at a computer, trawling the electronic communications that connect nations and planets and distilling meaning and intent from the noise. Even when there are no specific questions to answer—like hey, why is that satellite seeing heavy neutrino emissions characteristic of nuclear fission inside a three-thousand-year-old structure deep in a Mesoamerican jungle?—the agency’s always on the lookout for things that break normal patterns.
    Unusual isn’t always bad, but interesting is always worth a second look. And I’ve definitely discovered two persons of interest on this