The chief nodded. “We really need to know if any ship left the station in the last—what? Fifteen stans?”
I pulled up my tablet. The message to Pip hadn’t been delivered. “He’s not on the net,” I said.
“He could have his tablet turned off,” the chief said. “It wouldn’t show until he turned it on again.”
I started punching keys until I connected with station security.
“Dark Knight security. Please state the nature of your emergency.”
“I’d like to speak to Officer Riordan or his boss.”
“Riordan is on assignment.”
“Can you connect me with his supervisor?” I asked.
The pause lasted for a few heartbeats. “What is the nature of your business?”
“It’s about Verkol Kondur,” I said. “I’m Captain Ishmael Wang of the Chernyakova. Officers Riordan and Marshall visited me this morning. We may have additional information that could help the investigation.”
“One moment, Captain.”
The line clicked and a woman’s voice came over the line. “Oscella, speak.”
“I’m Captain Wang of the Chernyakova,” I said. “One of our officers is missing. He left the ship about the same time Kondur arrived.”
“Why do you think those things are connected, Captain?”
“Our meeting with Kondur involved a shipping job. The missing person is our cargo officer.”
“You’re sure he’s missing and not just cuddled up beside somebody?”
“I can only be sure if we find him,” I said. “That behavior would not be in keeping with his habit, but I can’t rule it out.”
She sighed. “If he’s not back in twenty-four hours, file a report at the dock security station. It’s just off the chandlery.”
“Wait,” I said. “Have any ships left the station since about 1900 last night?”
She laughed a low, sad laugh. “Probably only a hundred or so, Captain.” She paused. “We’ve already looked. It’s a large number that doesn’t even give us a comprehensive list.”
“I see. Well, our best guess is that Villarosa will turn up in a compost or recycling center near the docking gallery exit. Kondur’s probably tucked in an auto-doc as a John Doe not too far away.”
The pause went on so long, I looked to see if I’d been disconnected.
“You want to explain that, Captain?”
“We had a business meeting with Kondur last night. He left here after the evening mess. Around 1930. We watched him and his bodyguard, Villarosa, walk away from the ship. This morning we learn he’s missing. He wasn’t grabbed on the docks or you’d have found it on the security tapes. He didn’t get as far as Main Street or you’d have seen that. He must have been taken between those two. The easiest way would be two people with tasers taking them both down at the same time. Villarosa is a big man so they’d have needed a cart like the maintenance people use. It would have been big enough for both Villarosa and Kondur. They take Kondur someplace, beat the hell out of him, and drop him at an aid station where the medics throw him into an auto-doc without looking too closely for an ID. They take the cart with Villarosa to the nearest maintenance depot, park it in line, and walk away.”
“I’ll give you points for thoroughness, Captain. Do you have a motive?”
“We’re contracted with Kondur to take a sensitive cargo out of here. The people we’re delivering to have reason to distrust us because Kondur’s been using his own ships to deliver for the last few stanyers.”
“Why would they distrust you?” she asked.
“Because we’re not Kondur.”
“That makes no sense.”
“That’s as much as I know,” I said. “Anything else is speculation.”
“Speculate for me, Captain.”
“It’s probably because Kondur’s been trading with a group of pirates who aren’t happy that somebody new has the location of their operations base. It’s complete speculation. I have no direct knowledge.”
She sighed. “You realize that who Kondur does business with is no business of ours.”
“I realize you’re employed by the station, which means Kondur. He makes the rules and you enforce them. I’m not making any judgments here. You asked me to speculate. That’s my speculation. It also covers why they would have kidnapped my cargo chief.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Hostage. We get him back when the cargo is delivered.”
“Have they contacted you?” Oscella sounded a bit desperate.
“I’d have started with that if they had.”
She sighed. “Look. You’re on your ship? The Chernyakova?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Stay. We’ll be there momentarily.”
“We’re at your service, Officer Oscella.”
The connection clicked off.
Al and the chief stared at me from across the desk.
“That was unexpected,” the chief said.
“What?” I asked. “She said there are at least a hundred ships that left since 1930 last night. Pip can’t be considered missing until he’s been gone twenty-four hours. She wanted to know how I came to the conclusion that both Kondur and his bodyguard—”
“Not that,” she said. “That she hadn’t already put those pieces together.”
“Give her the benefit of the doubt. How many times has Kondur been taken?” Al asked. “I suspect the worst they have to deal with here on a regular basis are bar fights and drunks.”
“To be fair, there are the occasional murders reported,” the chief said. “Some domestic disputes.”
“How do they handle those?” I asked.
They both looked at me like I’d asked what color an orange was.
“Courts?” Al suggested. “I haven’t looked but all the major stations had local courts. High Tortuga gets right of final arbitration if the station can’t settle it.”
The chief nodded. “Verkol’s got a good setup here. Neighborhood-, station-, and system-wide. Everything goes to local adjudication and it gets bumped up until everybody’s happy—or they deal with High Tortuga.” She shook her head. “Nobody wants to deal with High Tortuga.”
I stood. “Let’s adjourn to the ward room. I suspect we’ll have visitors in the next few ticks.”
Chapter 26
Dark Knight Station: 2376, March 12
I had just about enough time to stop by the galley and ask Ms. Sharps to set up a coffee mess in the wardroom before the constabulary descended. I greeted them at the lock and had Ms. Cheuvront log them all aboard. Riordan and Marshall came with a diminutive woman with hard eyes who turned out to be Oscella and a security chief named Lawrence.
“Welcome aboard. If you’ll follow me, we can talk in the wardroom. I’ve asked my senior staff to join us.”
Lawrence looked like he might want to argue about talking on the ship. He had the “how about we all go down to the station” air about him. Oscella gave him a look while Riordan and Marshall were dealing with getting logged aboard.
I led the parade into the wardroom, grateful that Mr. Franklin was already setting out mugs and carafes. Ms. Sharps followed up with a plate of cookies. “Anything else, Captain?” she asked.
“Thank you, Ms. Sharps. I’ll signal if we need anything.”
“Of course, Captain.” She smiled at our guests and backed out, pulling the door closed behind her.
I grabbed a mug, filled it with coffee, and sat at the head of the table. “Please. Help yourself. Any tea drinkers?”
It didn’t take long for everybody to settle. Al and the chief took their customary seats beside me, leaving the rest of the table to security. I would have bet that Lawrence would have taken the foot of the table, just to sit opposite me. Oscella took it instead and I had to shuffle my assumptions about who was in charge.
“Let me make introductions,” I said. “Chief Margaret Stevens, my chief engineering officer. First Mate Alberta Ross. We’re most concerned abou
t our missing cargo chief—Philip Carstairs. How can we help you?”
Oscella spoke first, just barely cutting off Lawrence. “You ran down a pretty specific set of hypotheses about what happened last night. Care to comment on how you came up with that?”
I shrugged. “Logical extrapolations of observed occurrences.”
She looked like she might be waiting for me to say more.
I took a sip of my coffee.
Lawrence grabbed the chance. “You seem to know an awful lot about something you claim no knowledge of.”
It took me a moment to parse that statement. I thought the chief snorted, but when I glanced over she had her nose in her cup. “I’m not following, Mr. Lawrence. I don’t claim anything. I know some facts. My watchstander logged Carstairs off the ship at about 1730, he hasn’t come back yet. He has not responded to electronic communications. The network reports that those messages have not been delivered. I saw Verkol Kondur leave our ship, meet his bodyguard at the foot of the ramp, and walk down the gallery toward the gallery exit nearest Main Street. I met with Officers Riordan and Marshall before I was aware that Carstairs was missing. We tried to figure out where Carstairs might be and along the way wondered where Kondur and Villarosa might have ended up.
“We speculated that his being missing wasn’t a function of random behavior since we had security on our doorstep barely twelve stans after he left.” I glanced to either side. “Did I miss anything?”
Al and the chief both shook their heads.
“How did you know Villarosa would be at a recycle station?” Lawrence asked, his voice a baritone growl. It was such a cliché I had to take a sip of coffee to stifle the laugh.
“I didn’t,” I said. “We speculated that it would be the most logical place for his attackers to leave him. Is that where you found him?”
Oscella nodded. “Two maintenance workers found him this morning when they reported for duty. We’ve got officers querying the aid stations looking for John Does. No luck yet.”
“Have them look for Hervé Villarosa,” Al said.
Lawrence scowled down the table at her. “What good would that do? We know where he is.”
“Do you know where his ID is?” Al asked.
Lawrence threw up his hands, disgust written in the sneer on his lips. “Look, why don’t you people leave the law enforcement to the professionals, all right?”
Riordan had his tablet out. In a moment, he lifted his head and looked at Oscella. “It’s missing.”
“What’s missing?” Lawrence asked.
“Villarosa’s ID tag.”
Lawrence stood and braced his hands on the table, glowering at us like it meant something. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but it’s going to stop and right now. Do I make myself clear?” By the end his shouts rang off the bulkheads.
The chief laughed. It wasn’t the kind of “hah” you might have expected as a retort. It was a full-on belly laugh.
The red flushed up through Lawrence’s face, turning him into a veritable cartoon of an angry male. “You think this is funny?” he said, leaning over toward the chief. “You don’t realize what you’re dealing with here.”
The chief just laughed again—a quiet chuckle. “No,” she said. “You don’t realize what you’re dealing with here. If you’d like to keep your job, I suggest you sit down, shut up, pay attention, and stop behaving like a toddler who’s had his shiny toy taken away. I’ve been at this for almost a century and I’ve dealt with a lot tougher bully-boys than a jumped up jerkwad with a badge who thinks that the person who yells loudest is always right.”
“You can’t talk to me like that.”
“On the contrary. James Kelton Lawrence. Started in law enforcement as a TIC customs agent in 2361. Cashiered for taking bribes in 2364. Moved to The Ranch where you were in charge of shoveling out the barns until you killed your co-worker, David Burnside, by dumping a container of wet manure on him while you were drunk in 2365.” She paused there and gave me a shrug before continuing. “You’ve been here at Dark Night Station ever since, working your way up through the ranks to your current position of ‘security chief’ which I happen to know puts you junior to the woman to your left, who actually happens to know a bit about law enforcement. Now. Sit down and shut up or I’ll tell her exactly how you got that post.”
His face paled but he didn’t back down. “You’re bluffing.”
The chief looked at Oscella. “Cecilly Varney. Age twenty.”
Lawrence shook his head. “That’s a lie.”
Oscella looked at Lawrence. “The lady gave you some good advice. I suggest you follow it.”
“But she’s lying,” Lawrence said. “You’re going to take her word over a colleague?”
Oscella looked at Riordan. “Call for backup.”
“You can’t do that,” Lawrence said.
Oscella sighed. “I can and I did, Jim. You’re relieved of duty pending administrative hearing. Turn in your badge, comm, and weapon.”
Lawrence deflated into his chair. His gaze darted from Oscella to the chief and around the table. Even his fellow officers wore stony looks.
Oscella looked at the chief. “I don’t know who you are. I suspect I don’t want to know but I know enough to listen.” She grinned. “I can always arrest you later.”
The chief grinned back. “Fair enough.”
“Marshall, would you escort Lawrence to the lock to meet the backup team?” Oscella asked.
“Of course.” She stood and motioned to Lawrence.
Lawrence gave her a surly growl.
“Come on, Jim. Don’t make this any harder than it already is, huh?”
He stood and shambled out of the wardroom, Marshall at his back.
“Wait with him, tell the backup team he’s suspended. Have them take him back to the station to clear out his stuff. Then make sure he’s turned in his badge, weapon, and comm.”
“Got it,” Marshall said, closing the door behind her on the way out.
I nodded at Al and the door.
“I’ll just make sure they find the lock,” she said and followed them out.
“Riordan, would you ask the survey team to look for Villarosa?” Oscella asked.
“Already done. Mallory thinks he remembers that name. He’s going back to check.”
“Why didn’t they kill him?” Oscella asked. “This was a lot of trouble.”
“They wanted to send him a message about who was in charge,” the chief said. “They aren’t any more correct than Mr. Lawrence was.”
“We still haven’t found Pip,” I said.
“He’s near,” the chief said.
“Basis?” Oscella asked.
“If we’re right that he’s a hostage, they’ll wait until we get back with the delivery to release him. They’ll avoid the station where he might get away or have somebody find him, but they won’t want to get so far away they can’t be sure we didn’t follow through.”
Oscella nodded. “Makes sense.”
“That’s how I’d do it,” the chief said.
Oscella gave her a look.
The chief just smiled and shrugged. “How would you do it?”
Oscella frowned just a fraction. “I never really thought about it.”
“Can you tell me if your security department has anything to do with Kondur’s personal security?” the chief asked. “I understand if that’s too sensitive to share.”
“We don’t,” Oscella said. “Until today, I don’t think anybody ever considered he might be tagged.”
“I’ll talk to him when we find him,” she said. “He knows better. He’s just gotten sloppy in his dotage.”
“You sound pretty confident,” Oscella said.
“Killing him doesn’t get them anything. They think roughing him up will.”
“Won’t it?” Oscella asked.
The chief raised an eyebrow. “Just how well do you know Verkol Kondur?”
Oscella frowned. �
��Good point.”
“Correct me on this,” I said, looking to the chief. “Our plan going forward is to take the can to its destination. Swap it for the other can. Get it back here.”
“Yes,” she said. “We’ve got some timing issues to resolve. I should have what we need in another day.”
“We’re going to have to swap cans there,” I said.
She nodded. “Covered.”
Oscella watched our exchange. “You’re leaving the station?”
“Assuming you don’t need us here,” I said. “We’ve got cargo to run and we’re not getting our man back until we return with the cargo.”
“You’re just going to leave him?”
“I don’t know that we have much choice. We can assume that he’s on one of those ships that left—”
The chief gasped. “Maybe not.”
“Something?” I asked.
Al came back into the wardroom. “They’re on the dock.”
“Maybe. Al, what’s your second choice for hiding spot?” the chief asked.
“Where you’d least expect it,” she said.
“Right. So here?”
“The last place I’d expect is on the station,” Al said, nodding.
“Me, too. Now where?” The chief looked at me with a little smile.
“Abandoned cargo,” I said. “Nobody goes in without going past that nice little old lady. Nobody stays alone.”
“Close, easy in, easy out. No cameras,” the chief said.
“You noticed?” I asked.
The chief sighed. “I’m an engineer, dear boy. I notice stuff like that.”
“You’re more than that,” Oscella said. “Care to translate for the cheap seats?”
“We had cause to look through the long-term storage unit where the station keeps abandoned cargo.”
“I’m familiar with it. They auction the oldest stuff off every stanyer,” Oscella said. “I’m going to overlook my instinct to ask what you were looking for. At least for now.”
“There’s a caretaker. A woman, older than springtime, younger than winter,” the chief said. “Comes across as a little dim, bumbling.”
“Doesn’t help me,” Oscella said. “That describes about a third of our population.”
By Darkness Forged Page 18
