by Kathryn Hoff
“Nevertheless, this ship and its crew will remain under arrest until your complicity in the matter can be determined.” Gurin stalked toward the salon. Danto gave me a hard stare before turning to follow him.
Kojo nudged me and whispered, “Let’s see her talk her way out of this.”
As Gurin entered the salon, Jamila leaped to her feet. “Are you the one in charge? Thank the stars! I demand protection.” She pointed at Balan. “That man has been stalking me, making wild accusations.”
With a low growl, Balan stepped forward. “Lies. She is a thief. She has taken the sacred relic!”
Grimbold shoved himself in front of Balan, as if Jamila needed his protection. “Back down, buddy. Leave the lady alone.” He turned his head to Gurin. “He’s a lunatic. Escaped from a hospital on Santerro and hid on board, just to harass my boss.”
The half-blood sergeant pulled Balan and Grim apart and shoved them onto the couches.
Gurin frowned at Jamila. “You are Jamila Patil?”
She raised her chin. “That’s right. Professor of Archeology, Evergreen University. I—”
“Quiet. And you, you are Balan of Wind Clan?”
Balan replied in Gavoran. “Of course. Member of the College of Religion. Mzee Lyden will vouch for me.”
“Mzee Lyden has reported stolen a sacred temple object and has named you as complicit in its theft.”
Balan drew himself up. “I am a man of honor. I simply followed the faithless Terrans who were stealing it. I want only to protect the relic.”
Gurin switched back to Terran. “Professor Patil, you are under arrest on suspicion of theft.”
Jamila held out a hand in supplication. “Captain Gurin, I’m afraid you’ve been misled. Balan is ill—delusional. He was working with me on the dig until he needed to be hospitalized after a suicide attempt.” She pointed to the healing scar on Balan’s wrist. “You can confirm that with the Santerro medical center. I’m transporting an artifact from the dig to Evergreen for study. I’m afraid, in his confused state, Balan came to believe the artifact is some sort of Gavoran religious relic and made accusations to his superiors. In fact, the artifact is not of Gavoran origin, nor from any Gavoran settlement. It is legitimately in my custody.”
“You must not believe her,” Balan insisted, rubbing his hands together. “I am perfectly well.”
Sergeant Danto’s hard policeman’s gaze had not left Jamila. “You have illegally modified your implant.”
Jamila looked down shyly. “Well, yes. That was necessary. My bodyguard learned on Santerro that antiquities thieves were interested in the artifact. I’m sure you know how corrupt the Selkid Cartel is! Our very lives were in danger. I tried to throw them off our trail with a temporary identity override and by switching destinations. Even with all our precautions, the ship was attacked. It was terrifying! But now you’re here. I’m so glad to be under your protection!”
She was good—I almost believed her myself.
Gurin shook his head and focused on Balan. “What exactly is this object?” he asked.
“A relic, left for us by the blessed Sages.”
Jamila smiled sadly and spread her hands. “It’s simply a stone tablet, found among ruins in a Selkid sector.”
Gurin grunted. “The proper authorities will adjudicate. My orders are to take you into custody. Where is this object?”
Balan pointed to me. “She locked it in the ship’s vault.”
“Sergeant Danto, verify its security and post a guard. Captain Babatunji, your ship will remain in custody, linked to Betanda, as we proceed to the nearest checkpoint.”
I led Sergeant Danto down the forward steps to the cargo hold. He wore the badge of Star Clan, a military clan that ranked even higher than Balan’s Wind Clan. Despite his homely appearance—or maybe because of it—his arrogant attitude seemed to dare anyone to cause trouble.
Ancestors! Wind Clan, Cloud Clan, and now Star Clan? My ship was suddenly crawling with burzing Gavoran aristos. I made sure not to let my hand stray toward my itching scar.
I worked the combination on the vault door and allowed the sergeant to peer inside.
Home. Bring me home.
Sergeant Danto showed no sign of hearing anything.
Danto’s face was like a jigsaw puzzle put together with the wrong pieces. His thick brow ridge and sloped forehead were pure Gav, but his nose stuck out as much as Archer’s. It had a little crook in it—no wonder, the thing was a standing temptation to be punched. He’d trimmed his beard to mimic Gav fur, but it wasn’t long enough to hide the squareness of his chin and its little cleft, so unlike the subtle, receding jaw of a true Gavoran.
I’d never actually seen another hybrid. Did I look as odd as he did? No wonder people stared at me.
I pointed to Jamila’s metal case, atop the crates of the premium brandy. “The artifact is in there. I don’t have the combination to open it.”
“Have you seen the object within?”
“The lady showed it to us a few days ago.” I shrugged. “It’s some kind of carved stone.” I lowered my voice. “Watch out for Balan. He’s obsessed with the thing, hears voices. He needs medical help.”
Unimpressed, the sergeant told me to relock the vault.
Soon, Gavs guarded the vault and prowled Sparrow’s passages. Two officers herded Balan into Betanda, despite his loud protests that the blessed Sages wanted him to be near the relic. I expected they would give him a good grilling, and maybe a major sedative.
A Corridor Patrol pilot relieved Hiram. Her sour expression showed what she thought about taking the helm of an old Selkid hauler. Maybe sailing Sparrow was punishment duty.
While Hiram stood over the new pilot, giving her advice she didn’t need, I pulled Kojo into the wardroom. “Did you see that sergeant?” I asked. “He’s a hybrid.”
“Yeah. Could you tell anything about him?”
“Star Clan. That’s the most influential military clan. His matriarch would have the clout to get him accepted to the Patrol, but I’ll bet he had to fight his way to promotion.”
“Does he know you’re a hybrid?”
“He didn’t say anything, but he must have noticed. Even with my hair showing, he would see I’m not all Terran.”
“Well, nothing we can do about it.” Kojo gazed resentfully at the Patrol’s handsome ship filling the viewscreen. “Whatever comes, we’ll have to play it out.”
As I helped Archer restock the engine room bays, he jittered and asked, “What’s going to happen? I’ve never been arrested before.”
“It’s the ship that’s been arrested. And maybe Jamila and Grimbold. They’ll take Sparrow in tow to the nearest checkpoint that has a magistrate.” I shrugged. “Don’t worry, they won’t do anything to the crew. You might as well enjoy the downtime and let the Patrol take us where they want.”
He put a wiry arm over my broad shoulder. “But what about you? Will you be all right?”
“Sure,” I lied. “They won’t do anything to me, either.” Unless the magistrate found us complicit in a crime. Then they might confiscate Sparrow and our licenses and send me and Kojo to a penal colony—or worse, in my case.
Archer hung his head and waggled his fingers. “I feel like this is my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t let that rat Balan aboard…”
“Stop it,” I snapped. “We are where we are. Worrying won’t help. Go grease a flange or something. Or clean up—your hair will get caught in the coils if you don’t tie it back.”
His head hung lower.
Stupid. Why should I take my worries out on Archer? The truth was that I was worried sick.
I patted his shoulder. “I’m sorry. We’re all on edge. Let’s just do what we can to get through this.” I kissed his cheek and headed for my cabin.
I didn’t get far—Jamila awaited me in the passage. “Oh, Patch. Could you help me with the bunk? Those goons took it apart searching—god knows for what—and I can’t seem to get it right.”
She pu
lled me into her stateroom and slammed the door in the guard’s face.
“I need your help,” she whispered. “We must get the artifact away from the Gavorans. If I can distract the guard at the cargo hold, you and Grim can place the tablet in a drone. It would only take a moment. Send it into orbit around some convenient planet where we can recover it later.”
“Forget it.”
With a strained smile, Jamila laid a hand on my arm as if we were old friends. “Please, Patch. We can’t let the Gavorans take it. Think of the damage it could do, the lives it could ruin! There’s no real risk. They haven’t opened the case yet—it could be empty for all they know.” She touched her belt wallet. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
I pulled my arm away. “The Patrol’s scanners would see a drone the moment it launched. This won’t work.”
Jamila’s eyes grew hard. “Find a way.” She grabbed my left wrist and snatched at my sleeve, forcing it up above my forearm. The skin was red under the skin seal. “You touch it when you’re stressed. You were born into a slave clan. I’m sure the Patrol would like to know. All they need to do is pull a few strings, and you’ll find yourself back in Gavoran jurisdiction facing Clan Enforcers.”
I pulled my sleeve down. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m legally Terran, on a Terran-registered ship, traveling in a Terran sector. And Betanda’s scanners would certainly pick up anything leaving the ship. It’s a crazy idea. Forget it.”
I slammed the door behind me and retreated to my cabin, smiling at the dour guards as if everything was under control.
In my cabin, I took a deep breath. If ever there were a time for prayer, this was it. Beloved ancestors, I pray for wisdom to choose what is best, strength to do what I must, and courage to face what may come.
A Gavoran pilot sat at Sparrow’s helm and Gavs guarded her passages. A Patrol ship was dragging Sparrowhawk to a place I didn’t want to go, where a Gavoran magistrate would decide whether we were criminals.
I felt like Sparrow was no longer my ship at all.
CHAPTER 11
Arrested
Betanda sped us through the three jumps toward the sector 102 checkpoint. At each gateway, Gurin exercised the Patrol’s priority rights, inserting our joined ships at the head of the jump queues, earning grumbled curses for the Corridor Patrol and Sparrowhawk.
And with every ship we passed, word would spread at jump speed: Sparrowhawk was in custody, caught with fugitives in her cabins and stolen treasure in her vault. Ignominiously towed, in full view of every ship waiting by every gate.
It was a disaster.
The best case for me and Kojo would be to convince the magistrate we were innocent dupes, unknowingly carrying criminals and their loot. That might keep us out of a penal sentence, but throughout the outer sectors Sparrow would be a laughingstock or damned as jinxed. It would take years to repair our reputation. And if our suppliers didn’t extend credit, or customers didn’t trust us? We might be forced to sell Sparrowhawk, break up our crew. Break up our family.
The worst case? Ship confiscated, years in a penal colony. Ordalo gunning for us when we failed to deliver the synthreactor. The Cartel seeking revenge for holding out on them.
And in my case, perhaps even extradition to face Gavoran clan justice—whatever rock-bottom work they could find for a troublesome slave, like the dangerous factory that had killed my mother.
Kojo had tried to reassure me that Gavs had no right to ignore my Terran status, as long as I stayed out of Gav sectors. But what if they found the synthreactor? That was made from Sage tech, nominally under Gav control. That might be enough of a reason to take me back to Gavoran territory for trial. And why would any of the Terran authorities care enough about a half-blood smuggler to stand up for me? The thought made me sick with fear.
By the second morning, we’d arrived at the checkpoint, a sector base for the Corridor Patrol. A sprinkling of ships cruised nearby, each pausing within the checkpoint’s field long enough to be recognized and cleared before proceeding on its way, a few being selected for a routine board-and-search.
I pulled up the messages the beacon had relayed to us. There were a lot of them, mostly from suppliers demanding immediate payment. Word was out and already the vultures were circling.
Sergeant Danto appeared at my door. “The case from the vault. You must bring it to the salon.” He dogged my steps the whole way.
In the salon, Jamila sat on the couch beside Kojo, watching the ships come and go. If she was nervous, she did a good job of hiding it.
Balan, now wearing a blue tunic and pants borrowed from some checkpoint worker, paced between the couch and the galley. His eyes brightened when I placed the case on the table.
Gurin strode in and announced, “Mzee Lyden of the College of Religion.”
Balan rushed to the door to greet the newcomer. Jamila raised her eyes to the ceiling as if casting blame on the heavens.
A slight Gavoran woman, old enough to be my great-grandmother, entered. Her pelt was gray and scant, but her dark eyes were sharp and she carried herself with an imperiousness that dominated. She wore a long robe of deep red bearing the badge of River Clan—a clan with ties to the more mystical religious houses.
“Hello, Lyden,” Jamila murmured. “And Mya. How nice.”
I hadn’t even noticed the young Gav woman behind Lyden. She was younger than me, barely out of school, wearing the same type of robe and badge as Lyden. She peered about curiously, like a student on a field trip.
Lyden ignored Kojo’s bow but stared at me for a moment, her lips compressed into a thin, disapproving line. Mya anxiously drew her to a chair.
The priestess turned to Jamila. “The relic. Show it to me.” Her face might be lined with wrinkles and her pelt may have grayed with the years, but her voice was still strong.
Jamila leaned forward earnestly. “Lyden, we need to be careful. You know what happened to Deprata. Now Balan is out of his mind over it.”
Balan harrumphed. “I am perfectly well.”
Jamila ignored him. “Surely the most important thing is to get the artifact to a safe place where it can be studied? We can build a safe environment for it, just as the Cazar built the crypt to contain its power. Then our peoples can decide, together, what to do with it.”
That sounded reasonable to me. I hoped Lyden would agree.
Gurin glowered. “Mzee Lyden, is this truly a dispute over the ownership of an archeological artifact? The Patrol was led to believe a precious relic was stolen…”
“Don’t be a fool,” Lyden hissed. “The thing is vital to Gavoran interests. Show it to me.” Mya solicitously laid a hand on Lyden’s arm.
“You mustn’t touch it,” Jamila warned. “It seems to cause the greatest harm through direct contact.”
She opened the case.
Lyden made a quick intake of breath. Gazing at the relic, she bent toward it.
“It’s exquisite,” Mya said, peering over her shoulder.
I rose on my toes, eager to see the tablet again. A solid chunk of stone, yet its smooth, undulating surface seemed to ripple as I watched. It seemed darker than I remembered, the swirls of color on its changeable surface less active.
Home.
Balan stared, his lips moving soundlessly. A Patrol guard behind me gasped.
Lyden tentatively reached out a hand.
“No!” Balan hissed. Lyden drew back with a start.
Jamila closed the case and locked it. “I lined the case with metal from the crypt, which seems to have a shielding effect. Although”—she glanced at Balan—“even that doesn’t seem to help when someone has been directly in contact with it. Taking the artifact to Gavora would be a dreadful mistake.”
Lyden narrowed her eyes. “I have in mind another course of action.”
I sighed. Time for the damned thing to go, if not to its home, at least somewhere else. And certainly it was high time for the crooks and cops to get off our ship.
Gurin turned to Lyde
n. “If that is the item you claim was stolen, I will place it in your custody until the magistrate’s determination.”
Jamila stiffened.
Lyden said, “No.”
Everyone stared at Lyden.
“No?” Gurin ran a long-fingered hand over his graying pelt. “Mzee Lyden, what do you want?”
The priestess drew herself up. “Captain Gurin, the College of Religion is extremely grateful that you have located the precious relic and apprehended the persons who took it. However, the matter is complex. I would like to discuss a possible resolution with Professor Patil. For now, the safest course is to secure the relic on the Terran ship.”
Gurin glared at Lyden and Jamila. “Very well. For now.”
Accompanied by Sergeant Danto, I took the case back to the cargo hold. I was getting used to his looks, but being that close to a Patrol sergeant still made me nervous.
“What is your clan?” he asked, as I replaced the case.
I turned to him in surprise. “I was raised among Terrans, Sergeant Danto. Terrans have families, not clans.”
“You are a hybrid,” he snapped. “Your implant says you are Terran, but it is clear you are a half-blood. You should be among your mother’s clan. What clan?”
“My mother was Sand Clan,” I lied. It was a lower caste clan, barely higher than slaves, but free. “But I’m legally registered as Terran.”
I held my breath, just in case Jamila had already told him I was a runaway.
“I see,” he said, with distaste. “Even so, it is shameful, to live like this, among alien peoples.”
I breathed again.
Danto looked with scorn around the dim hold. “Why would you choose to consort with Terrans over your own people?”
Bastard. “You obviously know little about other races. My family taught me to appreciate the good qualities in all the people we deal with. Even Gavorans.”
I slammed the vault door. To avoid following him back to the upper decks, I turned aft toward the engine room. At least there was one person on the ship who had to treat me with respect.
