by LeRoy Clary
“You got it.” She enjoyed the beaming smile Bill wore.
The engineer said, “Cargo bay is almost pressurized. Not my business, but you know you can’t legally open the cargo cans in there, right?”
The “cans” were the shipping containers, one of five standard sizes, so they fit together in such a way that they took up the least space, no matter who owned them. Captain Stone said, “There is a reason why your communication Champers and captain were murdered. I cannot believe anyone on this ship is important enough for them to be the root cause. The ship, as well maintained as it is, is old and not worth a lot, so it isn’t the reason either.”
He glanced at the hatch.
She continued, “Yes. Whatever cost two of your crewmates their lives and had three other ships trying to capture us near Roma, is inside the cargo bay. If I have to open every can in there and rip apart the contents to find what it is, I’ll do it.”
They faced each other, both wearing stern expressions. He finally pointed to the wall where tools were hanging. “Got a mini-torch that should cut any lock you find. Cut open anything in there, including hull-plate if they’re trying to hide it. Careful the slag doesn’t set fire to my ship.”
“Maybe you want Bill to carry a fire extinguisher.”
“That is a good idea. I’ll also close the hatch and set the fire suppressant system on edge. Careful, it’ll suck all the oxygen out of there in about a dozen seconds.”
She accepted his words as truth. He would protect his ship above all else. She also knew that when she forcibly opened the cans, she would be violating galactic law. A huge fine was the least a court would require of her. However, she also believed they would take into account the fact that the ship was being captured and the cargo was in danger of being lost.
Bill spun the wheel on the metal airtight hatch after placing his palm on the access panel and getting approval from Bert who now had security control of all systems on the ship. The old engineer said, “I’ll give you plenty of light in there, and if you need anything, call me on the com.”
Captain Stone stepped over the raised entrance called a knee-knocker because of the height. Bill followed, carrying his fire extinguisher while she carried a compact but surprisingly heavy tool that looked a lot like an old angle-grinder. Instead of a spinning disk to cut, there were two electrodes, both blackened by use.
The cargo bay was nearly full of aluminum or plastoid containers stacked and secured. Hundreds of them. Probably closer to a thousand, all stacked and neatly secured by straps to tie-downs welded into the walls and floor. The largest were two meters tall, four meters on a side. The smallest container was a meter in all directions. All had a removable panel secured by hardened steel locks. They also had an exposed bill of lading behind a glassine panel, which showed what was inside.
Indicated was a relative word, Captain Stone knew. The bills of lading and contents were often far different. For instance, a seemingly mundane crate of oranges from any human world were toxic to several races with allergic-like reactions. Therefore, they were restricted. Citrus was also restricted as an aphrodisiac on a hundred nonhuman planets.
Opals were not allowed to be imported to Cantor Six, because their opals were mined in sacred locations and were believed to have religious properties. Many places controlled the type and numbers of imported weapons. Drugs that did nothing to one race sent those of another into wild rides sometimes lasting weeks. There were cases where people under the influence of restricted drugs starved to death because they were so high, they didn’t bother eating. The lists were endless. It seemed every planet and habitation wanted items restricted, controlled, or measured so they didn’t upset the local economy or morals.
What lay in front of her was what earned credits for Captain Stone and her ship, but on a far smaller, and marginally legal scale. She heard the echo of her footfalls returning from the bare metal walls. Whatever she was after would be found inside one or more of the shipping containers in front of her. She could feel it.
She also realized how long it would take to cut the locks on a single unit and search it by removing and searching the contents. The rightful owners of all but a few would scream loud enough for the entire industry to hear.
It would take weeks for the pair of them to make even a cursory search since they had no idea what they were looking for. But all that changed as she realized the answer was as close as calling for Bert.
“Are you with me, Bert?” she called in a voice slightly louder than her norm.
“You don’t have to yell,” Bert responded almost instantly in an irritated tone.
She was beginning to depend on the digger more than she should, but every time she spoke to the odd creature, it impressed her more. “I want you to spend more of this ship’s money. Contact my First Officer on the Guardia via subspace message and tell him I want a full inventory of what is in the Guardia’s hold, the sender’s and receiver’s information, and a full accounting of the bills of lading. And tell him I want it now.”
“He can encrypt and compress it to save part of the costs, but you’re spending two or three thousand credits,” Bert said. “The reply will cost ten times that.”
Captain Stone snapped her answer back at him, “This ship, while old, is worth a million or two. If the owners want it back, they can pay the bill for the subspace message. If they want to quibble, by interstellar law, I believe I am the sole owner of a ship captured in space and I’ll sell it to pay the subspace charges. The crew and passengers can file their lawsuits against the owners, and I may foot the legal bill for that too. Their choice. Pay the bill or I keep the ship.”
Bert said, “I see. I will request the information and notify you as soon as it arrives.”
“I need something else.”
“At your command, Captain.”
She allowed a hard smile to form. “Before you receive that information, locate the same information in the computers on this ship. I want all manifests and all information on any cargo we carry. Then decide how to best compare them so you can find shipments to or from the same people, companies, or worlds. I want all duplicate destinations, points of shipment, and containers identified, contents, and provide me with the locations of those pods or cans in this hold.”
“I now have the manifests for this ship located and will let you know as quickly as I have one to compare it with. The subspace message has been sent.”
She turned to Bill. “Take this cutter back to the engineer and be careful to place it exactly where it belongs. Same with the fire extinguisher. If you learn anything from me today, know this: replace everything where it belongs or that furry old man will eat you for a snack.”
Bill paled at her words and intensity.
She said, “Then you may remain with him and learn. And understand this: a good teacher is better than a bar of gold.”
He led the way back out of the cargo bay. She stepped aside and watched him reseal the hatch and wait until the green light winked. Then he carried the extinguisher and cutter to their proper locations and hurried to speak with the engineer. She eased out of the door and into the passageway. Bill was in good hands.
She followed a few posted signs and found a narrow passage with doors every few meters on both sides. Crew quarters.
She said in a nominal voice, so she didn’t upset him, “Bert give me access to the crew compartments.”
“Done.”
She reached for the first door and out of the same respect she would for her crew, tapped twice. When no response came, she opened the door and looked inside.
The sleeping area was a third the size of those on the Guardia however, it was set up for a single person. Many ships had the crew, especially those of lower rank, share, up to four in one space.
Like most, the bed was chest height. A small set of stairs folded aside for smaller beings to climb in and out. Under the bed were drawers and a small vertical cabinet for hanging clothing. There were almost a dozen drawers o
f assorted sizes. A magnetic board held pictures and awards. A laundry bag hung from a ring on the wall, and a desk with a movable chair completed the room.
The bedding was rumpled, dirty clothing lay below the laundry bag where the occupant had tossed them at the bag and missed. In other words, it was exactly like millions of others.
She exited without touching anything and opened the door across the hall. She found it much the same.
She didn’t know what she was looking for, other than the quarters assigned to Chance. The Champers had never left its communications shack, and the dead captain probably had his quarters near the bridge.
One by one, she read the nameplates and opened the doors. Two had crew sleeping in them, one had a woman reading a tablet at her desk. Probably studying for advancement. Stone said hello to each and paused as she inspected the room without apology. She then complimented each and backed out.
Next to last, she found the door labeled “Chance” and paused. She didn’t know what to expect or what to look for. She wanted verification of his story, although it was unlikely, she would find it inside. She turned the handle.
The room was like all the others. Clean, tidy, and smelled faintly like vanilla. It was a good smell. She silently complimented the dead captain. It was easy to allow the crew quarters to decline on cleanliness. It was a task no captain enjoyed, and it reminded her she hadn’t inspected her ship thoroughly in too long a time.
She closed the door behind her, the first time she had done so. Her thumb rubbed the lighting panel and increased the intensity since most kept them set too low. A standard-issue tablet lay on the desk. She touched the glass screen. It remained dark.
“Bert, can you bypass the lock on this tablet?”
“Let me locate the file. Oh, there it is. The tablet should be unlocked for you.”
As he spoke, the thin glass emitted a faint blue light. She tapped the side and the last program to be used appeared. It was a personal letter.
Normally, she would instantly close it, privacy being a major concern on any ship where the living space was often less than in a modern prison. Feeling slightly guilty, she scrolled to the beginning and read. It was to his sister, she gathered. Chance was telling her he would solve the problem. He didn’t say what the problem was, but she would understand.
That was good. It implied his story was true.
She scanned through the tablet, pausing here and there, then quickly moving on. She emptied the clothes hamper and felt along the seams of each article, as disgusting as it was to do so. Seams are where people hide things. She pulled the mattress off the platform bed and found nothing under it, nothing placed inside via a slit, zipper, or tear.
The small drawers were next. Then the rest. She dumped the contents on the bed and left them there after sorting through it all. The drawers themselves were pulled and turned upside down in case anything was taped to the bottom. This was not the first crew’s room she’d had to search in her career. She got to her knees and looked behind where the drawers fitted.
A sheet of folded paper was there, hidden far in the past. The edges were discolored and faded. She withdrew it and read a forgotten letter intended to be mailed before her birth according to the date.
She stood and stretched while looking up for air vents, pockets behind exposed pipes, or anywhere a secret could lie. There simply were not any places left.
Of course, a steward like Chance had the run of the ship and a smart one wouldn’t put incriminating items in his personal space. It was too easy to hide things in thousands of public places. She remembered she’d once found a stolen diamond ring inside an “unopened” box of oatmeal. Since nobody on her crew ate oatmeal, it was perfect.
She couldn’t remember why she had searched there and took a break to sit in the chair and think. It didn’t matter, but it irritated her not to remember.
Bert’s ping for attention sounded more insistent as his voice rose in timbre, “Captain to the bridge.”
“On my way,” she said, her feet already sprinting. The captain was never ordered to the bridge unless it was dire circumstances.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Kat
While sitting in his cabin, I looked at Chance and realized he could easily be playing me. Playing us. It was in his character. While I wanted to believe he would help us, the idea that he was betraying the other side that paid him wouldn’t go away. If he would betray them, he would betray us.
It was as simple as that.
Something he had said came rushing back to me. When asked about why we chose which ship, he had said, “I needed to think about this being a good ship and that your captain should choose it to travel with us.”
Yes, that was the way to do it. Don’t order us but put the suggestion in our heads that we would be happier on this old freighter than a sleek, modern vessel with all the amenities. More than a nudge, as I used, but the same idea. He’d come at the problem obliquely.
If he had ordered us to take this ship, we wouldn’t have.
That also told me a pair of items I hadn’t known. First, he was much better at empathy than he pretended, and that suggested his carelessness and mistakes had been on purpose to mislead us. Second, he had used his power in a large spaceport with hundreds or thousands of people. Not all of them had rushed to buy passage on this ship. Only Captain Stone.
That inferred he could direct his empathy to people he’d never met.
I said, trying to not let on that he was more proficient than I, “Tell me about directing the urge to buy the tickets. You said my captain should believe she should travel on this ship. How did you do that? I mean, how did you direct that thought to only my captain, a person you didn’t know?”
He gave me a judging sort of look as if he’d discovered a fact about me, which he probably had. The question probably showed I didn’t know something he did.
It seemed to give him the confidence he hadn’t had a moment ago.
I said in a softer tone without taking my eyes off Chance, “Bert, project the shortest route to the nearest airlock for me and be prepared to flood this compartment with a sleeping gas of your choosing.”
A 3-D image of the inside of the ship appeared in front of my face with a red trail outlined. I ignored it as I watched the blood drain from Chance’s face. He now understood he didn’t have an advantage over me.
“I asked you a question,” I said.
He hesitated; his eyes locked on the short red stripe suspended in front of me. A few dozen steps at most. “Like you, I felt around out there until I located a person who reacted to the mention of their name in their head.”
“I see,” I told him flatly as I lied. But I didn’t see it. I didn’t see anything of the sort, but it had the ring of truth in its simplicity. Just search for a person who reacts to their name.
“Why was it important for us to use this ship?”
“I just follow orders. No idea. I do what they say, and they pay me.”
“Did you know the ship was going to be captured by others?”
“No.”
“But you knew you were going to kill the captain. Before we lifted off, you knew that.”
“My family,” he said defensively.
My emotions were torn. If Bert and Bill were taken and threatened in the same way, I might do what Chance had. Or I might not. I’d like to think I’d protect my family but the idea of innocent people dying because of me, or worse, at my instigation, didn’t sit well. Could I shove a needle into the neck of someone under the right circumstances?
I decided I could. Probably everyone could with the right motivation. Find a thing I cared for more than the life of a stranger and issue an ultimatum I believed.
I recalled a scene from a video production where four people stood on the edge of a cliff. A man and his wife. The wife was held twenty feet away, dangling over the side. The husband had a trussed woman beside him. If he didn’t shove the unknown woman over the edge, the wife would die. I f
orget why and how it was set up that way, but silly as it seemed at the time, I understood.
Chance had been in a comparable situation.
I wanted to like and allow Chance to be free, but there was a sinister glint in his eyes. When he thought I wasn’t looking his expression changed—not for the better. I’d already learned a couple of things about empathy from him and suspected there was more he could teach. I also suspected he would kill me and escape if he had the opportunity.
I stood and walked from the cabin lost in my thoughts. I wandered the passageway a few times from one end to the other attempting to rid myself of tension. I didn’t want to go back into his cabin. I also didn’t want to return to the friction on the bridge.
I headed for the galley.
Inside were five passengers. The steward was out of sight, probably either mixing a drink or preparing food. I sat at an empty table and tried not to stare.
Four passengers sat together engrossed in a game involving dice and credit chips. I’d seen them all before. The fifth was a female, at first glance. I didn’t see why I made that assumption. It was poor manners to apply human traits to aliens. What looked female might be either, both, or neither.
The number of egg-layers exceeded those races that gave live birth. Genetically, it was a good survivor trait. A clumsy pregnant female was easy prey. A female who laid eggs was at once prepared to protect them with all the ferocity of her race.
Some males carried and birthed fertilized eggs, the eggs were often transferred from one sex to the other during mating. I’d once known a female Tragi, which is almost human in appearance. She had confided that she laid a new egg two or three times a year. They were not fertile and remained viable for a century or more. When the right male came along, she allowed him to add sperm to the shell, where it penetrated and within weeks a new baby Tragi broke out.
