The Snows of Montora (The Chronicles of Montora Book 3)

by Ward Wagher

  Jones was sitting in a chair next to the door and stood up as it opened. "Yes, Skipper?"

  "If Cookie is up, Jones, see if you can get me a pot of coffee and some rolls."

  "Of course, Skipper." Jones looked more closely at Frank. "Are you all right, Sir?"

  "Just a bad dream, Jones. What time is it?"

  "Oh-three-hundred, Sir."

  “Well, I'm up for the day now, anyway.”

  Frank turned and walked back into the owner's suite, letting the door slide shut behind him. He stopped in the fresher to take care of business, and then splashed water on his face. He then walked over to the desk and keyed the communicator.

  "Yes, Mr. Nyman?" Martyn Ridley looked back at him through the view screen.

  "How are things on the graveyard watch, Mr. Exec?" Frank asked.

  "The ship is quiet, and the systems are nominal, Sir."

  "Thank you," Frank said.

  He killed the connection, and then bent over to grind his eyes with his palms.

  I just start to think I'm going to shake this and it hits me again. Why did you have to die?

  He leaned back with a sigh and then stood up again. He paced around the room, and walked into the fresher again. A look in the mirror reminded him he was still in his shorts.

  Might as well get some clothes on. I can shower later.

  He walked back across to the storage units built into the bulkhead.

  On second thought, a shower would do me some good.

  He pulled open a drawer to extract underwear and lying atop the clothing was his Bible.

  Now where did that come from? It wasn't here before.

  When he had come aboard Forsythia, Schubach had assigned a steward to him, and Frank had returned to the owner's suite to find everything carefully unpacked and put away. As this was a multi-month voyage, it made no sense to live out of a suitcase.

  He picked up the Bible and once again opened to a page at random.

  but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

  He sucked in breath and shook his head. Why does this keep happening to me? I know I am worthless to God, but Wendy...

  Okay, Nyman, get your mind back on track. You cannot come apart and destroy this mission. The Woogies are depending on you.

  He sighed again, and removed his underwear from the drawer before heading back to the fresher. A long hot shower, while soothing, did nothing for Frank's incipient depression. He emerged to find a tray of coffee and danish on the desk.

  He keyed on the terminal and idly paged through information on the ship's network. During long star voyages, boredom was the enemy. Most ships had the capacity to store a snapshot of the interstellar net from the most recent planet-fall. Indeed, Frank usually took advantage of his voyages to catch up on the news from the dozens of human inhabited worlds, as well as Earth.

  This morning, there was nothing that would hold his interest. Frank, old boy, this is going to turn into a very long day if you don't get some focus Pretty Doggone Quick.

  A chime indicated a visitor at the door. Frank looked at the clock and wondered who might be dropping by at 0400. He walked over to the door and pushed the button to open it. A Woogie waited. Jones was standing next to it.

  “I knew you were up, Sir, an' Sooozie said that there was a need to speak atcha.”

  “That's fine, Jones,” Frank said. “Come on in, Sooozie.”

  Frank walked back over to his chair by the desk, the Woogie moving to the center of the room.

  “How can I help you this morning?” he asked.

  A fluttering sound and static came from the vocoder strapped to the Woogie's middle. Frank assumed it was the equivalent of clearing its throat.

  “Thanks be to the Frank. Knew you were awake. We talk.”

  “Okay, we talk.” Frank nodded.

  The single large blue eye studied Frank as the Woogie began speaking again.

  “Must review security for cargo.”

  “You have people guarding it, right?” Frank asked.

  “To be sure, yes,” Sooozie said. “Concerned, though.”

  Frank leaned forward. “I've learned that if a Woogie says he is concerned, I had better be seriously frightened. What is the problem?”

  “News of the cargo dripped out.”

  “You mean leaked out?” Frank asked.

  “That too. Nest Guardian are concerned.”

  “So, who knows about it?”

  The Woogie made noises like stopped up plumbing. “The Roma knows.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” Frank said. “You think he told somebody?”

  “The Krause knows.”

  “Well, of course he knows. He had to know.”

  “Roma told others. Krause told others. Concerned about Lockhurst.”

  Frank bit his lower lip and thought hard. News about large sums of specie floating about would naturally capture attention. The Navy was not lily-white, either.

  “Sooozie, did your people bring any Woogie-whackers with you?”

  “What is this Woogie-whacker... oh... to understand. You mean placka-placka-thoob. Team is well equipped.”

  “What team is that, Sooozie?” Frank asked.

  “Guard team for Woogie payment to the Roma.”

  Frank's eyebrows raised and he began to nod. “Of course. Light dawns on Marble Head. You brought a security team. How many of the passengers are on the team?”

  “All are passengers,” the Woogie said.

  Frank took a moment to untangle the Woogie-tortured syntax. “All right, are you saying that all the Woogies on board this ship are part of the security team?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. Already said it.”

  Frank leaned back and whistled soundlessly. “You just surprised me, Sooozie.”

  “I know.”

  Frank snorted. “Right. It sounds like you guys have put a lot of thought into this. I am not even going to pretend to tell you what to do. You are leading the security team, right?”

  “Sooozie is security specialist. To protect Nest Guardian and nest geld. Can watch cargo. Frank needs watch Navy.”

  “I understand. Let me think about that.”

  “Good,” the Woogie said. “I go now.”

  “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

  “You are welcome. Do you talk to the Redeemer?”

  “What?” Frank was now confused again.

  “The Redeemer. He made the stars. Planets. Fabric of space. He stooped to redeem people. He is our kinsman.”

  Frank closed his eyes so Sooozie would not see him rolling them. What is this? A Woogie evangelist? Father Riggs would be pleased.

  “We can talk about the Redeemer some other time, Sooozie.”

  The Woogie gazed at him with that unblinking human-looking eye. “Do not delay friend Frank. The Redeemer wants you.”

  Frank stood up. “I'll take that under advisement. Thanks for filling me in.”

  “To be welcomed. You are.” And the Woogie thrummed out of the room on its five tentacle-like legs.

  Frank leaned out of the door and spoke to Jones. “Don't wake Smith on my account, but whenever he rolls out, have him come see me.”

  “I will Skipper.”

  Frank returned to the suite and let the door slide shut. He walked back to the desk shaking his head. Never heard the beat of that. A Woogie Christer. Nobody'll believe it. And Sooozie gave me a lot to think about too. Murphy must've slipped aboard, somehow.

  The door chimed and Sergeant Smith walked in.

  “Jones didn't just wake you up did he?”

  “I was already awake, Skipper. Is there an extra cup on that tray?”

  “I think so. You haven't been up that long, then, have you?”

  Smith smiled. “I need my first coffee of the day.”

  “Help yourself. Sooozie was just here and my appetite went away.”

  “The smell gets to me, too,
Skipper,” Smith said.

  “That's not what I meant. The Woogies are once again playing entirely out of our league.”

  “Uh oh.”

  “Uh oh is right,” Frank said. “We may be in deep Woogie poogie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  For the most part the Woogies were model guests in any situation. Their presence aboard the Forsythia was notable mostly for the omnipresent stench which followed them around like clouds of old Earth mosquitoes. They were aware of the impact of the noxious combination of menthol and stink-weed, and so did not press themselves upon the humans who operated the ship.

  The Woogie tradition of generosity and gregariousness also helped. This was the first time most of the crew had significant contact with the beings and they were charmed by Woogie personalities. The humans aboard the ship were also often convulsed at Woogie humor. Following his visit to the surface of Woogaea, the Woogies identified a prime target for their humor and Charles Schubach appropriately suffered.

  One evening the Woogies offered to put on a skit for the humans. Most of it involved Sooozie, who donned a starship commander's beret and strutted around doing a very credible imitation of Schubach. The Woogaean thespian crowned the evening by announcing that the commanding officer of Forsythia was henceforth to be addressed as Schooobach.

  Schubach and Frank were relaxing in the owner's suite several evenings later, and reviewing the upcoming navigation fix.

  “Can we be assured Lockhurst is still with us?” Schubach asked.

  “Oh, I think so,” Frank replied.

  “We haven't detected them.”

  “We don't have a military grade sensor suite either, Charlie. If he blew up or otherwise suffered some kind of an event, we would have detected it. If he had dropped out of FTL, we would have known it.”

  “But he could have drifted off.”

  “Correction,” Frank said. “He has drifted off. The only question is how far. But his chronometers won't drift far from ours, so he should come out at the same time. It would be highly unusual for him to be outside of detection range once we hit normal space.”

  “I suppose.” Schubach shook his head.

  “Cheer up, Charlie. This is a low risk operation.”

  Schubach looked over at Smith, who was standing by the door. “You hear that, Cedric? This is low risk. We've got to be the Grade-A, Number One target in this sector of the galaxy.”

  “Only if anybody knows what we're carrying,” Frank said.

  Smith raised an eyebrow. “I'm not as sanguine as you, Skipper. This news was bound to leak. Somebody's got to know about it.”

  “You see?” Schubach said. “I think you're over-confident. And how come he gets to call you 'Skipper?'”

  “Smith has earned it. And, let's say the word somehow did get out,” Frank retorted. “How is anyone going to find us? We determined our first way-point after leaving orbit. We can get to Earth almost as fast as a Packet Ship. They have more bunkering stops than we do. I'm not saying I've suspended belief in the demon Murphy, but this is pretty safe.”

  “You say so, Skipper,” Smith said.

  “Now don't you start in too. I'm having enough trouble with this old woman here,” he said as he pointed at Schubach.

  “I fervently hope to not have the need to tell you I told you so,” Smith said.

  “If things get to that point, nobody's going to care what you say, Smith.”

  “We've been there before, Skipper.”

  “That's why I have you guys along,” Frank said. “I can sleep the sleep of the just in my bed, and let you and Jones stay awake and worry.”

  Smith shook his head and shrugged. “Just don't wake up Murphy with your snoring.”

  “By the way, Charlie,” Frank said, “I heard about your new uniform.”

  Schubach blushed deeply and hid his face in his hand. “Gosh, Skipper... I mean, Frank. I don't know how those pink flamingos managed it. They really put together a marvelous uniform for me. It's comfortable and it fits really well.”

  “Do I want to ask?” Smith asked.

  Frank smiled. “The Woogies made a formal presentation at lunch today. They said it was in appreciation to Charlie for the smooth voyage and his hospitality.”

  “What was the punch-line?”

  “The name tag above the pocket on the tunic,” Frank replied.

  Smith grinned and rubbed his lip with a finger. “Let me guess. Something like Schooobach?”

  “Right the first time, Smith,” Frank said. “I don't know how you do it.”

  Schubach just groaned.

  “And the other thing is that something like this is considered high honor by the Woogies, so Charlie is obliged to wear the uniform.”

  “They did this on purpose,” Schubach said.

  “Of course, they did,” Frank said. “And they really did want to honor you. They just couldn't resist getting the little dig in.”

  “Does this mean they are apt to do something like this to Carlo Roma?” Schubach asked.

  Frank choked, and then burst into laughter. “You know, that didn't occur to me. But somehow I don't feel disposed to warn Carlo. This would almost make the trip worth it.”

  “You don't think it's worth it?” Schubach asked.

  “Financially it is. I'm really not looking forward to seeing Roma again, though. But something like that would be really sweet. And Captain Schooobach, I expect to see you in that new uniform. It really is a nice one.

  § § §

  “Position confirmed, Sir,” the navigator called to Captain Schubach.

  “Very good, Nav. Bayles, please notify Lockhurst we are ready to continue and need a time hack.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir,” the communications tech said.

  The two starships were drifting in the void a quarter light-year from an unnamed star. Lockhurst had eased in to a distance of two miles from Forsythia in preparation for the next jump.

  Bayles jumped upright in his seat. “Sir, Lockhurst is ordering us to stop the clock, and heave to.”

  “Pipe it over to the main screen,” Schubach said.

  Rogers Cambaert's face swam into focus on the bridge main viewscreen.

  “What's going on, Commander?” Schubach asked.

  “I need you to heave to and prepare to take an inspection party aboard.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I've just stumbled across information that you have contraband aboard and you have engaged the Navy for escort under false pretenses.”

  “Where did you come up with such insanity, Commander?” He leaned over and pointed to his Exec. “Mart, get Frank Nyman up here.”

  “We were reviewing our sensor logs,” Cambaert said, “and there is just too much that does not make sense.”

  Schubach studied the screen for a while before speaking. “Sir, may I suggest you wait until we get to Earth where we can have a proper Navy inspection. We are out in the middle of nowhere right now.”

  The helmsman was watching Schubach. The CO eased his hand out to where the video eye didn't pick it up and twirled his finger. The helmsman nodded and began punching keys on his panel.

  Cambaert looked to his left suddenly as someone called to him. He then swung back to face Schubach. “Our sensors show you powering up your FTL drive. You will shut it down or I will fire into your ship, Sir.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  Ridley was leaning over the sensor suite. He straightened up. “Skipper, he's clearing for action.”

  Schubach shook his head. He looked over at the helmsman. “Kill the drives.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. The drives are shutting down.”

  “Better,” Cambaert said. “Prepare for boarding. Cambaert out.”

  Frank walked onto the bridge as the screen winked out. “What's going on, Charlie?”

  “Cambaert is sending across a boarding party. He claims we have contraband on board.”

  Frank stood still and thought carefully; then he sw
ore softly. “Get Cambaert back on-screen.”

  “Really, Captain Schubach, I do not have time to debate this further. You will be boarded.”

  “It's me, Cambaert,” Frank said. “What the devil is going on?”

  “As I told your ship's CO, we need to board you to search for contraband.”

  “And just what contraband do you expect to find?” Frank asked. “I hold a commission in the ready reserve. That alone gives me the next best thing to diplomatic immunity. You can't legally touch me. Besides that, I'm on an officially accredited mission for the Navy and Woogaea.”

  “I'm sorry, I must validate this personally,” Cambaert said. “You must understand my position here, Captain Nyman.”

  “I understand it all too well. You will have ample opportunity to lock things down, until the bona fides are established, once we arrive at Earth. What you are doing here is breaking the law.”

  The door to the bridge slid open and Sooozie thrummed in.

  “A Naval Officer's commission gives me wide latitude in this area. No one will blame me for being cautious.”

  “You are not coming aboard,” Frank said.

  “I have a couple of projectile weapons trained on your toy starship that say otherwise.”

  Sooozie flooped, spun around and thrummed back through the door.

  “You realize you are flipping a CAM, don't you, Cambaert?”

  The commander lips pulled back into an evil smile. “Yes, Nyman, I suppose you could say I am flipping a Career Altering Move. Well, so be it. Now stand by to be boarded.”

  And he disconnected.

  Frank turned to Smith, who had followed him to the bridge. “Ready for some EVA, Sergeant?”

  Smith raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting, Sir?”

  “You, and I and Jones are going to slip over to the cruiser while they are occupied over here. Rogers Cambaert is going to land his fat little tush in the brig.”

  “I'm not going to say I told you so, Skipper but...”

  “Now don't start with that, Cedric! We don't have time.”

  “Frank, all you will be doing is providing him with target practice,” Smith said.