But then the great sandy-orange disk of Iradia was before her, filling the viewport. To one side the sun erupted over the planet’s terminus in a spectacular wave of searing yellow-white light.
“Any final words?” Thorn asked.
Miala glanced over at him. He looked serious, but she knew better, since she’d grown adept at reading the subtle nuances of a barely lifted eyebrow, the faintest shadow at the corner of his mouth. Then she turned and stared for a long moment at the ochre-hued planet before her, the only home she had ever known. Her father had died somewhere down there; in a shabby corner of Aldis Nova, a small house where she had once lived was no doubt already overrun with sand borers and rock beetles. After a long pause she gave a grim smile and said, “Good riddance.”
He gave an approving nod but made no other reply. Instead he reached over to the controls at his left and made a few adjustments, and the Fury turned away from Iradia, picking up speed as it moved deeper out into space.
If Thorn had been expecting any opposition as they left the system, he must have been disappointed, Miala thought. As they rounded the smallest of Iradia’s three moons, she thought she saw the tiny winking lights of another vessel at far range, but that was all. And then there wasn’t time to focus on anything else, for Eryk Thorn pulled down a handle to engage the subspace drive, and the universe exploded around her.
“So where are we going, anyway?” Miala asked at length, once she was sure she’d grown accustomed enough to the stomach-churning spectacle of subspace to speak in a reasonably normal tone of voice.
“A place named Callia,” he replied.
She frowned. “Never heard of it.” Which, she had to admit, didn’t mean much. Galactic cartography had never been her strong suit.
“It’s about fourteen standard hours from Iradia. It’s in Eridani space, basically a resort world.” He gave her a sideways glance. “Lots of tourists, lots of strangers. And since it’s in an Eridani-controlled sector, we run a lower risk of bumping into any GDF ships. It should be safe enough. No one will look twice at us there.”
That sounded fairly reassuring, except for the part about it being a journey that would last at least fourteen hours. The seat she currently occupied was actually quite comfortable, despite its battered appearance, but Miala wasn’t sure she could sit in one place for that long.
Some betraying expression must have crossed her face, for he continued, “There’s a small cabin and a bathroom through that door to your left if you need to get up.”
It made sense. This ship was his home, after all—he couldn’t possibly spend his entire life in this cockpit, although she had the feeling he had slept in the captain’s chair more often than not. The three steps from the door he had indicated to the cockpit were just enough to make the difference between life and death in a risky situation. Still, she was glad to know she could get up and move around a bit if necessary.
Which she did after a while, as Thorn seemed indisposed to conversation and there was only so long she could sit in her own chair and stare out at the odd, twisting shards of space that flashed past the viewport at speeds beyond comprehension. The cabin was mean and small, even to Miala’s eyes. But now it served well enough for her to lie down and rest her head on the somewhat lumpy pillow. At least this bed was far too narrow for Thorn to have ever shared it with another woman.
That thought led her to wonder what he had felt, if anything, about last night’s encounter. Certainly today he had been all business—except for that brief touch just before they took off from Iradia—but what else, really, had she expected from him? For him to go down on one knee and proclaim his undying love for her? He’d be more likely to sprout wings, and even if he had done something so completely out of character, Miala had the uneasy feeling she would have burst out laughing at such behavior. No, frustrating as his complete unresponsiveness could be at times, that was the man she had fallen in love with, not some soppy hero from a romance vid.
And she was here after all, lying on his distinctly uncomfortable bed, breathing in the recycled air that seemed faintly scented with his sweat—she supposed it was ingrained in the ship’s air-circulation system after so many years of housing the same inhabitant—and not left on Iradia with a knife in her back or, worse, abandoned to the tender mercies of bandits and crime lords such as Rast Darlester. Eryk Thorn was taking her someplace he felt was reasonably safe, and they still had a lot to do.
Once they had acquired secure lodgings, she would need to procure a computer much more high-powered than her outmoded old tablet and then go about the tricky business of setting up new accounts for both herself and Thorn so she could begin to transfer the funds from Mast’s off-world accounts. There wasn’t necessarily that much true hacking involved, since she already had the access codes for Mast’s accounts, but it would take work and delicate handling just to keep the money transfers from attracting any unwanted attention. At least the current unsettled conditions on Iradia should work in their favor. Miala doubted very much that anyone would be paying too much attention to accounts suddenly being depleted when the legitimate owner wasn’t around to protest their sudden diminished state...
She must have dozed off at some point in her ruminations, for Miala awoke suddenly, feeling as if some invisible hand had tried to push her off the bed. After a few seconds spent reorienting herself, she realized what she had most likely sensed was the ship’s transition back into normal space. It didn’t seem as if she could have been asleep that long, but then again, her slumber of the previous evening had not been particularly restful.
Staggering a bit—the lumpy pillow and flat mattress seemed to have kinked her spine—she stood and made her way back into the cockpit. Thorn seemed not to have moved at all since she left, although it was possible he had slept briefly at some point. He gave her a brief nod as she resumed her place in the seat next to his.
“Rested?”
She thought about making a snide comment regarding the mattress, then decided against it. “Sure.”
“We’re coming up on Callia now,” he said. “Looks all right.”
It was only the second planet she had seen from space, but it was as different from Iradia as two planets could be. Even from orbit her home world was dry, dusty, and dead; this Callia shimmered both blue and green, banded with lacy white clouds. One tiny moon peeped out past the planet’s terminus, and Miala could see the tiny flickering lights that bordered the continents in the darkened edges of a crescent shadow as it turned its face from its star.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. Of course she had seen images of other planets, even ones as lush and lovely as this one, but they didn’t convey the sense that these water worlds somehow appeared in real space as delicate jewels that could be cupped in the palm of one’s hand.
He made a noncommittal sound.
Trust Thorn to ignore the aesthetics of the situation, Miala thought, but she was amused rather than annoyed. Quite possibly he had seen planets much more impressive, but she was still enchanted by the promise those glowing colors represented. Were there real oceans down there, mile upon mile of water completely uncontained by any sort of storage facility?
She did not have time for further contemplation of the planet’s beauties, however, as a hostile female voice suddenly sounded over the comm.
“Unidentified ship, this is Callia Spaceport Authority. State your name and business.”
Thorn leaned in toward the comm. “Callia Spaceport Authority, this is the light cargo vessel Endeavor II, inbound from Lathvin IV. Transmitting ship I.D. and cargo manifest now.” He tapped away at the modified keyboard to his right, no doubt sending the promised information to ground control.
Miala raised an eyebrow, and he gave her a small, tight smile before saying, “Always have a cover story prepared. We could have made planetfall in stealth mode and maybe none the wiser, but we’re trying to look legitimate—and I’m not here on business, anyway.”
She nodded, and then
the comm beeped again.
“Endeavor II, you are cleared to land on pad 127 in the port in Chistan Major—or what’s left of it. Transmitting coordinates.”
Thorn lifted an eyebrow. “Callia Spaceport Authority? Clarify ‘what’s left of it’?”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a sigh came over the comm. “Full details aren’t available at this time. However, a large portion of our coastal resorts have been decimated by a series of tidal waves. Chistan Major is partially located on high ground, so the spaceport there is still intact. Mostly.”
Miala wondered what a tidal wave was, then decided this was probably not the best time to ask. It didn’t sound good, however.
Thorn appeared to hesitate for a moment, and then said, “Coordinates accepted, Callia Spaceport Authority. Preparing for our descent into Chistan Major.” He toggled the comm, then glanced over at Miala. “Better strap yourself in. I’m not sure what’s going to meet us down there.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to just turn around and leave?” But even as she asked the question, Miala slid into the co-pilot’s seat and began struggling with the elaborate safety harness.
His response was immediate. “No. That would look suspicious, and since this is my first time here, I don’t have a lot of intel as to what kind of a system force they have and how zealous they are. Sounds like they were hit with some kind of natural disaster, anyway, and not an enemy attack. It may be kind of a mess, but that may work to our advantage. If they’re busy with cleaning up the place, they’re not going to be paying much attention to us.”
As he spoke his hands were busy on the controls, and the blue-green disk of the planet expanded in the forward viewport until Miala had the sensation that they were falling into it, captured by its gravity, certain to disappear into its vast oceans. Suddenly the concept of that much water wasn’t all that appealing.
But of course they weren’t falling, but sweeping in a smooth, controlled dive that took them through the upper levels of the atmosphere and then down into billows of grayish-white material that Miala at first couldn’t place and then realized must be clouds. On Iradia the only clouds one ever saw were high, thin strips of cirrus formations against the metallic blue sky, but she had read that clouds were composed of water vapor and could be quite developed on some planets.
As they were here, obviously—so much so that as the Fury dropped lower into the atmosphere, their misty consistency turned into discrete water droplets and then, as the ship finally emerged from the cloud cover, outright rain. They were flying low over a silvery gray landscape partially obscured by the heavily falling precipitation, and so all Miala could make out was the low jagged edge of a continent moving up toward them through the drifting veils of moisture. She wondered how anyone could fly in such conditions, thought that perhaps Iradia’s unending blue skies had their positives. But Eryk Thorn seemed unfazed by the torrents of water, slowing the Fury to get it into position to land on its designated pad, and suddenly her only view was of a square patch of gray sky and a frightening quantity of loose water streaming off the forward viewport.
Once again the comm beeped. “Endeavor II, you will refrain from disembarking until a spaceport official has confirmed your paperwork and cargo. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Understood,” Thorn replied. He reached down to undo his own safety harness and stood.
Miala began to slowly unbuckle her own seatbelts, but that last request from Callia Spaceport Authority had her more than a little concerned. Sure, it was one thing to beam a bunch of false information down to some bored officer who didn’t know any better, but how on earth was Thorn going to get a hold full of cash and other obviously ill-gotten loot past a customs official?
“Um, Thorn,” she began, after she had disentangled herself from the last bits of harness and eased herself out of the seat. “I’m assuming that what we’ve got in the cargo hold doesn’t exactly match whatever manifest you sent down to the spaceport authority when you requested permission to land.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
One eyebrow lifted. “I remember you saying you trusted me.”
“Well, yes, but—”
He stepped closer to her, then bent down and gave her a swift, hard kiss, smothering her protests. “So trust me.”
She wondered exactly what trick it was he had up his sleeve, but she knew better than to question him further. All right, she would trust him. After all, he’d had a great deal more experience racketing around the galaxy than she had, and he didn’t look at all worried. In fact, that eyebrow of his was still quirked, indicating some private amusement. All she could do was sit back and wait to see what happened next.
XI
The first thing Miala noticed when Thorn opened the hatch was the scent of moisture and of damp vegetation, both overlaid with a wild salty smell that she couldn’t place at all. The air was cool and wet, and a strong breeze blew stray droplets of rain into her face. Even when standing in a shower she’d never quite experienced the sensation of an atmosphere so heavily laden with water, and for a few seconds she felt as if she couldn’t breathe, that the air was too thick and she would drown in it.
Standing outside in the rain, and looking none too happy for it, was apparently the port official who had come to inspect the Fury. He was a slender Eridani male of indeterminate age, and his face, under the plastic-wrapped cap he wore, was pale lavender. He held a tablet and scowled at Miala as she descended the boarding ramp a few feet behind the mercenary.
“Who’s that?” he asked. “I didn’t see her name on the manifest.”
“Just took her on at my last port,” Thorn replied smoothly. “I haven’t had time to update my records.”
“Name?” the official inquired, after darting a quick glance at Miala’s low-cut neckline.
“Sheri Napoli,” Miala replied promptly. Sheri was an old classmate of hers, and Miala figured she wouldn’t mind if her name were borrowed in a good cause. Besides, the chances of Sheri ever being on Callia were virtually nil.
“Occupation?” The official’s derisive look made it quite obvious what he thought her primary function was on board the Fury.
“First mate.” It was all Miala could do to keep from laughing. She supposed at some other time she would have been offended by the spaceport official’s assumptions regarding her status, but he wasn’t really that far off from the truth in this particular instance.
The man’s eyes narrowed, although he went ahead and made a notation on his tablet anyway. “All right, Captain Marr, let’s take a look at what’s in your hold.”
Marr? Miala mouthed at Thorn as they moved toward the cargo bay. He gave her a barely perceptible shake of the head, from which she inferred that she should follow his lead and keep her mouth shut. Apparently “Captain Marr” was an alias he used occasionally. She assumed that the false identity matched whatever doctored manifest he had beamed down to the port authority in the first place.
The cargo hold looked the same as when they had left it: neatly stacked containers of various sizes secured by webbing. Miala couldn’t help giving Thorn an anxious glance. It didn’t appear as if anything had been touched, and so she couldn’t imagine what he might have done to conceal the fact that they were carrying a load of contraband Gaian units.
Face impassive as always, Thorn paused by one of the containers.
The spaceport official pointed at the crate. “Open it.”
Hardly daring to breathe, Miala looked on as Thorn unlatched the container and lifted the lid. Inside were…what? Certainly not Gaian units. The crate appeared to be full of cushioned foam into which had been carefully laid pieces of some sort of machinery—possibly mining equipment, since she thought she recognized the fluted metal bits that were sometimes used to bore through rock. Rusted pieces similar to the ones in the crate were a familiar sight around Aldis Nova, home of more failed mining projects than the officials there c
ared to admit.
The official pulled off his dripping cap, revealing thinning dark purple hair. “That one, too.”
Eryk Thorn unlatched the container the official had indicated and stepped back. This one looked as if it held a medium-sized generator, the sort that would be used on-site to power the types of drill the other crate had contained. He raised an eyebrow at the official. “Any more?” His tone indicated nothing except boredom and, perhaps, the mildest irritation at having to go through the motions of an inspection he’d had to suffer a thousand times before.
But the spaceport official wasn’t about to let it go that easily. “That one in the back,” he said, pointing to a container in the far corner of the cargo hold.
The sigh Eryk Thorn gave was scarcely audible, although Miala was fairly certain it was mostly for show. She supposed even someone who didn’t have anything to hide would be irritated by the request—was this annoying little man going to make the mercenary open every container in the cargo hold?
The final container’s contents were as innocuous as the other two, as this time the items revealed proved to be no more incriminating that spare sand skimmer parts.
Still, the official held up his tablet one last time, obviously rereading the manifest Thorn had sent to the spaceport authority. “Resupply for the mining colony on Nylos, huh?”
“Right.”
The spaceport official made a few final notations, then tucked the data pad under his arm. “Logged and noted, Captain Marr. Callia Spaceport Authority welcomes you to Chistan Major. Information for off-world visitors can be found on the local net, channel 185.”
Thorn inclined his head. “Thanks.”
And finally the troublesome official took himself off, replacing the cap on his head before he stepped out into the persistent rain showers.
Miala turned to Thorn. “What—”
“Not now. Gather up your things—we’re getting out of here.”
So even though she was full of questions—the most important being, where the hell are all our units?—she remained silent while she retrieved the shabby duffel that was her only luggage and followed Eryk Thorn out into the rain.
Blood Will Tell Page 11
