by John Bowers
The office they were looking for wasn’t even marked, but was the only one with lights on. They stepped into a narrow waiting area with a counter stretched across it. Six cluttered desks were arranged behind the counter, but only one man was present. He didn’t bother to look up until Nick tapped a bell on the counter.
He stood up and approached.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you folks come in. Can I help you?”
“You handle starship schedules here?” Nick asked him.
“We keep track of them, yes.”
“We were wondering if you have anything running directly to Tau Ceti 4. Passenger, freight, charter, anything.”
The man frowned and tapped up a display on the computer behind the counter. He stared at a rather short list of ships, then frowned some more.
“There’s only one that filed a warp plan for Tau Ceti. The CSS Springfield.” He looked up. “Unfortunately, that ship has been red-flagged.”
“What does that mean?”
“It isn’t going anywhere. There was a problem with the data work.”
“What kind of a problem?”
The clerk hesitated. “I’m not sure I can divulge that information. Privacy issues, you know.”
Nick glanced at Victoria. She only shrugged.
“Can I talk to the captain?”
“Sure, you can talk to her all you want. But the ship isn’t leaving this station without OTA clearance.”
“When will that be?”
“No way to tell. They’ve already been cooling their rockets for six days, and it might be much longer before they’re cleared.”
“What happens if they just ignore the orders and take off?” Victoria asked.
“If they were to do that, we would issue an alert to all star systems, and the next time they made port they would likely be arrested for smuggling.”
Nick grimaced. “Where can we find the captain?”
***
Captain Phyllis Rockwell was sitting in the darkest corner of a bar on the main concourse called Centauri Nights. She was a short, fifty-something woman who weighed barely a hundred pounds, but looked as tough as a hypercat. When Nick and Victoria stopped at her table, she scowled.
“You’re blocking the view,” she told them.
Nick swung around. Thirty feet behind him, high on the wall, a holo-vision sporting event was in progress. Nick turned back to the captain.
“We need to talk business. My name is Nick and this is Victoria. I assume you’re Captain Rockwell?”
The diminutive woman scowled and rotated the shot glass under her hand.
“You can talk all you want, but I can’t help you. I’ve been grounded, in a manner of speaking.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Nick sat down facing her. Victoria sat next to him.
“I heard about your red flag. I might be able to help you with that, but first I need information.”
Capt. Rockwell squinted in the near darkness, as if the candle on her table were too bright.
“Help me how?”
“Let’s talk first, then we can discuss that.”
Rockwell shrugged, then downed her drink.
“Okay. Talk.”
“Your next destination is Tau Ceti 4?”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Your ship is a Sirian registry?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You’re not going to Sirius, are you?”
“Yeah, eventually. That’s my home.”
“But you’re going to Tau Ceti first?”
“Yes. If I ever get my ship back.”
“How many in your crew?”
“Six, besides myself.”
Nick studied her a moment. She looked like a typical spacer, hard-working, hard drinking, and no nonsense. He nodded slowly.
“We need to get to Tau Ceti in the shortest possible time. As far as I can determine, your ship is the only one heading that way.”
Capt. Rockwell offered him a thin smile.
“Sorry, pal, but I’m not a passenger ship.”
“I’m aware of that, but you probably have an extra cabin or two, don’t you? If necessary, we don’t mind doubling up.”
Victoria glanced at him as if to say, Speak for yourself! But she didn’t say it.
Rockwell shook her head. She reached for her liquor bottle, but Nick pulled it out of her reach.
“You need to sober up, Captain. I want to get to Tau Ceti and I don’t want to wait around for you to sleep one off.”
Rockwell’s features tightened with anger.
“I already told you…Nick—we ain’t going anywhere.”
“One thing at a time. If you didn’t have the red flag, how much would it cost to convince you to carry two passengers?”
Rockwell stared at him for ten seconds, debating. Finally she reached out and put a hand on his wrist.
“There is no amount of money that would change my mind.”
Nick let out his breath in frustration.
“However…” She glanced at Victoria, then back to Nick. “…if you can get that red flag lifted, I’ll take you there for free.”
Nick’s eyebrows arched. He hadn’t expected that.
“Does that include a ride to the surface when we get there?”
“Of course. You don’t think I want you to stay on my ship, do you? My cargo shuttles carry a crew of two, with four extra seats behind the cockpit. We can deliver you there in style.”
“Okay, good. Now, what’s the problem with your data work?”
“What makes you think you can help me? Are you some kind of government official?”
“I have friends in high places.”
Rockwell smirked. “Sure you do.”
Nick laid his badge on the table. Her eyes widened at the sight of it.
“United Federation Marshal,” he said. “I don’t give a shit what infractions you committed, I need to get to Tau Ceti 4. Now what seems to be the problem?”
Chapter 8
Eleven Days Later
Sunday, September 16, 0447 (CC)
Shuttleport Ridge – Tau Ceti 4
The heavy cargo shuttle wobbled slightly as it approached the shuttleport, sinking heavily on thin air currents, then touched down on a long strip of pavement that stretched almost a mile along the top of a mountain ridge. Nick and Victoria, the only passengers on board, saw trees whipping past just thirty yards away as the little ship slowed. They were strapped into jump seats just six feet from the cargo hold where dozens of stacked shipping crates were held in place by little more than composite metal-weave straps and a thin mesh barrier that separated the cargo from the narrow seating area. Nick had a nightmarish vision of a rough landing, the straps breaking, and the entire thirty-ton load shifting forward to crush them.
But the landing was smooth.
Soon they were moving at taxi speed and the little craft turned off the main landing strip toward a narrow wooden building that served as a terminal. As the engines wound down, Nick glanced at Victoria with a relieved expression. The forward bulkhead door opened and the copilot stepped through.
“This is it, folks. Hope we didn’t shake you up too much.”
Nick and Victoria unstrapped and got to their feet. Their luggage was tied down a few feet away. Nick released the straps and they each hefted a couple of bags, then made their way forward. The copilot had lowered a ramp and, with a final word of thanks, they went down the steps and set foot on Tau Ceti 4.
Nick looked around in appreciation, amazed at the cold, fresh air that flooded his lungs. The air was scented with evergreen, the sky as clear as glass. Gravity was roughly equal to what they were used to.
“Man, I thought the air was fresh on Alpha 2, but this place is like an oxygen factory!”
Victoria leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing deep. She nodded.
“It feels like a virgin planet. But it’s cold!”
“We’re in the mountains. Must be se
ven, eight thousand feet of altitude.”
Nick glanced up and down the runway. To their right was a fuel station and, beyond that, what looked like repair facilities. To their left he saw six or seven hangars of various sizes. He wondered if one of them might be big enough to house a space-going yacht.
They made their way toward the wooden building. Unlike every shuttleport or spaceport Nick had ever seen, this one was basic and unpretentious—no crowds, no sprawl, very little equipment; just a wooden building situated beside the runway with a small parking apron for the shuttle to unload and refuel.
The door to the building was solid wood. Nick pulled it open and they stepped through.
The inside was as basic as the outside. No ticket counter, no waiting room, no restaurants…no Customs.
“Wow,” Victoria said in a quiet voice.
“Well, Marshal Bridge said they don’t encourage immigrants, so I guess this proves it.”
The building’s interior was virtually empty. The lobby was one large room with a couple of offices to their right; to their left sat a freight counter for registering cargo, another door to the parking apron where two men in work clothing were talking to the shuttle pilot, and a single restroom door. Six or seven chairs sat along the front window.
“Don’t we have to go through Customs?” Victoria asked.
“I would have thought so, but maybe we just land and walk away.”
She shrugged. “I guess they’ll come and find us if they want to talk to us. What about transportation?”
“Good question.”
Nick pushed on out the front door and she followed. They found themselves on a wide wooden porch that ran the length of the building, which was perched on the very edge of the ridge. A long wooden stairway led down to a small parking lot ninety feet below; Nick saw four surface cars parked there, but no taxis or public transportation.
But the view was magnificent. The heavily forested terrain dropped sharply toward a deep canyon a mile or so away. A river tumbled through the canyon and a railroad—not a monorail, but the real thing—paralleled the river. A thin ribbon of highway ran alongside.
“What is that?” Victoria asked.
“What is what?”
“That…thing. Alongside the highway.”
“You mean the railroad?”
“Is that what it is? Why does it have two tracks?”
“Because it’s not a monorail. It’s the old-fashioned kind.”
“I’ve never seen one, have you?”
Nick nodded. “They still use them where I grew up, for moving cargo to and from the main line.”
He sighed.
“I wonder where we go from here.”
“You folks need some help?”
The voice came from behind them. They turned to find a grizzled man of about sixty staring at them. He was short and stocky, wearing denim jeans, a leather vest, denim shirt, and cowboy boots. A slightly stained hat covered most of his balding head. He had a grey, nearly white mustache with matching sideburns. His face looked weathered and worn, but his eyes looked keen enough. He appeared cautious, but not unfriendly.
“Yes, sir, we were just wondering where we might be able to rent a hovercar.”
The old man’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
“Sorry to break the news to you, son, but you ain’t in the Federation no more, or Sirius, either. This here is Tau Ceti 4. All the rules are different.”
“Okay…”
“You folks settling here or just visiting?”
“Tell you the truth, we’re not sure. We thought we’d come and check it out. If everything we heard is true, we might decide to settle down.”
“Everything you heard? What would that be?”
Victoria smiled. “We heard it was a good place for a fresh start.”
“Well, it might be at that, depending on what you’re looking for. But it’s a hell of a long hike just to check it out, ain’t it? And expensive, too. You folks rich?”
Nick’s jaw tightened in annoyance.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, but you ask an awful lot of questions, don’t you?”
The old man grinned in a disarming manner.
“Maybe I do, but that’s my job.” He pulled the left side of his vest back to reveal a badge. “I’m the sheriff in this district, and I like to know who’s coming and going on my watch.”
Nick relaxed a fraction and allowed the man a grin.
“Sheriff, huh? I guess that explains the questions.”
The man released his vest and let it drop over the badge again. He regarded Nick closely.
“You never did answer the question. Are you independently wealthy?”
“No, we’re not.”
“Mm-hm. So you probably can’t afford to blow fifty thousand terros on a scouting trip just to see if you like the place. Then what are you doing here?”
Nick glanced at Victoria, then back at the sheriff.
“You’re carrying a badge, but you haven’t identified yourself. How do I know you’re really a sheriff?”
The older man grinned.
“You’re in law enforcement, eh?”
“What makes you say that?”
“You have the look and the attitude. If I had to guess, I’d say maybe a military background as well.”
“You still haven’t told me your name.”
“You haven’t told me yours, either.”
“I’m Nick. This is Vic.”
“Hm. Nick and Vic. Got a starpass?”
Nick nodded and crossed his arms.
“Sure do. We were all set to show them to a Customs officer when we arrived, but since you don’t seem to have one, I’m thinking maybe it doesn’t matter one way or the other.”
“Why wouldn’t it matter?”
“I just told you. No Customs officer, no one checking our papers at the door. Seems you have a really informal planet here.”
“Well, in case you didn’t notice, this ain’t exactly a passenger terminal, so no, there isn’t a Customs station. That doesn’t mean we let just anybody in.”
Nick sighed.
“From what I’ve seen, this planet doesn’t even have a passenger terminal. Where else were we supposed to land?”
“Never said you couldn’t land, just said I’d like to see your starpass. Both of you.”
Nick’s brow wrinkled as he considered the request. He wasn’t sure he liked the sheriff’s demeanor, but he wasn’t exactly in the pilot’s seat. It was the other man’s planet. Before he could decide what to do or say next, Victoria reached into her purse and pulled out her starpass, which she handed to the sheriff.
The sheriff’s face crinkled in something approximating a smile and he nodded at her. He opened the starpass and stared at it a moment, then compared Victoria’s face with the holo-image on the document.
“Victoria Cross, Lucaston, Alpha 2. Thank you, Ma’am.”
He handed it back to her, then looked at Nick. Heaving another sigh, Nick reached into his jacket pocket and handed over his own starpass.
“Nick Walker, Trimmer Springs, Alpha 2.” The old man’s eye glinted. “See there, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He handed the starpass back.
“What is the purpose of your visit to TC 4?”
They both answered him at the same time.
“Business,” said Nick.
“Vacation,” said Victoria.
They stopped and looked at each other. They looked at the sheriff. The sheriff looked at them. His eyes narrowed visibly.
“I think we’d all better step back inside,” he said.
*
The sheriff was two inches shorter than Nick, but outweighed him by forty pounds. He walked with a stiff gait as he led them back into the terminal building and closed the door. He pointed to an empty office near the end of the lobby; they pulled their luggage into the room and the sheriff closed the door behind them.
“Take a seat.”
He w
alked around a plain wooden desk and sat down in the chair. Nick and Victoria took the wooden chairs facing him.
“Maybe you folks would like to start again,” the sheriff said.
“Tell us your name first,” Nick replied.
“I’m Kirk Thomas, Sheriff of Hardwood District.”
His expression narrowed.
“What are you doing on Tau Ceti 4?”
“We’re not here to cause any trouble.”
“Didn’t ask you that. Asked what you want here.”
“A little peace and quiet would be nice.”
Victoria spoke up.
“I’m an attorney at law. Nick is a United Federation Marshal.”
Kirk Thomas’s eyes widened a fraction.
“Really! Well, that is interesting.” He pinned his gaze on Nick. “You here on official business?”
“No, sir. The U.F. has no jurisdiction in this star system.”
“That’s right, they don’t. Which makes my curiosity the more compelling. You said you were here on business. She said vacation. I may not look like a college professor, but that set off an alarm in my dusty old head. Either of you care to explain?”
Nick and Victoria glanced at each other. She raised her eyebrows.
Nick turned back to Sheriff Thomas.
“I don’t know why she came—I tried to talk her out of it—but I’m here on unofficial business.”
“Which is?”
“I’m hunting a fugitive.”
Thomas stared at him a moment, then leaned back in his chair.
“Well, maybe now we’re getting somewhere. Why didn’t you tell me that to start with?”
Nick dipped his head.
“Since I’m being candid, the truth is that on the way here I did a little research. I found out that TC 4 is divided into twenty or thirty districts and none of them are united. Each one seems to be more or less independent, and at this time I have no way of knowing which ones will or won’t be inclined to cooperate with me. Until I learn the lay of the land, I decided to play it close to the vest.”
