by Peter Grant
"We heard you do that. The noise distracted them." Steve nodded toward their fallen attackers. "That helped us to disable them. We're grateful to you."
"As we are grateful to you for preserving the life, eleven days ago, of one who is of value to us. I trust you have received the reward we promised you?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you."
"Thank your skills and courage, which earned it, and the Lotus Tong, which paid it - somewhat less than willingly, of course!" He grinned as he toed Steve's victim contemptuously. "We shall take these carrion with us."
He nodded to his followers, who collected the fallen weapons, picked up the two men, and carried them into the alley. As they worked Steve asked, "Sir, what about the security cameras in this passage? Won't they show the fight, and your presence, and lead to questions from the police?"
The man tapped a small black box on his belt. A tiny red diode shone next to a switch on its edge. "This scrambles the entire police network, including its security cameras, within a radius of several hundred meters. It doubtless causes great puzzlement and vexation to the authorities." From behind him, Steve heard the Bosun and Tomkins snort with amusement.
"I see. Thank you, Sir."
"I note you are wearing merchant spacer uniform now." He reached into a pocket and brought out a small black disk. "You have proven yourself a valiant fighter yet again. In recognition of that, I give you this, over and above the reward you previously earned. Keep it safe. If you encounter... difficulties... on other planets where our Tong is present, seek out our representatives and show this to them. It demonstrates that we share a relationship of honor and mutual respect. It will gain you a hearing, and such assistance as they can provide without excessive cost."
Steve accepted the disk from him. It was about three centimeters across, made of black stone polished to a smooth, gleaming lustre. A dragon's claw, similar to the identifying gesture the man had used, was incised on one side, with a three-digit number in tiny characters below it. A complex Chinese character occupied the other side of the disk. All the designs had been inlaid in silver. A hole was bored near one edge, presumably to allow the disk to be hung from a cord or chain.
"Thank you very much, Sir. Er... how shall I find them?"
"In space, pass the word through the usual underworld channels, such as I'm sure you've encountered here." Steve nodded wordlessly. "Also, in the capital cities of many major planets you'll find a restaurant named the 'Royal Golden Dragon', offering foods from many Eastern national cultures. Other restaurants might use similar names; so to avoid confusion, visit it and look carefully for the dragon's claw," and he nodded to the disk in Steve's hand. "It will be hidden discreetly in the decor in several places; carved into wood furniture or fittings, or as part of a frieze, or woven into a tapestry. If you see it, show that disk to the manager on duty. Contact will be arranged as quickly as possible."
"Thank you, Sir. I take it other restaurants don't use that symbol?"
The man smiled. "Let us say they would be unwise to do so - and certainly would not do so for long."
"I see. If they ask, who should I say gave this to me?"
"Tell them you received it from the Red Pole of the Dragon Tong at this Terminal. The inlaid character indicates my rank, and the numerals below the dragon's claw identify this branch of the Tong. They will, of course, contact me or my successor to verify everything. I shall note your name in our records for that purpose, along with details of how you have helped us."
"Yes, Sir. Once again I thank you."
"If your travels bring you back this way, perhaps we shall meet again. Farewell."
The speaker inclined his head courteously, turned on his heel, and followed his men into the alley. Their footsteps receded into the distance.
The Bosun broke the silence. "Well, well, well! Having seen you fight, Maxwell, I now understand why Louie's still alive. You move like a cat, fast, balanced and smooth. It's a pleasure to watch you - although I'd prefer not to be on the receiving end!"
"Thanks, Bosun."
"What was that all about, anyway?" Tomkins asked.
The Bosun told him about Louie's encounter with the Lotus Tong some nights previously, and how Steve had helped save his life.
"So these guys were trying for evens?"
"I guess so," Steve agreed.
Tomkins sniggered. "Bad, bad idea! You scared me at first, though. I thought he was sure to get you when you first moved in on him, but he reacted too slowly."
"After I earned my black belt, I took part in several full-contact karate and mixed-martial-arts competitions. I learned the hard way that if you didn't anticipate an opponent's attack, he could get a fast strike through your defenses before you could react. That's what I did when the noise in the alley distracted that guy. Besides, what bladesman expects an unarmed victim to move towards his knife? I got inside his reaction time and beat his reflexes."
"You sure did! The Bosun told me you'd be sparring together. If karate teaches you to fight like that, I'd like to join you. I might learn something."
"Sure," Steve and the Bosun agreed in unison. The older man added, "It'll let me work out my frustrations on you when you don't listen to me!"
Steve grinned as Tomkins mock-winced. "If you like, Bosun, we can open our sessions to anyone in the crew who wants to take part," he offered. "I reckon between the two of us, we can provide basic instruction."
"We'll see who's interested. What was that you took from the guy you put down?"
"A knife of some kind. I didn't look closely at it." He drew the curved blade from where it and its scabbard had been concealed behind his jacket. "That's strange. The whole thing's carved from a single piece of pale stone."
"May I see it?" The Bosun took it from him, examining it closely. "I think it's jade. I picked up some jade carvings several years ago as part of a trade, and sold them to a dealer on Vesta. This looks like the white jade they call 'mutton-fat'. There are several Chinese characters carved at the base of the blade, here." He showed them to Steve. "The edge isn't very sharp, and it's got several small nicks, see? This one's developed a hairline crack running halfway up the width of the blade. You'd better not handle it very much, to avoid making it worse."
He returned it to Steve. "I think it's some sort of ceremonial dagger, perhaps a badge of office. It may be very old. I guess it's yours now - to the victor go the spoils, and all that sort of thing! You're not allowed to have private weapons on board unless they're stored in the strongroom, but I don't see how this can be considered a weapon. Keep it locked away securely - and don't talk about it, either of you, so no-one else gets any fool ideas. If anyone sees it and asks, refer them to me and I'll square them away."
"Will do, thanks, Bosun." Steve sheathed it, then took the disk from his pocket and handed it to him. "Is this jade too?"
"Looks like what they call 'black jade'." The older man examined the disk closely, then handed it back. "This might be very useful if you find yourself in a tight spot, so keep it safe. The Dragon Tong, above all others, has built a reputation for keeping its word and valuing its relationships. They take that very seriously. Respect them, and they'll respect you; disrespect them, and they'll come down on you as hard and as lethally as a ton of bricks. That disk is a public declaration of their respect. Value it accordingly."
"I will." Steve turned to unzip his carryall and stow the knife and disk inside.
"We may stop over at Vesta sometime. If we do, I'll take you to visit that jade dealer; and if we don't, there are dealers on other planets. Sooner or later we'll find someone who can tell you more about the disk and the knife."
"I'd appreciate that, thanks, Bosun." He closed the carryall. "Hey! I just noticed - that S.O.B. cut my new uniform!"
"I wouldn't complain too loudly if I were you. You got off a lot more lightly than he did - and he's going to be terminally worse off by the time the Dragon Tong gets through with him! Anyway, the ship's autotailor will fix it so you won't be a
ble to tell where it was. Now, let's get moving. The personnel taxi shuttles are five clicks away, so we'll have to take the high-speed conveyor to reach them; then it's half an hour's flight to reach Cabot. No time to waste!"
"I can't wait to see what the ship looks like," Steve confessed as they started down the passageway again. "It's old hat to you, of course, but I've only seen spaceships in tri-dee pictures and holovids."
"You won't see her from the outside - at least, not today," Tomkins pointed out. "The taxi shuttles are working spacecraft, not tourist buses with lots of windows. Only the pilot's station has a viewport, and you won't be near enough to the console to use it. It'll probably be screened off, anyway, as there won't be a pilot aboard. The shuttles are all remotely directed by Orbital Control."
"Tell you what, Tomkins," the Bosun interjected. "Take Maxwell with you tomorrow night when you pick up Cutter Two from the service facility. He can use the second pilot's seat beside you on the ride back to the ship. That'll give him a good view of the Cargo Terminal, and of the ship as you come in to dock."
"Will do, Bosun."
Chapter 6: January 25th, 2837 GSC, midday
Steve sat stiff with excitement as the taxi shuttle approached Cabot's docking bay. He felt the docking bay's arms connect to the small craft's locks with a muffled clang! His weight seemed to shift oddly as the vehicle's internal gravity field shut off, to be replaced by the ship's field as it was automatically extended through the docking arms. A speaker intoned metallically, "Passengers for LMV Sebastian Cabot are requested to disembark through the airlock."
Steve pressed the button on his chest that released his harness, stood, and followed the Bosun and Tomkins into the airlock. They waited a few seconds as the taxi-side door closed and the system verified that pressures had been equalized; then the ship-side door opened, giving them entry into a large compartment. Its metal walls were painted white, and its floor was covered in hard-wearing black plasrubber. Cargo-handling equipment next to the airlock was already humming as it prepared to receive baggage from the taxi. The airlock was one of four extending along the bulkhead through which they'd entered. Steve had learned while on the way to the ship that a second, larger docking bay below this one accommodated two huge cargo shuttles.
A bored-looking spacer wearing a gray utility coverall was seated behind a counter. She looked up from her console's holographic display as they entered, tapping a control to mute the volume of the program she was watching. "Hi, Bosun, hi, Tomkins. Who's this?"
"We've got ourselves an apprentice," Tomkins informed her with a grin. "Maxwell, this is Spacer First Class Dew Beeslie. She's in our compartment. Dew, this is Steve Maxwell."
"An apprentice?" The woman came to her feet and walked towards them. She was tall, rangy and bony, unquestionably the toughest-looking woman Steve had ever met, and wore three stars arranged in a triangle on the sleeve of her utility coveralls - clearly an insignia denoting her rank. Her voice was gritty, harsh, showing the effects of many years of hard work and even harder play. "Thought the Skipper didn't want any of 'em on board?"
"He changed his mind," the Bosun informed her. "Maxwell's had most of the theoretical training he'll need. Tomkins will be in charge of his practical training, and I'll expect you and the others to help all you can. We want to get him up to speed as quickly as possible."
"Sure." She extended her hand. Her grip was strong, hard, calloused. "Welcome aboard, Steve. You couldn't have picked a better ship for your first berth."
"Thanks."
While they were speaking, the cargo-handling systems fed their bags and trunks through the loading hatch. The Bosun picked up his overnight bag and told them, "I'll leave you to it. I want to see the Captain, then make sure we've got all the training material we need in the ship's library. I'll order anything we lack from the Terminal." He glanced at Steve. "I've also ordered impact-absorbing tiles and mats to convert an unused compartment into a makeshift dojo for us. The Captain's OK'ed it. They'll come aboard tomorrow, and you can install them."
"Thanks, Bosun."
Cardle left the boat bay, walking quickly. Tomkins frowned. "What did he call that - a 'doh'-something?"
"A dojo. It's a Japanese word meaning a place where martial arts students train. Think of it as a cross between a classroom and a gymnasium."
"If you say so."
He helped Steve rebuild his baggage tower, then they followed the Bosun out of the boat bay. Beyond it was a brightly-lit broad passageway leading forward. Tomkins didn't take it, but led him to an elevator beside the stairwell. "Your trunks won't do well on the stairs," he pointed out with a grin. "We'll take the high-speed conveyor, one level up."
The conveyor stretched the length of the ship, right side running to the bows and the left side to the stern. Waist-high railings flanked each side and formed a central divider. Steve could see the figure of the Bosun some distance ahead of them, walking quickly along the beltway. He eased his trunks onto the conveyor with Tomkins' help.
As they moved forward, Tomkins gestured to the deckhead above them. "That's the base of the spine of the ship. Let's see how well you learned your theory. See that bank of pipes running fore and aft? What do their colors and identifying symbols signify?"
Steve took a deep breath. "OK, from left to right, that's cold water, hot water, purified oxygen, nitrogen, ship's atmosphere, reaction mass... that next one isn't a pipe, it's an electrical conduit. I don't know the three pipes next to it, I'm afraid."
"That's not surprising - those colors and markings are used in the Lancastrian Commonwealth, but not here. They indicate hydrocarbon fuel pipes of different kinds."
"I see. Why do you use hydrocarbons aboard ship?"
"We don't, except for lubrication. Those pipes supply fuels and lubes to any cargo that might need them before offloading. You'll learn more about that during your training. You did pretty well. If the rest of your theory training was as thorough, you'll pick up the rest of what you need in no time."
"Thanks. How big is the ship?"
"She's five hundred meters bow to stern, with a beam of eighty meters. Her hull's roughly square in cross-section, with a bit of a bulge on top for the spine. You'll see her from the outside tomorrow, when we pick up our Number Two cutter. I dropped it off when we arrived to have a reaction thruster replaced."
"I'll look forward to that. It was frustrating just now, being in space but unable to see the planet, let alone other ships!"
Tomkins laughed. "Most spacers actually prefer it that way. A lot of 'em never look outside for months on end, except maybe to glance at a holographic display now and again. They prefer to live like hermits in a monastery on board ship, then go planetside for a long spell to get used to fresh air and weather again. You'll be surprised how you begin to long for weather after months in space, where you don't get weather at all!"
"I won't be surprised at all," Steve admitted. "Lately on the Terminal I'd found myself longing for a good old-fashioned storm, complete with thunder and lightning!"
"Been there, done that. Most spacers spend two or three years in space, taking a few days planetside every six months or so; then they'll go planetside for a year or two, to recharge their batteries and spend time with their families before the next shipboard stint. It's the only way to stay sane. If you stay aboard ship too long, sooner or later you'll go space-happy. The Fleet usually alternates two-year assignments for that reason, one spaceborne, the next planetside." He nodded to a gap in the protective railings ahead. "We get off here. I'll help with your dunnage."
Another elevator brought them below the conveyor to the brightly-lit corridor they'd seen before. Tomkins led the way diagonally across the passage to a sliding door. It opened onto a large compartment, painted in an off-white shade. Bulkhead-mounted diodes provided a pleasantly muted light. Armchairs and a sofa were secured to the floor, with a large holovid display against the wall next to the entrance door. Four numbered doors led off the compartment on each of the
left and right sides, with another two in the end wall.
"The ship has six berthing compartments, although we normally use only five of them," Tomkins explained. "Each has eight individual cabins surrounding a common area. Officially this is Berthing Compartment C, but unofficially it's better known as Chaos Central. I'm in Cabin 1. Number 5 is vacant," and he nodded to the furthest door on the right side of the compartment. "That'll be yours. I'll help you stow your gear properly, then we'll secure your trunks in the storage cubby," indicating one of the two doors in the end wall. "That other door's the fresher for this compartment. We all share it."
Cabin 5 proved to be a small but well-equipped room, just over three meters long by two wide. A compact desk was bolted to the bulkhead just inside the fireproof sliding door, with a computer terminal, a chair, and drawers at one side. Above it were a couple of shelves at the rear and storage compartments to left and right. Above them in turn a narrow bunk was mounted at head height, with drawers beneath it to store small items. A flexible, retractable net covered the bunk's memory foam mattress, to secure its occupant if the ship were to disengage its artificial gravity field or engage in unexpected violent maneuvers. An access ladder was mounted on the side of a hanging closet which stood at the foot of the bunk. A small wash-basin at the rear of the cabin flanked a single armchair. More storage compartments lined the bulkheads above them, and a cargo net hung from the deckhead to hold light, bulky items. A tall cupboard near the door was labeled 'EMERGENCY' in red lettering. The bulkheads and deckhead were powder-coated in a soothing light blue, with variable-strength lighting from diodes on each side of the cabin.
"Looks nice," Steve acknowledged. "Every available scrap of space has been used for something or other. I hadn't expected to have my own cabin. All the holovids I've watched about spaceship crews showed shared accommodation."
