When the Dust Settled

by Jeannie Meekins

  “Send it to Earth,” John returned the smile. “I will forward the instructions.”

  “Of course. Thank you and enjoy your stay.”

  The main screen switched off.

  “Mister Gillespie, we’re going to need some currency.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Why did John find similarities in the General Manager and Gillespie’s delights?

  “Giacomo, leave. Humphries, network. Take backup. No one goes alone. You,” he turned to Gillespie, “take double backup. McReidy…”

  He hadn’t left her in charge since he’d thrown her off the bridge and he was reluctant to do so now. Yet giving her leave was almost like a reward and he wasn’t feeling overly generous towards her.

  “Take eight and I want you back here.”

  “What are you going to tell Command?” Giacomo asked.

  “We got caught, we ran. Nearly blew an engine in the process.”

  The bridge emptied and John checked the roster. It was pretty much going out the window at this stage. The engineers deserved a break but there was no way he was going to let anyone near his ship unwatched.

  He hit the intercom to engineering. “Red there?”

  “Sir,” Red acknowledged.

  “I’ve got some repairs organised. You guys deserve leave, but I’m not letting anyone loose on the ship. Can you keep a couple of staff around doing whatever?”

  “As trusting as ever, sir. Cap’n Decker’d be proud of you.”

  A touch of warmth hit John and eased his mood.

  “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll sort it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mister North, Mister Hartford, to the bridge.”

  He reorganised the roster and notified the crew. He’d barely finished when Red’s voice came over his communicator.

  “Sir, repair crews are here.”

  “Thank you,” John acknowledged.

  * * *

  The Bachaans worked efficiently. In a matter of days, Bismarck was repaired, rearmed and ready to leave. A lick of paint before final sealing brightened her exterior, the colour match almost identical to the original. Compliments of the station, the General Manager assured John when he queried the paintwork hadn’t been included on the final bill.

  He took the answer at face value, but reasoned its cost would be in there somewhere.

  The engineers had sourced some materials of their own and Gillespie’s finances were strapped. John was happy to put his hand in his own pocket and so were a few others. Not enough to cover parts, but more than enough to stake Gillespie.

  Hartford was a good junior officer, but not one John would rely on to have Gillespie’s back on his own.

  “We’ll be back in a couple of hours,” John told McReidy when she notified him the Bachaans had given the all clear for them to leave.

  He switched his communicator off and scanned the lounge. Humphries was in jovial conversation with some new friends, North a short distance away browsing through a magazine while covering his back.

  “Ship,” John mouthed, raising his eyebrows, when he caught Humphries’ eye.

  Humphries managed the slightest nod, waiting for an appropriate break before downing the rest of his drink, putting his glass on the table and making his excuses.

  North put his magazine on the rack.

  Hartford’s gaze shifted between Humphries, Gillespie and John.

  Gambling was popular on the station. Security cameras and personnel, standing out in the lime green shirt and trousers of the establishment, watched everything to ensure it was all above board. Card and dice games always seemed to draw crowds. Many onlookers as anxious on the outcomes as the participants.

  Gillespie was in his element as he sat at a card table. He was playing the game and playing his opponents – losing a bit and winning nothing that would garner suspicion.

  John had a good view of the room and wasn’t moving. Hartford slipped through the crowd to his side.

  “Go back to the ship,” he told Hartford. “I’ll stay with him.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hartford spoke quietly.

  “Make sure everyone else is back.”

  John kept his attention on Gillespie as Hartford moved out of his peripherals. A second glance at the room told him Humphries and North had left.

  He sat on his drink, declining a refill from the bartender.

  A good half hour passed. A couple of games began to end. One with a drawn weapon which saw both the offender and his target immediately arrested by staff and carted away to be dealt with later.

  Gillespie didn’t even flinch at the distraction; raising the kitty before being beaten by a pair of queens – and showing the appropriate disappointment. A new hand was dealt.

  John checked his watch and sipped at his drink, the liquid warming past room temperature from the glass being in his hand.

  A dice game ended. The rivals headed for the bar, the victor offering to shout the loser. John emptied his glass, put it on the bar and moved clear. The magazine rack where North had been offered as good a view as anywhere.

  Gillespie’s face was set in stone. He was calm and relaxed while his opponents were becoming nervous. One sweated and gulped at a glass of water. Another squinted incessantly at his cards while a third tapped the table with his index finger. A fourth was trying to stare him down.

  The stakes had become high, the kitty including cash, credits and a couple of pieces of jewellery, and a small crowd was gathering. Some even placing a few side bets on the outcome.

  “Excuse me, Commander Madison?”

  John turned around and looked down at the Bachaan who stood no taller than his chest. A tag pinned to his lime shirt had a name and a word that translated to “concierge”. “Yes?”

  “I have a communication from your ship. If you would come this way?”

  “Yes… of course.” John frowned. If he was needed back on the ship, why hadn’t he been contacted directly?

  He scanned the room and the card game, assuring himself everything was fine, before following the concierge to the main corridor, which was lined with doors. The concierge opened a door to a small office containing a desk, chair and computer console.

  “Press the green button when you are ready to receive. The red button to end transmission.”

  “Thank you.”

  The concierge bowed to leave.

  “You will notify my friend of my whereabouts when they have finished?”

  “Certainly, sir.” The concierge bowed again, this time taking his leave.

  John hit the green button. “Madison here, go ahead.”

  The sight that greeted him was not what he expected. The dark face had a twisted nose and mismatched lips. Long dreadlocked hair was held off the face with a bandana displaying chubby earlobes dangling even chubbier jewellery. He was well armed with banderoes slung diagonally from shoulder to hip. There were three more, similarly dressed but less jewelled, in the view the screen afforded of the bridge, but no sign of any of his own officers.

  “Who are you and what are you doing on my ship?” John demanded, trying to keep the sense of urgency out of his voice.

  “I am Daygarn. Bounty hunter of the First Lord of Groatus. And I have taken over your ship.”

  That much was obvious. John wanted to know where his crew were, why they hadn’t tried to call him earlier. He stifled his questions. “What do you want with my ship? I have no quarrel with the Lords of Groatus.”

  Gillespie opened the door. He had Soghra by the back of the neck. “Look what the cat dragged in.” He stopped as he saw John deep in discussion.

  Soghra’s face paled and he wriggled out of Gillespie’s grip, dropping to the floor and inching to the desk where he sat curled in a ball with the desk front at his back.

  “Who is that?” Daygarn demanded.

  “Just my supply officer.”

  “Show himself.”

  John waved Gillespie to come over. Gillespie looked at his empty hand, then lowered
it. His look of ‘What’s going on?’ was answered by one of ‘I don’t know’, as he moved to John’s side in view of the screen

  Daygarn seemed satisfied. “It has come to my attention that you know the whereabouts of the Skaren Roppa. You will deliver him to me and I will give you back your ship.”

  “And if I refuse?” John asked politely. There was no need to deliberately provoke Daygarn.

  “Then I will execute your crew.”

  “How do I know you haven’t done that already?”

  Daygarn stepped out of screen for a moment. He returned with a vice-like grip around McReidy’s upper arm, the barrel of a weapon jammed so hard against the side of her neck that she flinched and turned away from it.

  John’s body tensed as he saw the fear in her eyes. Gillespie grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t let him get to you,” came the whispered warning.

  “Lieutenant Commander, you are developing a habit of having ships stolen out from underneath you,” John spoke quietly.

  Her lip curled, eyes narrowing as she tried to turn her head to catch a glimpse of his face and, he hoped, his intent. Her nose wrinkled, her eyes began to water and she turned away again.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” was all she could answer.

  “Make sure that it doesn’t. Is everyone all right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Enough pleasantries,” Daygarn broke in. “You have forty eight of your hours to deliver Roppa. For every hour after that, I will execute one hostage… Starting with this one.” His grip tightened on McReidy’s arm and she winced.

  “If you harm one hair on her head, I’ll kill you.” John’s voice was low and even.

  McReidy’s eyes darted to him briefly. His focus remained fully on the bounty hunter.

  “You are hardly in any position to make threats,” Daygarn laughed.

  “Oh, it’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

  It was John’s sincerity that wiped the smile from Daygarn’s face. His head turned slightly as his jaw twitched, and he ended the transmission.

  “You know she’s furious with you,” Gillespie remarked.

  “I know.” John couldn’t help the small smile that softened his mood as he switched on his communicator. The signal was jammed. “Damn!”

  Gillespie tried his – jammed also. “What are we supposed to do now?”

  “Forty eight hours. It’ll take us longer than that just to find Roppa.”

  “Perhaps I can be of assistance.” Soghra slowly rose from the floor.

  “And why would you do that?” John asked cautiously.

  “Because I am also on Daygarn’s list.”

  John expelled his breath loudly at Soghra’s confession. “I think it’s about time we had our talk.”

  Soghra’s gaze flicked to Gillespie then back to John.

  “I know when I’m not wanted,” Gillespie lifted his hands in concession and backed towards the door.

  John waited until they were alone before turning on Soghra. “You better come clean with me or I will turn you over.”

  *

  The door opened and Soghra waved Gillespie back in, his gaze drifting between the commander and the Ruscatan. Soghra shook his head; he would answer to no one else.

  John sat silently against the edge of the desk while politics, legalities, convenience and blackmail rolled around his head. Captain Decker had had a lot of uses for Soghra that he couldn’t have even dreamed about.

  He turned his attention to Gillespie. “Any suggestions on how to get the ship back?”

  “We’re going to need help,” Gillespie answered.

  “That’s just what I need. To get back to Command that I had my ship hijacked. They’re going to be ticked off enough when they get the repair bill.”

  “Why don’t you deliver Roppa?” Soghra suggested.

  John turned to Soghra with a look that said he understood the innuendo. “You know where he is. Don’t you?”

  “I have one or two ideas. There are a few places he frequents in the next system.”

  “How are we supposed to get there?”

  Roppa was an outlaw with a price on his head. Any places he was familiar with would not welcome John’s transmissions. They would have to be visited personally… and very carefully.

  Soghra shrugged. “Steal a shuttle. If you wish I can make all the arrangements.”

  “We have no choice.”

  Soghra nodded, a smile forming as he headed for the door.

  Gillespie waited for him to leave before asking, “Are you sure you can trust him?”

  “I don’t know.” John shook his head slowly. “Unless you can think of something better.” There was an awkward silence until John changed the subject. “What happened in your game? I missed the end.”

  “I was doing brilliantly. It got down to one other guy. He was sweating like mad and I knew he was about to fold. Then for some reason, he decided to risk everything he had to see me.” There was a slight pause. “I had a pair of twos. He wiped me out completely.”

  “You tried bluffing with a pair of twos!”

  “I couldn’t help it.” Gillespie was almost apologetic. “I thought I had him. He was so easy to read…” His voice trailed off as he relived the final moments of the game. Something else was irritating him. “About McReidy,” he broached the subject carefully.

  “Again? Is there something going on between you two that I should know about?” John knew the answer to that question already.

  “No. I know why you said it, but I don’t think it was a very fair thing to say. You were the last person who hijacked a ship from her.”

  “That’s a rather strong term. I prefer the word ‘borrowed’.”

  His mood darkened, brought on by the sense of helplessness and anger that yet another ship had snuck up on them. There was no reason to doubt Daygarn’s threat. Bounty hunters were almost a law unto themselves. The end always justified the means.

  “Cloaks,” John spat out. “We’ve got to find a way to cut through cloaks.”

  “That is the whole purpose of a cloak.”

  “I don’t care!”

  Yelling at Gillespie was not going to solve anything, but it made John feel better for a moment. He turned to the desk and stared at the small screen, letting his mood ease.

  “We’ve got to get the ship back first. If we get hold of Roppa, at least we’ll have something to bargain with.” He dropped into the chair behind the desk and turned the console on. “I need to get hold of Tan and find out what we’re up against.”

  “What is it you’ve got him doing anyway?”

  John grinned. “Cracking codes.”

  “Andromedan codes?” Gillespie’s eyes widened.

  John nodded.

  “We don’t even know the language and you’ve got him cracking codes?”

  John nodded again. “He’ll do it.”

  Gillespie let a breath out as he shook his head in disbelief.

  John concentrated on the console. It was basic, available for public use and, no doubt, extremely limited in what it would allow.

  Hacking his own ship’s security. He shook his head slowly at the thought. The ship would pick up any outside source and raise alarm bells the moment its security was touched. John could shut it down, but not before it alerted the bridge to the presence of an intruder. Personal calls usually didn’t set security off, but they were automatically monitored and logged – the call, not the content.

  John reasoned that if you were going to hijack someone’s ship, you were going to manually monitor everything.

  He couldn’t risk tapping the bridge and alerting Daygarn. He hesitated, his fingers drumming the desk as he tried to figure out where the crew might be held. They could be isolated and locked in their quarters or held somewhere like a cargo bay where they could be guarded by minimum numbers.

  He slipped in through the personal call system. Bismarck monitored and requested an ID. John gave it. It cleared him and he
tried to shut down the system. The screen in front of him flashed with an error message. He was going outside its permitted limitations.

  He acknowledged the error and the message disappeared. He’d have to risk manual detection and let the call filter through to Tan’s quarters, the bar, the cargo bays and the bridge – only for a few seconds on the bridge.

  There was no answer from anywhere.

  John pounded the desk with his fist in frustration. “It’s no use. He mustn’t be anywhere near an outlet.”

  “Want me to try?”

  “It’s not the system. Just lack of an answer. The only other place he can be is the brig.”

  The brig wasn’t equipped to handle the numbers and it’d be standing room only. He doubted Daygarn would care. The place could be locked down and watched by one man.

  “McReidy was on the bridge,” Gillespie reminded him.

  “That was for show…” At least, John hoped it was. His eyes darkened as he looked up at Gillespie. “When this is over, we figure a way to cut through cloaks.”

  He stared at the screen for a moment.

  “We better find out what Soghra’s up to before he gets us all arrested.”

  He brought up the information map, a green dot indicated their location. He keyed in the shuttle bays and a blue dot came up. He studied it for a minute and switched the console off.

  *

  The first shuttle bay was active. Civilians pottered around the docks: loading, unloading, stopping for a smoke or a bit of conversation. As smoke filtered into the air system, an alarm pealed. Heads turned and the guilty party, suddenly aware of the attention – and probably the rules – dropped the smoke and ground it out underfoot.

  “Too busy,” John decided, and turned away.

  The second bay was quiet. A handful of craft sat at the docks. Gillespie tapped John’s arm and pointed towards Soghra, who was climbing out the hatch of the furthest craft.

  John raised an arm to attract his attention and waved him over. The Ruscatan glanced around the dock before slinking to the nearest wall and making his way towards them.

  “We are in luck,” he grinned. “Come.”

  They kept to the wall. John’s attention drifted to the ceiling as he wondered exactly where traffic control was and if they were in view. He could only make out blank walls, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be viewed through from the other side, and he couldn’t see what was directly above him. He tensed, in case the next alarm that went off was for them.