Looking up at her, he said, “There you go. Now you know.”
“Why did you tell me all of that?”
“You'd have found it out anyway, sooner or later, and he'd never have told you. If you're going to dance with us for a while, I figured you needed to know the song.” Glancing at the door again, he added, “He'll be fine in the morning, and at least he's timed it pretty well. We won't be docking at the station for a couple of days. By then he won't even remember.” Rising to his feet, he continued, “I'd better go and take a look at him, make sure he's resting. And get rid of anything he's left lying around.”
“Why did you sign up with him?” she asked. “I mean...”
“Because he's my friend, and I don't have that many of them left. Because I need this place every bit as much as he does.” Shaking his head, he added, “After the war, after twelve years of fighting, all I could do back home was exist. Here I get to live, really live, and I get to do what I want, go where I please. Beats the hell out of sitting behind a desk in some office.”
“Maybe.”
“He's broken. But despite everything, he pulled himself back together again, and you'll never meet a better person to have with you when it all goes to hell. You've seen that much already.” He smiled, then said, “He's kept this crew together against all the odds for years.”
Rising to her feet, Morgan said, “A week ago I was only worried about finishing my dig reports on time, getting everything cataloged. Now I find out that everything was going to be sold off by my boss, before a group of maniacs charged in and killed my whole crew to steal them.” Shaking her head, she continued, “I'd be happier if my only hope wasn't a crew of renegades led by a drunkard, that's all. This isn't exactly how I wanted my career to turn out.”
Standing beside her, Sullivan said, “Things don't always go as you'd expect. I know what your real problem is, and so do you. You lived, and your friends didn't. I think you're going to fit in around here better than you might expect.”
She glared at him, replying, “Fit in?”
With a shrug, he said, “Unless you've got somewhere else to go.”
“There's only one thing I want to do right now. Blake and the rest of the bastards on that ship are going to pay for what they've done, and if I can't do that through the courts, I'm going to find some other way to do that.”
“Then what?” Sullivan asked.
She smiled, and replied, “I think I can worry about that later. Assuming I live through this.” She paused, then added, “Look, those artifacts are pretty useless anyway without the supporting data. And all of the really valuable ones are missing. I'll give you a hand with the sale documentation. It's the least I can do to earn my passage, I guess.”
He frowned, then said, “You realize that'll make you as guilty as the rest of us.”
“Apparently I'm wanted for the murder of fifty people already. I really don't think a charge of art theft is going to add much to the sentence.”
Chapter 6
Conway stepped through the doors onto the bridge, Sullivan turning to look at him as he approached. He reached into his pocket and fished out a bottle of pills, swallowing one in an attempt to quiet his aching head, then slid down into the pilot's couch. He looked back at his friend, then turned to his station.
“Don't say it,” he said.
“I wasn't going to say anything,” Sullivan replied.
“I might,” Dixon said, glancing across from the astrogation. “Are you going to put us through this every year?”
“Knock it off, Mel,” Sullivan said.
Turning to him, she replied, “He's a big, grown man, Mo. He doesn't need you to defend him.”
“What do you want me to say?” Conway said. “I'm sorry. I really am. Does that help?”
“No,” she said. “Jack, I've known you for a long time. Every year you send that letter, and all it does is pick the scab off the wound.”
“And my friends pick up the pieces,” he said, shaking his head.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, she replied, “I don't give a damn about that, and you know it. I wouldn't be here if I did. It's been twelve years since the divorce, Jack. You've got to move on. She did.” A bitter smile on her face, she continued, “Hell, she moved on before the divorce.”
Turning sharply to her, he replied, “All of it was my fault, Mel. Don't blame her. I brought it all on myself.”
“There you go again,” she said. “Damn it, we're worried about you. Of course we are. Never mind if you do on an occasional binge, we can handle that, but you've got to try and get past it. You're only forty. You could…” She paused, shook her head, and said, “I'm wasting my breath, aren't I.”
He turned to her, tired sorrow in his eyes, and said, “I appreciate it, though. More than you can ever know.”
“Then try and act on it. Let this be the last letter.”
Shaking his head, he turned to his console, and said, “Egress in two minutes.” Pulling out a microphone, he said, “All hands, prepare for emergence to normal space. All hands to alert stations.”
“I've got the missile tube loaded,” Sullivan said. “Sensors warm and ready to go. If we end up against any serious opposition...”
“Then it'll probably be over with before we know it,” Conway replied. The door opened, and Angel walked in, followed by Morgan. “I'm glad you came up, Ensign. I thought you might want to see this.”
“I've already seen quite a few interesting things on this ship. How's your head?”
He turned to her, a grin wide on his face, and replied, “Hurts like hell.” With a blue flash, Churchill emerged into normal space, a crimson world with thick, trailing ice caps appearing at the heart of the screen, surrounded by a halo of asteroids, a dull moon just visible on the right. “We're here, Mo. Start your scans.”
Peering over the sensor controls, Morgan said, “I don't understand. Where's the star?”
“There isn't one,” he replied. “Ever been to a rogue planet before?”
“A rogue planet?”
“Wanders through the universe by itself. This one was tossed free by Kapteyn's Star, maybe thirty million years ago. The wink of an eye in the lifetime of the universe. Just one planet, a moon just big enough to provide an egress point, and a few shattered rocks in orbit.”
Her eyes wide, she replied, “I've never heard of a place like this.”
“Not surprised. It isn't listed on the charts.”
“How did that happen?”
“A little money changed hands when it was first discovered, kept it off the books.” Turning back to the screen, he added, “The station's been here for the best part of twenty years.”
Shaking her head, she added, “What's so valuable?”
“There's nothing worth mining here, not on any scale. Some ice, iron, nickel, carbon, the usual. But you can reach seven other systems from here, and no one can follow your trail. You'd be surprised how much illegal cargo passes through this place.”
“A secret system on the borders of Triplanetary territory? It doesn't seem possible.”
“It's invitation only, and only a handful of people know the exact location. It'd never be found again in a thousand years. Finding it was a fluke the first time around.” Running his eyes over the world, he said, “Given all that, it would be a damn shame to waste it on something normal like a transfer station. None of the interstellar governments know about it, not officially.”
“At least I know that there's no one from the Fleet out here.”
“I wouldn't bet on that,” Angel said, shaking her head. “You can assume that every intelligence agency for ten parsecs has some sort of presence on the station. Twenty years is a long time to keep a secret unless someone's helping you from outside.” She patted the pistol on her right hip, and said, “Fortunately, you've got my friend and I along for th
e ride.”
“Transfer shuttle ready?” Conway asked.
“The Chief's finished pre-flight, all ready to go.”
“Sensor check complete, boss,” Sullivan said. “Four other starships in the system, all of them old friends. Three transports and that crazy prospector.”
“You trust them?” Morgan asked.
“Not as far as I could throw them, but none of them work for the Confederation.” A light on his panel flashed, and he reached down for an earpiece, his headache suddenly worse. “Conway here.”
“Jack, old dear, I just heard you were back in town,” an authoritarian voice said.
“Tabby, how are you?” he replied, frowning. “I was going to...”
“Of course you were. That's why you had Sullivan handle the communications traffic, and you arranged to sneak into one of the lower docking hatches. We've got a date, Jack. Just you, me, and your debt record, and I expect you to be there. Understood?”
With a sigh, he said, “I didn't know you cared.”
“I care about anyone who owes me money. And I care about you a lot. Twenty-hundred, in my office, once you've finished your meeting with Vlad. You might not be able to pay all of it off, but you can damn well whittle it down a little. Fontaine out.”
“Old girlfriend?” Morgan asked, earning the stares of everyone on the bridge. “Sorry.”
“Dockmaster. We're a little in the red on our maintenance bills.”
“A little?” Dixon replied.
“Fine, a lot.” Turning to Morgan, he asked, “Did you manage to finish the artifacts list?”
“Got it here,” she said, patting a pocket.
“Right. Pass it over, and...”
“No way,” she replied, shaking her head. “I'm going with you.”
“That might not be such a good idea,” Sullivan said. “By now, you've probably got a bounty on your head, and every ten-credit hustler over there will be looking to make a fast buck.”
“If he gets past me,” Angel replied, “he'll have earned it.”
“I'm going,” Morgan said, “and that's the end of the discussion. You told me that Vlad might be able to help me, and I'm not going to pass that up, no matter what the risk.” With a smile, she added, “Besides, I know more about the artifacts in your hold than you do, and from the records on your firing range, I'm a better shot. If anything, you should stay here while Angel and I go.”
“She's got you there, Jack,” Dixon said with a smile.
“Fine,” he replied. “You can join the party. Let's go. Mo, you've got the ship until I get back. Keep an eye on everything, and let me know if someone twitches.”
“Right,” Sullivan said, moving over to the vacated helm, as Conway led Angel and Morgan down the corridor, snatching a pistol from the locker as he walked past. He pulled out his datapad as he walked, skimming through the ship's accounts and shaking his head. Every trip, they seemed to get deeper into the hole, and even the most optimistic assessment of their potential profits from this trip wasn't going to be anything like enough. He almost walked into Cruz, swerving out of the way just in time, earning a glare.
“I hope you're going to be more attentive at the helm,” she said. “I've got a list of parts heading your way, if there's anything left over after you've sweet-talked Tabby.” Shaking her head, she added, “The ones marked in red we're going to need if you're ever planning on leaving the system.”
“I'll do my best,” he said. She nodded, clapped him on the back, then walked off down the corridor. He rubbed his head, looking through this list, and sighed.
“Bad?” Morgan asked.
“This ship had a projected lifespan of twenty-five years, and we just celebrated her thirtieth birthday. We're always sliding further and further back on the maintenance cycle, and one day it's going to come back to bite us in the butt. I just hope we're at a safe harbor when it does.” Shaking his head, he said, “Come on, let's get this over with.”
They stepped into the hangar deck, the slender transfer shuttle already cleared for launch. He climbed into the cockpit while the others took the passenger cabin, and settled into the pilot's couch, running his eyes over the controls. As ever, Cruz had done a perfect job, all pre-flight checks complete, and he threw the switch that sealed all the hatches, sending them dropping into the elevator airlock.
A moment later, the shuttle fell away from the ship, the engine firing to kick it on the calculated trajectory to take them to the station. After a quick check to make sure the systems were working properly, he settled back in his couch and relaxed. There were pilots who resisted the computer controls, who preferred to handle everything they could themselves, but he was decidedly not one of them. Any help that the on-board systems could provide was just fine with him.
Tapping a control to play soothing music, he felt the painkillers finally beginning to work, the faint rhythm calming him, melting his worries away. Placing his hands behind his head, he watched serenely as their target slowly grew on the view-port, a green dot spreading across a gray asteroid as he watched, a quarter-mile agridome at the surface of the underground complex.
Small stars danced around, other shuttles transiting to their home ships, carrying secretive cargoes on silent missions, nothing he wanted anything to do with. He reached forward, tapping another control, allowing the computer to complete the docking sequence, then climbed from his seat, securing his pistol in his holster and walking back to the passenger cabin.
“Shouldn't you be flying the ship?” Morgan asked.
“Probably,” he replied, “but the computer can do just as good a job as I can, and I've got other things to do. One of the benefits of visiting somewhere that doesn't exist is that you aren't bound by flight regulations. You ready, Angel?”
“Always,” she said.
Looking at Morgan, he said, “Angel and I know the ground here, and you don't. Stay with us at all times, both of us preferably, Angel if you have to choose.”
“I pulled two tours of station security,” she replied. “I know how to handle myself.” With a thin smile, she added, “And I know that I need to work out where everything is before I go roaming off.”
With a loud thud, the shuttle landed, an extendable collar reaching out to clamp it to the station and provide a safe route into the pressurized area. Reaching over the airlock door, Conway locked the internal systems to be controlled from the approaching Churchill, then stepped through the hatch, the spicy smells of the station hitting him as he entered.
Gesturing at a nearby vendor, waving sticks of indeterminate charred meat through the air over a spitting grill, he asked, “Anyone want lunch?”
“What is it?” Morgan asked.
“Pig,” the vendor said. “Special sauce.”
“Three,” Conway said, tossing a credit chit into the man's bowl, receiving a trio of greasy sticks in exchange. Angel took hers, nimbly ripping the first piece of meet free, but Morgan held it between two fingers, shaking her head.
“Ship food's looking better by the minute,” she said.
“You no like?” the vendor asked. “Best on station.”
Conway took a bite, grinned, and added, “Guinea pig, you old bastard.”
“I say pig. I no say what kind.”
Shaking his head, he led the group down the docking terminal, the vendor wheeling his trolley after them, returning to his space on the main hall. They walked through to an elevator, a pair of men wearing unfamiliar uniforms looking nervously around as they approached.
“Pan-Solar Shipping, right,” he said, smiling. “Relax, kids. I didn't see you.”
As the elevator dropped down into the bowels of the asteroid, Morgan asked, “I thought this was a home for independent traders.”
“Oh, it is,” he replied. “And I also told you that you can reach seven systems from here, which makes this a pret
ty good short-cut for a shipmaster who wants to run something interesting on the side, without his employers knowing about it. Half the traffic that passes through belongs to one of the main shipping lines or another, but none of the executives know exactly where their cut comes from.”
“The safeguards...”
“Funny thing about security systems,” Angel said. “The ability to hack them always seems to be ahead of the ability to protect them.”
“Probably because most of the cons are run by the people selling the firewalls,” Conway added. “Or perhaps I'm being too cynical again.” The doors popped open, and they stepped out into a huge cavern, half a mile long and a hundred meters wide, the walls carefully sealed to maintain the pressure. The area bustled with life, shops, bars and restaurants along either side, gradually fading away to habitation units along the far end. Side shafts trickled off in all directions, some of the crowd seeping through them, away from the main line of traffic.
Chewing his latest piece of meat, Conway said, “First group out here did some ice mining, following the veins. They found this cavern, made it airtight, and turned it into an instant colony. It's grown over the years, of course. Must be four, five thousand permanent residents now. About as many transient.” He felt a hand reaching towards his pocket, and slapped it away, the unseen figure moving off to seek an easier target.
The babel of a dozen languages washed over them as they made their way through the crowd of vendors at the entrance, pushing out to the quieter cavern beyond. Even there, the silence was only relative, discordant music blaring from a dozen bars, neo-disco warring with classic funk, the occasional wild cry of an isolated lyric shouting its way through the noise.
Out of the corner of his eye, Conway spotted a figure sitting outside a bar, nursing a drink, doing his best to conceal his interest in them. Normal enough for the watchers to be out in force when a ship arrived, but it was the people he didn't see that worried him, enough for him to quietly lower his hand towards his holster, a signal that the watcher received, the man skulking back into the bar.
Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1) Page 7
