by Jeff Wheeler
“Our scans showed that if they fired off their message immediately after we ghosted in, we have another minute or so before it reaches us. And we’ll be where we need to be in about the same amount of time.” He winced. “It’s going to be close.”
Captain Eleftheriou twisted the console back toward himself, muttering to himself as he pushed against the imposed gravity of acceleration.
“If Giannis could have given me another half kilo of mass flow, we’d have nothing to worry about.”
As if on cue, the console beeped angrily, and the youth immediately looked over to his own screen. His face fell.
“Priority one message, sir. From the frigate.”
Eleftheriou wistfully looked at the burn timer counting down for a few long moments before huffing at Republican impudence.
“Looks like they’ve improved their detection speeds. Good to know, I suppose.”
He picked at a piece of lint that had somehow managed to affix itself to his jumpsuit and flicked it toward the air return. With an ironically grandiose gesture, he tapped the button on his screen and the frigate’s message began to broadcast throughout the compartment.
“Attention unknown vessel. You have entered a restricted area subject to military interdiction by the Republic of American States, under authority of the Declaration of Martial Law, article seven, section B. You are ordered to cease your burn immediately and stand to for cargo inspection. Failure to submit will result in immediate offensive action. You have thirty seconds from receipt of this message to comply. There will be no further warning.”
Dimitrios looked at the clock again and tapped at his mic.
“Giannis, we’ve done what we can. Shut her down. Pop the white flag while you’re at it.”
The captain and the clerk immediately felt the burden of acceleration lift, replaced at once by the unsettling sensation of free fall. The pulsating waves of plasma blasting from the wire-formed nozzle dissipated, leaving the Doukas drifting calmly through space. All her radiators—fragile as rice paper under any sort of assault—unfurled to their maximum extent, the international signal of meek compliance. Captain Eleftheriou absentmindedly wrapped the chain of his medal around his finger, eyes still flashing with constant calculation. He turned to the deputy guildmaster’s son.
“Well, Yuri. Now we wait.”
* * *
“Sir, it’s been one minute since they’ve received us.”
The captain’s aide looked nervously over at the master of the Gibraltar, awaiting his reply. Captain Peter Gregory bore the face of a world-weary cynic: tired-eyed, gray-tinged tonsure ringing his prematurely bald pate, the beginnings of wrinkles now thinly stretched by the cruel tug of acceleration. His flight suit—the famous dark blue of the Orbit Guard—bore the ignominy of casual neglect, the golden striping of the collar tarnished by sweat, the pant seams having long abandoned their crease. The captain sighed heavily and waved his hand at the aide.
“Patience, Ensign. They’ll comply.”
True to his word, the incoming vessel’s exhaust trail evaporated, leaving the glowing-hot signature’s course unchanged. The captain grunted.
“Guidance, will their final orbit be within range of the station’s shuttles?”
His guidance officer, a hawk-eyed Bostonian, shook her head after a moment’s analysis.
“No, Captain. After circularization, they won’t have time to adjust heading for rendezvous before we arrive.”
The captain made a self-satisfied sound and turned to the officer.
“Maintain present course, notify me when we’re within fifteen minutes of boarding.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The captain tapped on his screen and sent a command to his tactical officer.
“Lieutenant Alvarado, as soon as we end the burn, I want a squad of your men armed and ready at airlock one. I will join you there. Prep another two squads and pods to inventory the cargo.”
The voice over the ship’s comms answered with cool professionalism.
“Yes, sir. Expecting trouble?”
The captain sighed.
“No, Lieutenant. Just a precaution.”
“Very good, sir.”
* * *
Hours passed in silence as the crew of the Doukas anxiously awaited the rendezvous with the Republican frigate. Once the two ships had come in range for real-time communication, the Gibraltar had transmitted a series of instructions for the crew, and Captain Eleftheriou had betrayed no intention to disobey. His young charge expressed dismay at the captain’s mild-mannered obsequiousness, but a single stern look from Dimitrios silenced any further muttering.
Gradually, carefully, the Gibraltar came alongside the Doukas, maneuvering thrusters gently prodding the much smaller frigate into position adjacent to the old trading ship’s port airlock. Far below, the swirling, rain-heavy clouds of Mimir hugged the churning world-sea, and the occasional bolt of lightning sent momentary flashes glinting through the billowing masses, like the glow of far-off fireflies swallowed in the gloom of early evening. Captain Eleftheriou watched dispassionately through a tiny porthole, imagining the sheets of rain falling on Collins City or Endeavor.
“Captain? What are we going to do?”
Dimitrios turned away from the window and looked at the source of the ever-wearying voice, young Yuri.
“What else? We’ll ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and ‘have a good day, sir’ until we’re blue as their suits. You’ll learn, Yuri, that much of guild work is knowing when to remain silent—a fact that I trust you will grasp, preferably sooner rather than later.”
The youth finally caught on to the captain’s jab, and shut his mouth pointedly. The captain turned back to the window, looking for a final moment down at the planet below, and then back up to the approaching airlock of the Gibraltar. The frigate’s universal docking port made short work bridging the gap between the two vessels, latching on to the Doukas’s airlock with a decisive click and booming thud. Captain Eleftheriou took a deep, calming breath and spread his hands and feet out wide, palms facing forward toward the airlock. The deputy guildmaster’s son mimicked him.
The muffled sound of the pressure alarm on the far side of the airlock sounded, and the door cracked open, followed immediately by the angry muzzle of a boarding carbine. A suited figure followed the weapon through the door, eyes flitting back and forth behind a clear helmet as the guardsman scanned the room for threats. He took up a position immediately inside the door, sliding his foot into a hold on the wall, and gestured another three soldiers through, who took up positions above, below, and in front of Captain Eleftheriou. The merchant captain smiled as pleasantly as he could, keeping his position with a foot wedged against the side of the module, hands still. Captain Gregory came through the airlock next, irritable expression visible even behind a mask and pressure suit. He grasped a handhold and halted himself with practiced skill immediately in front of the trader.
“I am Captain Peter Gregory of the Republic frigate Gibraltar, acting by and for the authority of the Senate of the Republic of American States. State your business in the Alpha Centauri system.”
The merchant led off with a smile and a formal bow of his head.
“Captain Gregory, a pleasure. I am Dimitrios Eleftheriou, and this is the Doukas, a licensed and bonded free trader of the Sol Merchants Guild. This is my second-in-command, Yuri Levin. We’re here to trade, of course.”
The Republican captain looked over his nose at the two men with a barely contained look of disdain.
“Do you gentlemen realize this system has been under martial interdiction for the better part of three months?”
“I do recall seeing something of the sort in the spacer bulletin.”
The captain snorted loudly enough that his suit’s internal microphone broadcast the sound. He pulled a tablet from a holster at his side and began to skim through the data on it, drawn from the Doukas’s registration information on the ship’s black box.
�
�Would it be too much to presume, then, that your passing familiarity with the bulletins includes an understanding of what goods are prohibited merchandise?”
The merchant captain raised his eyebrows and responded quickly to the guardsman’s sardonic barb.
“Well, I would assume weapons, of course—that goes without saying.”
“Yes, it does,” muttered the captain, flipping through the screens of data. He continued his queries without looking up.
“You left Titan late yesterday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No other stops along the way?”
“No, sir, this is a direct-route transaction.”
“And what is your cargo? I remind you, Captain, misleading or otherwise inaccurate responses to my questions will be deemed intentional and you will be charged with providing false information to a Republican officer in time of war.”
As if to accentuate his point, a thudding sound reverberated through the hull as an EVA pod airlock connected to the external loading bay of one of the shipping containers aft of the crew module. The merchant captain grinned disarmingly.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain Gregory! No, this is a fairly standard cargo run. Titanium, palladium, platinum metal powders, helium-3, and good old H-2-O.”
The captain looked up from his perusal of the ship’s manifest.
“I see,” he remarked, a hint of amusement—or disgust—creeping into his voice. He switched off the broadcast microphone and spoke inaudibly inside his suit. The young assistant had watched this entire exchange with a growing sense of dread, and he fidgeted nervously with the flight-suit fasteners at his neck, causing the guardsman nearest him to gesture roughly with his carbine.
“You there, hands in front of you.”
Yuri obeyed instantly, eyes wide with fright. Captain Eleftheriou spoke soothingly, attempting to defuse the situation.
“Guardsman, my apologies, my young second officer is green as Terran grass. Would you believe that this is his first trip in the black? Unbelievable, I know—to live your whole life on an icy orange popsicle like Titan.”
The guardsman glared and lowered the carbine’s muzzle, and Dimitrios quietly exhaled, tension momentarily relieved. Captain Gregory switched his headset back on again.
“Mr. Eleftheriou, I am happy to report to you that my men have verified that your cargo checks out with your manifest and your statements to me.”
Dimitrios smiled and bowed slightly.
“Of course, Captain Gregory. I wouldn’t dream of—”
“I was not finished, Captain.”
“My apologies, sir—”
“All of the items on the manifest, however, are illegal goods carried in direct violation of the Declaration of Martial Law, article three, and notice posted in ‘Bulletins for Spacers,’ numbers four thirty-one and four thirty-five.”
Captain Eleftheriou’s face drained of color.
“Well, that’s, that’s—all of them?”
“Yes, I can provide you with the citations if you like.”
“Yes, I would, actually,” stammered Captain Eleftheriou, sheet-white face now slowly coloring red.
“Titanium, palladium et al metals, powdered or ingot form: prohibited by article three, section one, subsection seven. Potential use in military weaponry or vessel construction. Helium-3, in gaseous or liquid form: prohibited by article three, section one, subsection three. Potential use in restricted reactor technology. Water, in gaseous, liquid, or solid form—”
“Now wait just a moment. This is outrageous, Captain! I mean, yes, you could use titanium for military applications, but you could say the same about any material in existence!”
“Are you quite done?” The Republican captain’s icy retort stopped Eleftheriou midbluster, and the middle-aged guardsman cut in.
“Mr. Eleftheriou, my job is not to argue with you. These restrictions were clearly posted in the proper channels, and I find that you had sufficient notice.”
“What is this, a magistrate hearing? I want to appeal that finding, this is ludicrous.”
“Mr. Eleftheriou, I advise you to stop before I have you arrested for contempt.” The abrupt sharpness in the captain’s voice was only accented by his imposing, suited form. He continued in the shocked silence.
“The Gibraltar is a vessel of the Republic under orders endorsed by the Triumvirate in time of war. Frankly, Mr. Eleftheriou, I have the legal authority to do whatever I want.”
Captain Eleftheriou opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then tried again.
“So what is the fine? Can I at least pay it now?”
The Republican captain had looked back at the manifest when Eleftheriou began to speak, but now his eyes shot back to the Greek’s, narrowing to a penetrating stare.
“Was that an attempt at a bribe? Do you want me to start a list of charges too?”
Captain Eleftheriou quickly raised his palms in innocent protestation.
“Not at all, I’m sorry, I expected that I would be able to resolve this unfortunate matter by a fine or fee of some sort.”
Captain Gregory chuckled dryly, humorlessly.
“I’m afraid you are mistaken, Mr. Eleftheriou. My orders say that contraband and illegal goods are deemed forfeited and are to be seized.”
“Seized? Seized? For the love of— Captain, there’s almost a half a million—”
“—that won’t fall into the hands of the Coalition or Coalition sympathizers,” finished Captain Gregory smoothly, depositing his tablet back into its holster and tightening the strap. He continued detachedly.
“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Eleftheriou. My men will remove your cargo containers; we will signal when you are free to leave.” He spun himself around and pushed off toward the airlock, pausing for a moment at the threshold to turn back toward the ship’s master and his assistant.
“Enjoy your stay at Mimir.”
The moment the hatch closed behind the Gibraltar’s master, Captain Eleftheriou let out a shout of rage, bashing his fist against the bulkhead. Yuri floated nearby, too shocked to speak, watching as Dimitrios raved like a madman, flinging anything he could grasp at the closed hatch. Yuri could barely hear the sound of the pressurization alarm over the captain’s ranting, but he felt the shuddering thump as the airlock detached and the Doukas floated free once again. A series of echoing thuds followed as the cargo containers were wrenched free of their supports, leaving the Doukas denuded of her treasures. Soon, the sounds outside ceased, and the Republican vessel transmitted their promised signal and ignited their engine, vanishing into the distance in a matter of moments. The captain suddenly stopped his animalistic cries, so abruptly that Yuri almost gasped. Without any warning, Dimitrios flashed a Cheshire grin and twisted to look at the young assistant.
“Think I sold it?”
“Wh-what?”
“My performance! Not quite Olivier, but passable, I feel.”
Yuri’s expression shifted from shock to amazement and back again, without a single coherent word managing to cross his lips in the meantime. Dimitrios reached over and slapped the youth on the shoulder.
“Come on, lad, we’ve got a meeting in Collins City! Don’t want to keep the guild rep waiting.”
Yuri turned himself awkwardly and launched down the corridor after Eleftheriou’s fast-retreating form, finally managing to stammer out a response.
“But, sir, Captain! We just lost all our cargo! You were—what in the worlds is going on?”
Dimitrios stopped himself against a hold and turned his head back to the clerk.
“All our cargo? Those containers? Oh, my boy, those were merely the diversion. The real cargo is untouched.”
“But you said it was half a million—”
“And that was not a lie.” The captain looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged and pushed off the wall toward the bridge. “Of course, it would have been best had they not confiscated it—the three-H would have certainly garnered a pretty pe
nny—but no, that cargo’s purpose was to keep them from looking too closely at their scans. Fourth lesson: one for them to find, one for you to keep.”
Yuri shook his head in wonderment as the Greek, gleeful as a teenager in love, somersaulted off the bulkhead and deposited himself smartly in his chair. With a tap of the controls, he put the intraship circuit up on the speaker.
“Giannis, my good man, get me within range of the station, on the double. We’ve got ourselves a dirtside date!”
For the first time, Yuri heard the voice of the ship’s engineer, undoubtedly in better humor than before.
“Aye, sir, shouldn’t be long at all. Remember your umbrella.”
* * *
As Giannis had imagined, the summer rains of Mimir’s northern hemisphere were in full swing as the shuttle descended in a fiery streak of plasma down to Collins City. Yuri found the whole experience terrifying, made all the more unsettling by the captain’s good-natured humming, and his ceaseless twirling of that blasted medal around his fingers. Yuri closed his eyes to combat the nausea in his stomach as the cyclonic winds of the upper atmosphere batted the shuttle around like a toy. When the vessel finally punched through the last layer of clouds, Collins City lay directly ahead, a brownish-gray cluster of new construction circling a central ring of cylindrical buildings, the obvious signs of a city built from the modules of landed vessels. Dimitrios noticed drifting clouds of black smoke from several points on the horizon, the telltale signs of distant battle, but said nothing. No sense further troubling Yuri.
A guild representative, dressed in understated finery, met the captain and the clerk at a local printshop, amid the whirring of cooling systems and the crackling of laser sinterers. With him stood one of the printshop workers, a tall, soot-covered man, clearly a welder or machinist by trade, and a local official, wearing a nondescript gray tunic. The guild representative, a portly man, clasped the merchant captain’s hand with gusto.
