To Fire Called (A Seeker's Tale From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 2)

by Nathan Lowell

  I shook my head. “I’m taking it back to TIC for analysis.”

  “Well, now that we’ve had a pleasant chat, maybe you’ll tell me how I can help you, Captain.”

  “What if our shadow has teeth to bite us with?” I asked.

  “That could hurt. Why ask me?”

  “Because Al reminded me you’re the one person aboard with the most experience in dealing with Toe-Hold space.”

  “That all?” she asked.

  “No. She said you’re the sneakiest person she ever met.”

  The chief blinked a couple of times. “She didn’t.”

  I grinned. “Not exactly. She said you might have made a few unorthodox upgrades to the systems back here.”

  “You didn’t see anything odd in the orders, did you?” she asked.

  “Funny you should mention it.”

  She smiled and cocked her head to the side. “Really?”

  “Chaff canisters and counter-measure emitters seemed a little odd.”

  “Why would I do that?” she asked.

  “Because this place isn’t all fun and games. There are bad people out here. Because unguided munitions don’t work well when the targets are running at any kind of percentage of C.”

  She blinked. “Is that all?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think you could have installed missile launchers and brought missiles aboard without somebody noticing, so you must have gone with defense.”

  “Chaff and ECM,” she said.

  “Effective. Cheap. Easily concealable. Probably installed originally when the ship was upgraded for longer legs, and you just upgraded because the yard always wanted to exceed our expectations at every turn.”

  She chuckled and leaned forward, placing her forearms on the desk. “How long have you known?”

  “I just put the pieces together while I was sitting here.”

  Her chuckle turned into a laugh.

  “Chaff and ECM. Won’t do much for a heavy bombardment, but stern chase with a few birds, it’ll buy us some time.”

  “Good to know,” I said. “Any other little surprises in your bag of tricks?”

  She grinned at me. “Leave a girl a little mystery, Captain.”

  The ship rumbled some as the belly thrusters kicked in.

  “Course change?” She asked.

  “Re-aligning in case we need to bolt. Speaking of which, how are the capacitors?”

  “Topped off. Ready to go.”

  “So if we have to make a sudden jump to anywhere but here?”

  “Gimme time to clear the safety interlocks.”

  “How much time is that?”

  “Less than a tick if I’m anywhere near a console.”

  “Can anyone else do it?”

  “You can. Captain’s override from the engineering console on the bridge. Log in with your credentials and you’re the engineering officer. Safety is the big green button.”

  “I don’t expect to need it, but just in case.”

  “Just in case,” she said.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Thank you for your time, Chief.”

  “You’re very welcome, Captain. We should do this more often.” A smile teased the corner of her mouth.

  I started to get up but dropped back into the chair. “What are you looking for out here, Chief?”

  “Me? Looking for?”

  “You’re good at deflection. Yes, you.”

  “Nothing in particular, Captain. A chance to get my hands dirty again. To play with you youngsters.”

  “To pass on your knowledge?”

  She paused and presented me with a genuine smile. “We all want to leave a legacy. If not right away, eventually.”

  “Thanks for being with us, Chief.”

  “Glad to be here, Captain.”

  I stood and left the door open when I started back up the spine.

  Chapter 47

  Telluride System: 2375, November 17

  I stopped at the cabin to wash my face and step away from the situation for a moment. I sat down at my desk and leaned back in the chair, propping my feet on the desk. It wasn’t very comfortable. The desk was too close and too high. The chair couldn’t move back. My legs felt stretched and I mused on how long it had been since I’d done any running.

  I wondered how Sifu Newmar or Alys Giggone would advise me.

  Or Mal Gains.

  Or Greta.

  I let my head fall back on my chair and I stared at the overhead.

  What mistake was I making in the name of hubris?

  Were people really starving without this precious can of food, or was that just supposition? Was I trying to be the hero when I needed to be the captain?

  The trip wouldn’t earn anybody a bonus unless we sold the can somewhere. Our deal with Felder was to deliver it at cost on humanitarian grounds.

  I wondered if the old man might be playing us. It was always possible.

  I felt certain the ship crawling up out of the well after us was an enemy. I had no experience with armed vessels. I didn’t even know what kind of armament it might bring to bear, for all my bluff with the chief.

  How close was too close?

  The rumbling from the belly thrusters stopped.

  I couldn’t help but remember Greta’s sapphire daggers. How her eyes cut into me and showed me to be an imposter in captain’s clothing.

  I pulled my feet off the desk; my hips complained at the stretching.

  I stood and straightened my spine. Margaret Newmar would tell me “Beautiful Ladies’ Hands, Ishmael.” I could hear her voice in my head. It always seemed like a funny name. The hands relaxed but strong, graceful in their position and shape but ready to become Fist Strikes Down or Grasp Sparrow’s Tail as needed.

  Alys Giggone trusted that Pip and I knew what we were doing. If she only knew the truth. Not only did she think we weren’t imposters, she persuaded others to invest in us.

  Greta would tell me to get over myself. I snorted. She’d have been right. It was probably the most practical advice of the lot.

  Mal Gains? I don’t know what he’d say. “Does a snake miss its skin?” I said, listening to the sounds said aloud alone in the captain’s cabin.

  My eyes traced the curve of the shearwater’s wing on the bulkhead as my hand found the whelkie in my pocket. I was supposed to be finding my own path. Why did I feel like I was being herded?

  I looked around the cabin and remembered.

  I went into the sleeping compartment and pulled open my grav trunk. I swapped out the stars on my collar for the dulled and battered ones that once belonged to a captain I never knew.

  Call it a symbol. Call it a crutch. Call it whatever you like.

  I closed the lid and headed for the bridge.

  “What have we got?” I asked as I stepped onto the deck.

  “Ops normal, Captain,” Al said. “Normal as we’ve had here.”

  “Not saying much, is it?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, Captain.”

  “Mr. Reed? Are we on vector?

  “We are, Captain. Jump coordinates locked. We’ll be two Burleson Units out before you can say ‘Hard a-lee.’”

  “We’d need to get the safeties reset on the Burlesons but I take your meaning, Mr. Reed. Ms. Fortuner? Messages away?”

  “Yes, Captain. Cleared to the buoy about seven ticks ago. No new traffic.”

  “Secure that recording. Burn it to glass, if you please, Ms. Fortuner.”

  She turned to look at me but said, “Secure recording and burn to glass, aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Where’s our shadow, Mr. Reed?”

  “Still on track, Captain. Should be within one light-minute in three stans.”

  “No traffic on the hailing frequency?” I asked.

  “Nothing, Captain,” Ms. Fortuner said.

  “Not even any background chatter?”

  “Silent, Captain.”

  The hackles on the back of my neck rose.r />
  “Are we still in range of the buoy, Ms. Fortuner?”

  “Yes, Captain. We’ll be in range for another few stans. Next buoy sometime on the evening watch.”

  “Where’s Pip?” I asked. “Anybody seen him?”

  “He went into his stateroom after lunch mess,” Mr. Reed said. “Haven’t seen him since.”

  “Has he sent any messages, Ms. Fortuner?”

  She swapped out a window on her screen and examined it. “Yes, Captain. Slipped them into the High Tortuga channels.”

  “Can you see the routing?”

  “One to Port Newmar. One to a Port Lumineux.”

  “Anybody else sent messages through High Tortuga?”

  “Only the chief, Captain.”

  Ms. Torkelson’s tablet bipped and mine echoed it a second later.

  “Incoming comms, Captain,” Ms. Fortuner said.

  I pulled my tablet and saw the message from Brill blinking in the queue. I flipped it open.

  “Ishmael: Good to hear from you. Mind your Ps and Qs. Don’t walk. RUN. B.”

  “Sound general quarters,” I said. “Now.”

  Al’s hand mashed the button and I dove for the engineering console as the klaxon blared through the ship. I didn’t know where the chief was but I needed to be able to jump.

  “Al, button us down. Mr. Reed, where’s our shadow?”

  I heard Al making the announcement just as Mr. Reed said, “He’s closed range. Under one light-minute and coming in quick.”

  A new alarm echoed in the bridge. A warble-warble-beep that seemed to spear my head. “What the hell is that?” I asked.

  The chief popped up onto the bridge. “Missile lock.” She elbowed me out of her seat at engineering and I retreated to the captain’s chair.

  “Captain, short-range showing missile under one light second and closing fast,” Mr. Reed said.

  “Good to know, Mr. Reed. Chief?”

  “Safety clear, Captain,” she said.

  “Ready about, Mr. Reed.”

  The stars shifted.

  The warble-warble-beep kept going.

  “Mr. Reed?”

  “It’s still there, Skipper. It must have followed us through.”

  The chief punched some keys and I felt the ship give a little kick. I looked aft but there was nothing to see.

  “Chaff away. ECM active,” the chief said.

  I didn’t breathe for what could have been the rest of my life under other circumstances. Something flared in the dark, bright enough—and close enough—to make me flinch away.

  The warble-warble-beep stopped and I took a deep breath. “Secure from general quarters, Al.”

  “Secure from general quarters, aye, aye, Captain.”

  Pip clambered up the ladder and looked around the bridge. “What the hell just happened?”

  I smiled at him. “We lived,” I said.

  “More than we can say for him,” Mr. Reed said. He turned to look at the large display. I recognized the rocks with the heat signature overlay. “This is on the end of the scan, just before we jumped.”

  A slash of heat entered the frame from the top corner, intersected the last glowing rock in line, and flared out, leaving a glowing red cinder.

  We stared at it for a long couple of ticks.

  “Capacitor status, Chief?” I asked.

  “Sixty percent, Captain. Enough for a long jump and a little more.”

  “Mr. Reed. Find us a jump. A long one, please.”

  “Any place in particular, Captain?”

  “I’d like to be somewhere else when they come look in this pocket for us.”

  “I need a couple of ticks, Skipper.”

  “Take three. Just get us out of here.”

  He looked up at the screen again and nodded. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Chapter 48

  Deep Dark: 2375, November 18

  I felt like my eyes might burn out of my head. I hadn’t slept, couldn’t sleep. The adrenaline rush didn’t burn out for a very long time and it left my nerves jangling. Mr. Reed had done us proud with a series of jumps through the Deep Dark, alternating long jumps with a series of short hops. We used the kickers to grab a bit of velocity and toss our vector all over the Western Annex.

  I looked around the wardroom table as our dinner mess wound down. The chief looked the same as she ever did. Pip lounged in his seat, a haunted look in his eye and his shipsuit rumpled as if he’d slept in it for a week. Ms. Fortuner had the watch, but I knew she struggled with what had just happened. Mr. Reed had dark smudges under his eyes, his hands trembled slightly. Al, stoic as a rock, gave me a half smile.

  “Thank you, everyone,” I said into the silence. “We’re at a point where we need to choose where to go.”

  “Are we going to let them get away with that?” Mr. Reed asked, looking into his coffee mug.

  “What would you have us do?” I asked. “We’ve no offensive capabilities. Even if we did, I have no experience in fighting an armed opponent.”

  “Notify TIC?” he asked.

  “They’ve no jurisdiction out here,” I said. I looked to Pip who gave me a small nod. “I don’t know what they have in terms of offensive capabilities, but anybody willing to kill their own to control a system will take some firepower to defeat.”

  “Do we have the right?” Al asked, her voice low. “I mean, yeah, killing those miners. Not something that makes me feel good about them. We’ve got no idea what conditions are there. They could be slaves. That would be ugly, but they could be working under satisfactory conditions and getting rich from their bonuses. Corporate entities have huge leeway in the High Line even with the protections CPJCT offers. Out here?” She shook her head. “We’re on our own.”

  “Enforcing ethical or moral standards has always been a human failing,” the chief said, rolling her coffee mug back and forth between her palms. “Self-interest has derailed more societies than any natural disaster. Other than—perhaps—plague.”

  I looked at Pip. “Why would Brill tell us to find your Aunt P?”

  He shifted in his seat and glanced around the table. “I can’t really say.” He shifted again. “Aunt P has always been a bit of an outlaw. Even within the family.” He shrugged but wouldn’t meet my eyes.

  Silence descended on us again. I sighed inwardly and thought of the battered stars on my collar.

  What would Fredi do?

  I smiled and reached for the coffee carafe. The sudden movement brought all the attention to me as I topped off the chief’s mug, leaving a centimeter or so at the top. I did the same thing to my own before putting the carafe back on the table and standing.

  They stood as well and I lifted my mug. “Thank you,” I said. “I need to get some work done so I’ll leave you to your evening. Chief? Would you join me in the cabin?”

  “Of course, Captain.” Her brow furrowed a bit but her lips showed just a hint of smile.

  “Bring that,” I said, nodding to the mug.

  She picked it up and followed me up the ladder to officer country. “Shall I fetch my flask?” she asked.

  “Excellent idea,” I said and slipped into the cabin leaving the door ajar, taking a seat at my desk.

  She returned, coffee mug in hand and latched the door behind her before taking one of the visitor’s chairs. She fished the silvery flask from a pocket on her thigh and added a splash of rum to her own mug before offering the flask to me.

  I took it and spilled just a taste into my coffee before handing it back.

  We both sipped and I let the alcohol burn the back of my throat for a few moments, savoring the bite and the spice. The fumes worked up my sinuses and I blew out a deep breath I hadn’t known I was holding.

  The chief settled into her chair, mug held to her chest with both hands. She appeared to be watching me, waiting me out.

  “How do we contact the Galactic Marines?” I asked.

  Her smile broadened. “What makes you think I know? What makes you think they can hel
p?”

  “I was sitting there at the wardroom table and I wondered what Frederica deGrut would do,” I said. “If I could have her here to advise me, what would she say? How would she proceed?”

  “She’d be a good adviser in this situation.”

  “Yes, but as much as I’d like to ask her, I don’t really need to. I can practically hear her voice in my head.”

  “And what is your spiritual Fredi advising?” she asked.

  “She tells me to marshal my forces. Collect and collate all the information available. Consolidate my own position.” I grinned and nodded at the mug on my desk. “Serve tea.”

  The chief gave a small laugh. “It’s not exactly tea.”

  “True.” I took another sip. The rum still floated on the top of the cup, stinging my lips. “The point was to create the social contract as a foundation. She almost always did that. Whenever there was something important she wanted to deal with. It took me a long time to read her signals, but during my last few stanyers as a first mate under her, it proved to be a reliable tell.”

  “Now you have me curious, Captain. Why are you telling me this?”

  “You’re one of my assets and I want to thank you privately because I can’t do so publicly without reducing your value.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said.

  I laughed. “Don’t you want to know what I’m thanking you for? See how much I think I know?”

  She shook her head and pursed her lips over the rim of her mug as she took a sip. “No. You’re a clever man. You’ve figured out enough, I’m sure.”

  “And you’re not going to confirm anything.”

  She shrugged.

  “We can’t go back into Telluride. We have a can of food stock that—I suppose—belongs to Felder.”

  “Have you considered why Felder sent you into Telluride with that can?”

  “Only briefly in passing,” I said.

  “Any conclusions?”

  “Depends. Did he really know what kind of hornets’ nest we were sticking our heads into?” I shrugged. “It was way beyond my expectation. Clearly not yours.”

  She shrugged but didn’t offer any comment.

  “If he did know, it was either a setup or he overestimated our ability to beat it.”

  “Ariel Felder is many things, Captain. He hasn’t lived to be as old or as rich as he is by being either randomly spiteful or overestimating ship captains. Basing your assessment on a false premise can be dangerous,” she said.