by Sara King
Oooh, perfectly executed. Joel winced in admiration, wondering where this badass goddess had been all his life.
“No, uh, no problem,” the clerk said quickly. She glanced around the ship again. “It’s just that, well… We were expecting a regular transport.”
“The colonists own the skies over most of the Tear right now,” Jeanne said. “We needed something that would blend in.”
The clerk was staring at something dark hanging from one wall. When Joel zoomed in, he realized it was a scalp. He groaned and slapped his palm to his face.
Eyes still fixed on the scalp, the clerk said, “It certainly does…blend in. You got any orders I can see? I’m afraid I’ll also need to see your ID and official registration.”
Joel groaned. “Okay, she’s getting too suspicious. Now might be a good time to extract ourselves. This isn’t going like I’d hoped it, and that scalp, Jeanne, didn’t do us any favors. What the hell did I tell you about body parts?!”
Instead of smoothly talking her way out of a full inspection and into a hasty departure as Joel would have done, though, Jeanne took a step forward, grabbed the woman by the buttoned shirt of her uniform, and yanked her most of the way off her feet as she brought their faces together. “We are in the middle of a war and you think I’m going to waste my fucking time with paperwork, you little bureaucratic worm? Go get the Yolk, get it on my ship, or I’ll go get the Five-Thirty-First and we’ll take turns putting you in stasis. Do you have any idea how much money is on the line, here?”
The clerk blinked. “Well, yes, of course, I—”
Jeanne shook her until the datapad fell out of the clerk’s hands and the woman’s hairbun jostled loose. “There are three dozen colonist ships descending on this place as we speak and you think the admiral is worried about paperwork?!”
“Well, no Captain, I just—” she babbled, clearly horrified.
“Then go!” Jeanne snapped, shoving the woman hard enough that she fell. “I want my hold filled in the next twenty minutes or I’ll make sure Maako has your ass on a plate.”
The clerk bolted, leaving the datapad on the floor of the hold where it had fallen.
“Well, that isn’t how I would have handled things,” Joel offered gingerly. “But at least she’s gone. Close the hatch and let’s abscond with our lives.” He frowned. “Escape. Let’s escape with our lives.”
“I don’t run,” Jeanne reminded him, standing proudly in the open hatch of her ship, legs splayed, arms crossed, watching the clerk run down the gangplank and into the Coalition Yolk facility.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Joel insisted. “She’s gonna make some calls, ask some questions. We’re screwed. Cover’s blown. We’ve got to go.”
“I don’t run,” Jeanne said again.
“First rule of smuggling!” Joel cried. “You always run!”
“I’m a pirate, not a smuggler.” She was watching the Yolk facility raptly, like an eagle watching a nest of mice.
Oh hell. She was going to get them both killed.
“Jeanne, baby?” Joel asked, turning on the charm, “Running is a perfectly legitimate pastime if it helps you avoid things like angry Nephyrs and gunfights and dying screaming, your gonads in a vise.”
“I’m good at gunfights,” she replied, still standing there like an impressive, voluptuous statue.
Aanaho, they were so dead.
“Yes,” Joel reasoned, “but so are they. It’s what the Coalition trained them to do… Shoot people like us.”
“Just talk me through it, Joel,” Jeanne said. “This is what you’re good at, right? Talking?”
“I’m better at running when it will keep me alive,” Joel insisted.
“I’m not.”
Joel groaned and drew a palm down his face.
“Besides,” Jeanne said after a moment. “Looks like it’s working.” Indeed, when Joel refocused the ship’s cameras, he saw several enlisted men pushing dollies full of lumpy Yolk sacks out of the facility and across the tarmac, a nervous clerk trailing behind.
As the men began loading the Yolk into the hull of the ship, the disheveled female clerk returned to Jeanne and nervously cleared her throat. “So, uh, you checked out.”
“We did?” Joel demanded, blinking at the screen.
“We did—” Jeanne choked. At the clerk’s odd look, she pretended to spit something out of her mouth and went on, “We did make this mission a priority.”
The clerk nodded. “You’ve got top clearance, Captain Ivory. You’re good to go.”
“You do?” Joel cried. “No, no, no, no… Something is wrong, here. Top clearance?”
The clerk held out a pad, holding her manicured finger to a section of an open document. “Now, Captain, I know you don’t like paperwork, but I’m going to need your signature here for the six hundred twenty-two bags of yolk. The seals are as per regulation. Any tampering and—”
“I’m not going to tamper with them,” Jeanne snapped. She signed the clerk’s pad and yanked the cargo manifest from her petite hands. All around her, men were unloading the bags of Yolk. Not just one or two, but hundreds of them. Despite his nervousness, Joel started to get giddy as his mind went into overdrive trying to calculate how much money they were looking at. Jeanne, meanwhile, gave the billions of credits accumulating in her hold an indifferent perusal, then did the stupidest thing one could do when engaged in the business of smuggling. She crossed her arms, cocked her head at the clerk, and demanded, “That all ya got?”
The clerk blinked in bovine surprise. “Well, no, not precisely. But you couldn’t possibly—”
“Maako said all of it,” Jeanne said.
“Wait a minute,” Joel said, in growing panic. “Jeanne, what are you doing? A perfectly good theft in the making and you’re going to blow it by getting greedy. The second rule of smuggling is not to get greedy!”
“Go get it,” Jeanne insisted, when the clerk just blinked at her. “Now.”
The clerk anxiously looked around the cargo bay and said, “I’m going to have to make a few calls.”
Joel slapped himself in the forehead. “Don’t let her make any calls!” he cried. “Just take what we’ve got and let’s go. We’re doing good. Geo buys this stuff for five mil a sack.” They were rich.
“So make your calls,” Jeanne challenged. “I’ll be here, waiting on Maako’s dime.”
“What are you doing?!” Joel cried. “Just get her off the ship and let’s go!”
Jeanne completely ignored him. The enlisted guys finished unloading the Yolk and then sat down on the bags of nodules, obviously waiting for more instructions from their Lieutenant.
“Not good,” Joel said. “Get them out of here. The fewer people lurking, the easier you can get away with the goods.”
Jeanne turned on the lazing enlisted men with a disgusted scowl. “Get the fuck off my ship and go find something useful to do. Like shower. Here you are on a fucking land base and you stink like you’re living on a five-year freighter. Get your nasty asses in some fresh clothes and take some pride in your uniforms, for fuck’s sake!” She said it with all the conviction of a perfectly-secure-in-her-captaincy Coalition fighter officer, which Joel had never had the steely core to manage.
The men immediately jumped up with mutters of, “Yes, Captain,” and ran.
The clerk, meanwhile, was standing at the base of the ramp, making her calls.
“Damn it,” Joel cried. “Delay her. We need to go.”
“She said we checked out,” Jeanne said, watching the clerk.
“That was a fluke,” Joel cried. “Had to be!”
“Or maybe there’s another disguised transport ship from the Orbital headed here right now, to do the same thing we’re doing.”
“I’m lucky,” Joel said, “but I’m not that lucky. We need to get out of here. ASAP.”
“Things go wrong, I can just shoot them.”
They were back to that again. Joel groaned and sprawled back against his p
iles of palladium ingots, knowing he was about to be sealed in with them forever. “Jeanne,” he said, once he’d calmed down, “I’ve got a lot to live for, Jeanne.”
“Really?” she asked. “Last I checked, you were an only child, a defector, a bachelor, and a wanted criminal, not to mention penniless, scrupleless, and childless.”
“Truueee,” Joel said, “but I also have prospects.”
“I’m increasing our prospects. Just sit there and watch.”
“…of dinner and dancing with Fortune’s most beautiful enchantress on my arm.”
Jeanne choked. Still standing in the middle of the cargo bay, she turned to look back at the cockpit with a scowl. “Isn’t that laying it on a bit thick?”
“Baby,” Joel said, “with you, it can’t be too thick.”
She cocked her head at the cockpit, back to the open door, anger lighting her emerald green eyes. “Is that because you think I’m gullible, Joel? Like that time you left me stranded in the desert?”
“Nooooo,” Joel said, “that’s because…” he blinked at the eight MP thugs stalking across his screen. “Shit! Jeanne, close the hatch! Get back in the cockpit! Let me out so I can fly us outta here!”
Instead of running, as instructed, Jeanne simply turned around to face the eight armed men boarding her ship. “Problem, gentlemen?” she asked, totally nonchalant.
The lead MP touched his gun pointedly. “Ma’am, you’re going to have to come with us.”
“And where’s that?” Jeanne asked casually.
“Base commander wants to have a word with you,” the square-jawed MP replied.
Joel watched it cross the pirate’s face whether or not she felt like starting a firefight in the belly of her ship. “Don’t do it,” Joel babbled. “Crap, Jeanne, just do what they want. If the base commander wants to talk to you, they haven’t figured out what’s going on yet. You can still salvage this. I’ll walk you through it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll wave the Whitecliff twins, get them to send us some help.”
Seconds ticked by like centuries. Joel had the horrible feeling that Jeanne was going to shoot them anyway.
“I can help you do this, Jeanne, I swear,” Joel said. “Please don’t make a scene.” He was dead if she made a scene, he just knew it.
Jeanne reluctantly gave in with a, “Yeah, sure. But someone needs to keep an eye on my ship, keep some lowlife smuggler from grabbing it while I’m off yakking with the brass.”
“Can do,” one of the MPs said.
Jeanne led her guests down the boarding ramp and then locked the entry. The MPs left two guards at the door of the ship, then the other six escorted her deeper into the compound.
“Take out the button cam,” Joel told her. “I can’t see what’s going on.”
From the cameras off the bow of the ship, he watched Jeanne nonchalantly reach up and straighten her shirt, leaving the button clinging to her belt-line.
Joel watched, anxious, as the MPs surrounding Jeanne led her through the thick metal doors to the Yolk repository, then through a maze of corridors until they arrived at what, to all appearances, looked like an interrogation booth.
“Oh shit,” Joel said, at the same time Jeanne stiffened and slowed. “No, don’t fight!” Joel cried. “It’ll only get you killed. They probably ran your profile, figured the ship was stolen, wanted to get you to come in gently. Just don’t resist, okay? I can still get you outta here.”
At the same time, the MPs said, “If you’ll just step inside, Ma’am?”
From the one-sided view of the button cam, Joel realized Jeanne was giving the MP a long, debating look, and Joel watched his own life hang in the balance of the pirate’s next move. Then, after a less-than-courteous stare, Jeanne entered the interrogation room and went to lean against the wall, under the camera.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Joel said. “They’re gonna have your picture on every billboard on Fortune. I’m really sorry about that. I’ll make it up to you later, I swear.”
Jeanne said absolutely nothing in reply, but he could tell she was debating as to whether or not to add a new mummy to her collection when she did get free.
Not thirty seconds after Jeanne had been left in the interrogation room did the door open again and an overweight, balding man just brushing six feet stepped inside, followed by four thugs, who took up residence around the door. Joel immediately noticed the two silver stars of general on the leader’s collar. Not the base Director, but an underling.
“Okay, look,” Joel said, watching the guy approach. “You’re only going to get one shot at this, so repeat exactly what I say, okay?”
Jeanne made no indication she had even heard him.
“Good evening, General,” Joel said.
Jeanne repeated his words smoothly.
“Evening, Miss Ivory,” the general said. He looked in a hurry, continuously glancing over his shoulder before returning to face the pirate. “I hear you’re taking an emergency shipment of Yolk to the Orbital.”
“Yes I am, sir,” Joel said. “Got orders from Maako to get this stuff off Fortune as quickly as possible.”
“That’s right,” Jeanne said flatly. “You got a problem with that?”
Joel groaned and slapped his forehead, but the general only seemed to get more agitated.
“So, uh, you wanna make a little money?”
Joel froze, his hunter’s instincts slamming into gear. He gave the balding guy a split-second analysis: Overweight, so he liked his luxuries. Sweating, so he was nervous. Plenty of backup, so he felt threatened. Carefully avoiding the camera, so he wasn’t on the level…
“Wooooo!” Joel screamed, pumping his fist and spraying palladium everywhere. “Yes! Yes, yes yes yes yes!”
“Fuck, ow!” Jeanne cried. The camera jerked as she lifted a hand to her head.
“Ow?” the general demanded.
“Recovering from a Ne’vanthi brain-maggot,” Jeanne said. “Are we done here? I got orders to get back to the Orbital ASAP.”
“Jeanne, what are you doing?!” Joel cried. “The man’s obviously dirty!” He had a sixth sense about these things.
“Yeah, uh…” The general scratched the back of his sweaty neck. “Okay, so look, moving this much Yolk around, shifting it from one place to another, some of it’s bound to get ‘lost,’ get me?”
“I get you,” Joel said.
“No. Why don’t you clarify?” Jeanne said, in a tone that said she was still itching to put the barrel of a gun between his brows.
“Right, um…” The general glanced behind himself, then at Jeanne. “You know how much the Coalition makes on those bags, right? Three, four hundred million.”
Jeanne didn’t reply.
“Nod or something!” Joel cried. “The guy’s trying to deal with you. You’re making it harder on him than you should—keep it up and he’s likely to just shoot you to cover his tracks!”
He felt the wobble in the cam as Jeanne nodded.
The relief on the general’s face was intense. “So, uh, there’s certain places here, on Fortune, that refine their own Yolk and sell it on the black market. They buy it at five mil a bag.”
The button cam wobbled again as Jeanne nodded.
“Me an’ my guys, here, we’ve been a long way from home for way too long, you know? And all the cryo killed our real lives. Got letters our wives moved on, kids got married, parents died. Hell, some of our grandchildren are as old as we are, zoomtime. Some of us, we’ve done two, even three tours of duty on Fortune. That’s five years in cryo each way. All our friends back home are either incontinent or dead.”
Jeanne nodded again, though Joel could tell she was curious, now.
“So what do the pricks running the desks back in the Inner Bounds do last week?” the general demanded. “They extended our tours again, me and the boys, here. Indefinitely. No more troop rotation until the Void Ring can resupply.”
“That’s nice,” Jeanne said.
Joel groaned and banged his f
orehead against the titanium walls surrounding him. “Tell him you’re listening, Jeanne. Aanaho Ineriho!”
“I’m listening,” Jeanne said, sounding almost reluctant.
“So yeah,” the general said, “we’ve got you in here, recording everything as insurance, you know?”
“I’m with you,” Joel said.
“I don’t follow,” Jeanne said.
“Oh, for the love of—” Joel started bashing his head against the wall again. “He’s trying to get you to help him skim some off the top, Jeanne!” he cried. “Come on!”
“Gal like you,” the general said, “you got an impeccable reputation, right? Nobody’s gonna go over your manifests, make sure the numbers match up with what you took from Rath.”
“Pretty sure nobody’s gonna see my manifests,” Jeanne agreed.
“So we fudge the numbers a little bit, take a little bit off the top and pass it around,” the general said. “We’re not unreasonable men, are we boys?” He got a few stoic head-shakes from the thuggery. “All we want,” he said, turning back to face Jeanne, “is three bags. We’ve earned three bags.”
“So what’s my cut?” Joel said.
Jeanne sniffed. “Three bags is fifteen million. What you gonna do with fifteen million?”
“No!” Joel cried. “He wants you to ease his mind. Just ask him where you want them delivered and let’s get out of here! Aanaho!” He started squirming in his prison, throwing palladium bars everywhere.
“We’re gonna split it six ways. That’s two and a half mil for you, just for playing delivery girl.”
“Sounds reasonable,” Joel said.
“Two and a half?” Jeanne scoffed. “Might as well make it a couple bags apiece.”
The general flinched. “I’m not so sure. Seems a bit greedy. Greedy people get caught.”
“Yes,” Joel said, “yes they do, Jeanne.”
Jeanne scoffed. “I’m not doing it for no half a bag.”
The general gave her a long look, then glanced at his men and licked his lips. “All right,” he said. “I could see where twelve bags could get lost in the shuffle.”
