by Peter Grant
Lamington shook his head vigorously. "Its true value probably can't be measured in monetary terms, Mr. Cardle. It has little to do with art, but everything to do with Chinese history and culture on Old Home Earth. Just a moment."
The old man turned to a desk set against one wall, and activated the terminal mounted on it. He tapped a series of commands, and a scanned page from an old-fashioned book appeared on the display. It contained another picture of the knife, with Mandarin characters below it.
"This book was published in the twenty-first century, one of the last mass-produced in paper form. It's a history of the Triads, the Chinese criminal organizations, and the Tongs, Chinese social organizations that in many cases became as criminal as the Triads. Let me give you a rough translation of what it says."
Lamington peered at the text. "This jade knife is said to have belonged to Lei Sik Hoi, one of the legendary 'Five Ancestors' of the original Triads. He's one of five monks said to have escaped the destruction of an ancient temple in the 17th or 18th century by the Qing rulers of China. According to tradition, they fled to become the founders of the Triads. It's claimed the knife was handed down among Lei's spiritual descendants. It came to symbolize high rank, usually being carried by someone at '489' level, the 'Mountain Master' or head of the organization. The book doesn't specify which one, or whether it was a Triad or a Tong."
Lamington turned back to face them. "According to the book, the knife vanished during a persecution of the Triads in Hong Kong by British colonial authorities during the 20th century. It's still legendary among the Tongs and Triads. There's a long-standing reward offered for its rediscovery. It's grown over the years - it was a thousand taels in gold when last I heard of it. I'm amazed you've seen the knife! When and where was this, and who had it?"
Steve tried to remain outwardly impassive, but inwardly his mind reeled at the thought that he had in his possession an artifact potentially worth about one and a quarter million credits.
"I don't think I should say more," the Bosun answered slowly. "I saw it during my last visit to Old Home Earth, in the possession of someone who I believe was a Tong member. I have no idea how senior he was in his organization, and I haven't seen him since then. The knife was obviously very old, and I'd never seen one with a wooden scabbard before. I hoped these pictures would help me find out more about it someday."
"I can understand your interest! I'll be glad to contact jade dealers on Old Home Earth on your behalf. They'll be more familiar than I with the reward, and can tell us who to approach. I'll pass on that information to you as soon as I receive it. If you tell those looking for it who has it now, you'll undoubtedly be in line for at least part of the reward, as a commission for finding the current owner."
Cardle shook his head firmly. "Mr. Lamington, if Tongs and Triads are involved, we're talking about some very dangerous people indeed. You must know what they'd be willing to do to get their hands on this knife. I don't want another man's torture or death on my conscience."
"B - but they might buy it without any violence at all!"
The Bosun shook his head firmly. "We can't predict that. I'm not going to put the owner in potential danger by revealing his name. Why do the Triads and Tongs want it so badly, anyway? If they've done without it for all these centuries since it disappeared, surely they can carry on without it now?"
Now it was Lamington's turn to shake his head. "You don't understand. The person who presents this knife to his Triad or Tong will gain enormous 'face' - honor, status - among its members. He'll certainly earn a tremendous reward, and might rise to high rank as a result. His family or clan might even rise high enough to provide the next 'Mountain Master'. It'll be regarded as having helped to enshrine the living spirit of one of the Five Ancestors in its organization. That, in turn, would give the Tong or Triad in question immense 'face' among its peers."
"So those looking for this don't want it for what it is, but for what it represents?"
"Precisely!"
"That merely reinforces my caution. If it potentially means so much, I daren't reveal who owns it now, for fear he'd suffer as a result. No, I'm going to let sleeping dogs lie, and I'd be grateful if you'd please do the same. I mean that. You're the only other person who knows about this, so I'll be very angry if I'm approached by others asking questions about the knife." Cardle carefully didn't say 'very angry with you', but his message was clear.
Lamington held up both hands, palms outward. "I understand, Bosun; but you may be giving up a great deal of money by doing this."
"Money isn't everything, Mr. Lamington."
###
Steve waited until they were well away from the shop before allowing his excitement to burst out. "Did you hear the amount they're offering, Bosun? That's incredible!"
"That's incredibly dangerous!" Cardle's voice was grim. "I wish now that we'd never even seen that damn knife! If we'd known what it was was when you found it, I'd have advised you to leave it in that bladesman's waistband and let the Dragon Tong take it from him. Sure, it's worth a lot of money, but only if you can dispose of it without risk to yourself - and I don't see how you can. If word gets out that you have it, you may as well tattoo a bloody great target on your ass! Every Triad and Tong in the settled galaxy will be after it. They'll be falling over each other to get to you first, and they won't be particular how they persuade you to hand it over."
Steve sobered fast. "I hadn't thought about that."
"It's a good thing we didn't tell Lamington you've got it. I hope he keeps his mouth shut, but with that much money at stake, he may find temptation too great. Did you notice he didn't actually promise not to talk?" Steve nodded wordlessly. "If he does, you or I might be faced with some pretty awkward questions. Remember what I said about how deep Tong influence runs? They might bribe a cop to ask the questions for them, perhaps even using a truth-tester. That being the case, I suggest you stash the knife somewhere safe. If we can both say in all honesty that we saw the knife at the Cargo Terminal on Old Home Earth, but don't have it now, that's the truth - just not the whole truth. The truth-tester won't catch us in a lie."
"But where should I put it? What's a safe place for something so valuable?"
"You're lucky to be on a major Commonwealth planet right now. If I were you, I'd box up the knife, wrap the box in anti-scan material to prevent anyone figuring out what's inside, then put it inside a larger box, with no label to identify its contents. Take it to the local office of the Merchant Spacers League and ask them to store it in their Depository. As a member, you're entitled to use their safe deposit box service. It can sit there for years, if necessary, while you make up your mind what to do with it; and as long as no-one knows what's in the box, there won't be any records to link it to you."
Steve's face cleared. "That's a great idea! Thanks, Bosun. I've got it here with the rest of my kit, of course - we had to clear out everything before the ship went into the dockyard. I'll consign it to the Depository this afternoon, along with those gold taels from the Dragon Tong's reward. I never did get around to exchanging them for currency."
"See that you do. I'll sleep a lot easier when that knife's far away from us both!"
"Me too!"
"I'll have a word with Tomkins about it. I know neither of you spoke about it after you took it off that Lotus guy, as I cautioned you, but that's just become even more important. I'll tell him to forget he ever saw it. If anyone ever asks him about it, I'll tell him to fend 'em off, then warn us."
Steve hesitated, then decided to risk it. "Bosun, I owe you more than I know how to say. I mean... you took a chance on me and hired me as an apprentice spacer; you supervised my training, and took a lot more interest in me than most spacers in my position could rightly expect, according to Tomkins; and now you've shepherded me through a mess that might have been really dangerous if I'd thought only about the money involved. It seems very inadequate to simply say 'Thank you', but I don't know what else I can do!"
Cardle
smiled. "Thanks for being grateful, Steve. I gave you a break, sure, but you earned it through the way you helped Louie. You've grabbed hold of the opportunity and wrung every drop out of it that you could. You threw yourself into your training, and you work as hard as, if not harder than, anyone else in our crew. You just saved us a heap of trouble by spotting Murrin's little escapade. That alone would have repaid our investment in you. With another year's experience under your belt, and after completing that pilot's course you're planning to take at Bedford during our maintenance period, you'll have developed into a useful, all-round competent spacer. You've done real well."
Steve felt a lump in his throat. "Thanks, Bosun. I... I guess, in a professional sense at least, you've taken the place of the father I lost when I was five years old."
"Damn! The thought of being a father is scary!" They both chuckled. "Thanks, Steve. I appreciate the thought - and if I had to have a son, I could do a lot worse than you. Now, let's stop being maudlin and get cracking. The Fleet recruitment office is in that building," and he indicated an imposing block ahead of them. "Tomkins will meet us there, and we'll both file references for you while you fill out the initial forms. Cap'n Volschenk will submit his reference electronically as soon as we have a file number for you. After that, it'll be time for lunch. Be warned - Dale and I intend to take full advantage of your money and good planetside cooking!"
Steve laughed. "It'll be my pleasure, Boss."
Chapter 12: June 24th, 2837 GSC
Cabot returned from the dockyard looking the same externally, but she'd undergone a radical internal transformation. Sixteen mammoth medical pods containing hospital wards, consultation and treatment rooms, diagnostic facilities, operating theaters, pharmacies and supply facilities now filled her eight largest holds amidships. Each was plumbed into the ship's environmental systems, which had been augmented by additional containerized processing capacity installed in a smaller hold.
A fusion reactor pod had been installed in the spare reactor compartment, the first time it had been used for its designed purpose since Cabot had been built, doubling the ship's power generation capacity. More pods in forward holds held accommodation units and a mess hall for the hospital staff, a galley to prepare food for the staff and patients, and an immense quantity and variety of medical and other supplies, some to be used on board, others to be delivered to Radetski. Finally, the ship's big cargo shuttles had been temporarily replaced by four ambulance cutters and two general-purpose cutters, to go with the two she already possessed.
"We're going to be loaded to the max," Captain Volschenk informed the crew when he addressed them in the mess hall after they returned aboard. "We'll be carrying four hundred personnel of the 257th Expeditionary Hospital, a temporary unit activated for this operation. It'll be commanded by Captain Nash of the Fleet Medical Service. Lieutenant-Commander Erion," and he indicated a uniformed officer standing beside him, "will be the Fleet's official charter representative, supervising the operation of the ship. If he needs to issue any instructions, he'll do so through the ship's officers and warrant officers. He'll have half a dozen NCO's to assist him. They'll use our spare accommodation unit, and work alongside us to observe our operations and help us accommodate any requests from the Fleet. I'm sure you'll make them welcome.
"I'm told we'll be carrying about six hundred children on each trip. Most will be accompanied by a parent or relative, so on the Radetski-to-Vesta legs we'll have about sixteen hundred souls on board. Only the most severely injured children have been selected for treatment on Vesta. They're all partly paralyzed, or missing limbs, or badly scarred and in need of plastic surgery, or require major internal organ regeneration. Some are on life support until doctors on Vesta can repair their injuries. Quite frankly, some will look like monsters, and may inspire revulsion - which, of course, we dare not show. They've been through enough already."
He was silent for a moment, looking around the assembly. "If you come across these kids while they're being moved through the main passageway, don't approach or speak to them unless they initiate contact, and the medical personnel with them allow it. Just be as warm and friendly as you can to them from a distance. Most important, do not give them any reason to be become afraid or withdrawn. If you're arguing with a shipmate as they approach, with voices raised or anything like that, stop it at once until they're well clear of you. They've learned to fear anger as a prelude to violence. We don't want to stir up memories no child should ever have in the first place. Remember the old saying: 'There, but for the grace of God, go I'.
"The hospital will be very busy. For that reason, we've been asked not to visit it without prior arrangement, because the staff simply won't have time for us. Even now, before we take on patients, they'll be shaking down as a team and learning how to operate all their equipment, much of which will be new to many of them. Therefore, we'll confine ourselves to running the ship and stay out of their hair. However, some contact with them will be unavoidable. For example, they'll use the main passageway to move back and forth, as we will; and their exercise facilities are limited, so some of them will have to use ours."
"We'll set up a roster for the gym, Sir," Scarlatti assured him from where she sat with the other officers and warrant officers.
"Thank you, First Mate. The hospital has its own small craft and crews, of course, but we'll support their operations with our cutters. Our pilots and their assistants should stand by for a very busy time." Tomkins, Steve and the others grinned as they nodded their understanding. "You'll be taken off the ship's duty roster altogether while we're in orbit, so as to free you for small craft operations."
Tomkins, as the ship's senior small craft pilot, gathered the other pilots and crew around him as the crew dispersed to their quarters. "The skipper wasn't joking about how busy we'll be," he warned them. "We don't have enough pilots to cover three shifts a day, but since we've offloaded our gig and cargo shuttles, we can man both cutters on a two-shift schedule, with one day off in three. I'll plan for the shifts to run from six to fourteen, and fourteen to twenty-two, according to ship's time, but that may change depending on circumstances. If worst comes to worst, we may have to endure a few days of twelve-hour shifts, although we obviously can't sustain that intensity of operations for very long.
"I know we've often flown with just a pilot in the past, but for the duration of this charter I want every cutter to have both a pilot and a crew member. The pilots won't have time to leave their consoles to take care of all the scut work, so their crew will be running from pillar to post instead!" Laughter from the others. "Pilots, if your usual crew member can't work a shift for any reason, ask me for a replacement." Nods of understanding. "If any of you find you're getting worn out or over-stressed, let me know at once so I can arrange a relief for you. I'm not prepared to risk a tired pilot or crew member making stupid mistakes. We all know from experience how easy it is to do that." More nods. "Remember, keep it safe, people. We've never yet had a major accident or serious casualty aboard Cabot. Let's not have the first on this charter!"
They had to keep reminding themselves of that over the next few days as hundreds of hospital staff and thousands of tons of last-minute supplies streamed aboard the ship. The cutters made scores of round trips to the Cargo Terminal to collect supplies, plus new arrivals and their gear. More arrived aboard the regular taxi shuttle service or cargo shuttles. Orbital Control found it difficult to handle the unexpectedly heavy small craft traffic, which interfered with normal operations; but they had to make the best of it, given the Fleet priority assigned to Cabot's preparations.
Tomkins and Steve came off duty late in the evening of the fourth day, both worn out after a very busy shift. They joined the crew of the ship's second cutter in the mess hall, along with two Fleet spacers who'd been operating one of the two general-purpose cutters assigned to the hospital. Tom Higgins had left 'mid-rats', bread, sandwich materials and an urn of steaming-hot coffee, on the serving counter for the overnight watches
. They helped themselves hungrily.
"Anyone feel like something hot for dessert?" Steve asked. "Tom gave me the combination to the pantry, and told me to help myself if I wanted to prepare anything."
"Your cook lets you into his pantry unsupervised?" the Fleet pilot inquired. "He must be a very trusting soul!" He held out his hand. "I'm Davis, by the way. Zabrinski here crews for me." He wore the sleeve insignia of a Petty Officer Second Class on his flight suit, while Zabrinski's showed him to be a Spacer First Class.
"Pleased to meet you." Steve introduced himself and his shipmates, and shook hands with the Fleet spacers. "I help out in here now and again, and occasionally cook for the ship's company when Tom wants a break. I learned to cater for a crowd at the orphanage where I grew up. We brought back supplies for him this afternoon. I recall there were several big boxes of frozen cinnamon rolls."
"What are you waiting for?" Tomkins urged. "Someone's got to make sure they're safe to eat. I nominate us for the job. Go to it!"
"I'll blame you if he complains," Steve warned with a grin. "I'll tell him you pulled rank on me."
"Huh! With friends like you, who needs enemies?"
The Fleet spacers chuckled at the repartee. Steve made a well-filled sandwich for himself, then took it into the galley and set about flash-heating half a dozen large cinnamon rolls while the others ate and drank. He put them on a tray and carried it through to the mess hall.
"Here they are, hot and steaming," he announced, setting it down next to a stack of paper plates. "You'll need a fork - they'll burn your fingers if you try to pick them up." He poured himself a cup of coffee while the others hungrily loaded their plates with cinnamon rolls, then joined them.
Zabrinski wolfed down his roll, blowing on it to cool it so he could eat it faster, then looked longingly at the empty tray. "Any more where those came from?" he asked hopefully.
