Confidence Game

by Britt Ringel

  “Okay,” Brooke answered, running a sleeve over her face. “I’m nearly finished in Engineering. I just wanted to get a few things in order before Casper invades. Have him throw his stuff in Huseman’s old room and tell him to find me. The indoctrination tour is going to take a few hours.”

  Lochlain nodded and began to exit the compartment. “Jack can take Qiang’s room. When he gets here, I’m going to put Jack at the watchman’s station and work on plotting our sailplan.” His mouth became a thin line for a moment as he considered the job. “It’s going to be a pain to play both navigator and captain.”

  “Maybe we can find one at Vulsia,” Brooke replied optimistically as she followed him out of the storeroom.

  Lochlain heard her seal the portal as he walked past the common rooms. Two minutes later, he entered the cargo master’s room and walked through the airlock. He pulled out his datapad to begin preliminary work on Zanshin’s future course after taking his seat at the watchman’s console.

  Minutes later, Casper Naslund’s voice jolted him from the finer points of astronavigation. “Good morning, Captain!” the young man greeted energetically. He looked relieved to find Zanshin waiting for him. In his wake, a train of three, large bags rolled behind him without a tether, stopping automatically when Naslund did.

  Lochlain leaned to one side to look around the man. He whistled before saying, “That’s a lot of baggage.”

  Naslund’s shoulders rose and fell and his smile became self-conscious. “I wasn’t sure what to bring. I figured this morning was the last time I’d ever see my room.”

  Lochlain took a closer look at the luggage train. The sophisticated gear could not have come cheap. “Will you still have access to your bank accounts?” he asked nonchalantly.

  “I don’t know but I doubt it.” Naslund deadpanned. “I think Dad is going to be angry.”

  “That’s probably an understatement.”

  “Yeah. Well, figuring that he won’t take it well, I transferred some credits to a new account.” Naslund smiled conspiratorially.

  Lochlain returned the grin. “Already thinking like a smuggler,” he complimented him. Lochlain volleyed a thumb toward the docking tube. “Straight down the spine to the common rooms. Take the stairs one deck down and throw your stuff into the first room, right across the hall from the stairs. It’s a single berth with half a viewport behind your desk.”

  Naslund’s eyes brightened further. “Wow, my own room? That’s better than what I’d hoped for.”

  “Once you toss your stuff in your quarters, take the stairs back up to the main deck and go down the spine to Engineering. It’s all the way aft. Just keep walking and you can’t miss it. Mercer’s waiting for you.”

  Naslund had been nodding eagerly all through Lochlain’s direction. When the ship captain paused, he quickly asked, “What kind of freighter is this?” He retrieved his datapad from a cargo pocket and added, “I can pull the deck plan up and not get lost.”

  “Tuoma. Once you get to Engineering, Mercer will get you on the ship’s net. Although, as long as you can walk in a straight line, you won’t be getting lost.”

  “Yes, sir!” Naslund responded louder than was necessary. He threw the captain a jaunty salute before disappearing into the docking tube. The luggage train followed dutifully a meter behind its master.

  Lochlain’s datapad chimed with a comm request as he watched Naslund go. His first thought was that Truesworth was backing out on him and a knot quickly tied itself inside his stomach. The sensation quickly faded when the screen listed a “Sampson Munn” as the caller. He tapped “Receive” and answered cautiously, “Reece Lochlain.”

  “Mr. Lochlain,” a voice replied, “my name is Sampson Munn. Are you the freighter captain of Zanshin?”

  Lochlain’s answer came easier knowing the squib had already taken place. “Yes.”

  “Very good. I am seeking a freighter to carry goods to Crucis. It’s a short-notice delivery but I will pay very—”

  Lochlain cut him off. “I’m not headed to Crucis, Mr. Munn. Sorry.” He moved to terminate the connection.

  “Your destination is listed as Crucis on the orbital trade boards,” Munn stated irritably.

  “I just received some time-sensitive cargo,” Lochlain lied, “that will take me to Vulsia. I’m recalling my crew and once my navigator comes aboard, he’ll be updating our route with Orbital Control.”

  “Vulsia?” the voice on the other end echoed. There was a pause. “This is very fortuitous. My own short-notice cargoes are destined for both Crucis and Vulsia. Perhaps you would be willing to carry my second load with you to your destination. I will pay well for the service.”

  Something about the man’s voice made Lochlain uneasy. “How well?”

  “To be determined during negotiations, Mr. Lochlain,” Munn answered. “However, I can promise you at least thirty-five thousand credits up front. The cargo is only two meters by three meters.”

  Lochlain’s jaw dropped at the opening offer and he reflexively began to add that amount to Zanshin’s coffers. The extra payment would go a long way to cover operating expenses. Munn had even stated it was negotiable. If he could barter for more, Lochlain could make a dent in the costs of the freighter’s upcoming fuel cell recharge.

  “Are you still there, Mr. Lochlain?”

  “Uh, yes.”

  “The cargo is not illegal,” Munn promised, “if that is your concern. The shipment consists of frozen embryos of various livestock for new colonies. There is a research facility on Vulsia that has lost its inventory due to a faulty rehibitor. Can we meet this afternoon to arrange transport?”

  Lochlain answered. “The Lighthouse at fourteen hun—”

  “On Zanshin, Mr. Lochlain,” Munn interrupted. “We will bring the cargo with us. I fully expect to negotiate a price that will please you. This shipment must reach Vulsia before the facility’s exposition in four days.”

  “That’s fine. Fourteen hundred local time? At the docking bay?” Lochlain suggested.

  “Acceptable. Will all your crew have returned by then?” Munn asked. “I do not mean to be pushy but to meet my deadline, your ship will have to cast off soon.”

  “They will,” Lochlain assured. “We have only one outstanding crewman left… the navigator and he is on his way.”

  “Excellent.”

  The connection ended and Lochlain pumped a fist in the air at the providence that had fallen into his lap.

  Truesworth’s voice startled him, coming from the portal at the far side of the room. “I can navigate, Captain, but I was hoping to be stationed mostly behind the sensor and comms panel.”

  Lochlain furrowed his brow but then waved to dismiss the concern. “Oh, you overheard. That was a last-minute client. Your position on Zanshin is sensorman but you might have to help out at other stations on occasion.” He deliberately avoided admitting that Zanshin did not currently possess a navigator. The last thing Lochlain wanted was for Truesworth to harbor second thoughts.

  Truesworth pushed off the portal’s frame and sauntered into the bay. In stark contrast to the arrival of Zanshin’s second engineer, the sensorman carried only a well-worn military logistics bag. “Well, ahoy then. I certainly don’t mind helping out other crewmembers,” he stated casually as he approached.

  Lochlain waved his datapad. “On that note, I need to get up to the bridge for an hour. Would you mind helping out at the watchman’s station?”

  Truesworth heaved the bag off his shoulder and let it drop near the console as Lochlain stood.

  “I’ll take your bag, Jack. The new engineer is already getting the tour,” Lochlain said. “Casper Naslund, the kid who about ran into you last night. Once we get this last bit of cargo, we’ll be casting off.” He grimaced apologetically. “Sorry for putting you to work before you even step foot on the ship but I have to get some records entered before the client comes. I’ll be sure to have Mercer sync you with the ship’s systems so you can start familiarizing yo
urself with Zanshin.”

  “They’re coming at fourteen hundred, right?” Truesworth confirmed as he took Lochlain’s chair. “No problem. One of my additional duties on an old corvette was overseeing the dock watch while moored.” He raised a foot and placed it on the edge of the panel as he leaned back carelessly with a crooked smile. He began to gather his loose hair into a ponytail. “At least I don’t have to create a duty roster this time.”

  * * *

  In reality, Truesworth had only stood at a watchman’s console twice in his entire career. Both times were as an ensign in the Brevic navy and he had been merely chatting with the spaceman assigned to the actual duty. In the Brevic military, a watchman’s post was more a ceremonial tradition than necessity. Truesworth could recall only a single instance of a group of people bypassing such a watchman, in that particular instance to sneak off the ship. The penalty for illegally boarding a Republic military vessel was so severe that no civilian would dare attempt it. By the time Truesworth had entered the privateer rolls, his higher rank placed him above the trifling concerns of watchman duties. Despite his lack of experience at the post, he was unconcerned. Playing watchman for a freighter would be as stressful as petting a clowder of kittens.

  Nearly an hour into his watch, Truesworth had reviewed the majority of Zanshin’s operating systems. Its sensor interface was similar to a version he had briefly operated on a freighter nearly a decade ago. The software, while nothing special, was generally the same collection of programs that every starship used to fix position and communicate. Even the navigation and helm controls were similar to what he had grown up with in his past. Overall, Zanshin seemed straightforward.

  Truesworth’s head rocked up when he heard the sound of someone politely clearing her throat. Standing in front of him was a tall, blonde woman. She was attractive with alabaster skin and pale, blue eyes. Only her timid and uncomfortable stance detracted from her appearance. The young woman smiled nervously at him.

  Truesworth sat up straight and unleashed his best smile. “May I help you?”

  She stopped fidgeting and pointed at the console’s surface while stating, “I guess you’re from the school.” Her eyes darted toward the docking tube. “I need to just pop inside my quarters,” she peeped out shyly. “They won’t even know I’m in there, I promise,” she added in almost a whisper.

  “Who are you?”

  “Oh.” She smiled and chewed her lip briefly before answering, “Elease Lingenfelter. I worked Nav on the trip out here.”

  “You’re the navigator,” Truesworth said with understanding. “Lemme see,” he mumbled while accessing Zanshin’s crew roster at his console. He nodded and looked back to her. “There you are.” He tapped his chest. “I’m the FNG.” He stood up and reached his hand over the panel. “Jack Truesworth.”

  Lingenfelter’s mouth twisted slightly at the unfamiliar acronym but she shook his hand while coyly diverting her eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Truesworth. I promise they’ll never see me.” She walked hurriedly toward the docking collar.

  Truesworth watched her go, and he found himself comparing the woman to Zanshin’s chief engineer. Mercer Brooke had seemed impervious to his charms during the interview. Her purely business attitude had reminded him of other engineers and only her slight thawing near the end of the meeting hinted at the person underneath a thick veneer of professionalism. Additionally, it had seemed obvious by the way the captain and she spoke to each other that the pair were a couple.

  Truesworth reflected on how his life in that regard was as empty as the space he had skirmished in during his time with The Iron Brigade. Those feelings, long lost to a deep slumber, stirred distantly as Lingenfelter disappeared down the docking tube.

  Chapter 21

  Lochlain used the chartroom to finish the sailplan that would take Zanshin to the Vulsia tunnel point but did not submit it to Orbital Control. He would wait until the ship had cast off from the station before drawing an obvious arrow to his destination for any pursuers.

  The weathered panel chirped and Truesworth’s voice sounded through the speakers. “Captain, your cargo clients are here.”

  Lochlain pushed a finger to the screen and replied, “On my way, Jack.” He switched the comm channel to the 1-MC. “Mercer, can you meet me at the airlock, please? Our clients have arrived.” In an abundance of caution, Brooke had insisted upon being present when Munn arrived. Lochlain closed out the course plotter and moved to the stairs. When he reached the main deck, he looked to his left and saw Brooke’s silhouette jogging toward him.

  “How many people are there?” she asked after reaching Lochlain.

  The couple began to move toward the bow of the ship. “I didn’t think to ask,” he admitted. “Figure probably Munn and maybe one or two flunkies to handle the embryo container.” The trip down the spine took only a minute at their heightened pace.

  When Lochlain emerged from the docking tube, he saw three strangers pointing submachine guns in his direction. Truesworth’s hands were high above his head. Lochlain reflexively put a hand in front of Brooke and immediately began to back into the docking tube but a stern command froze him in his tracks.

  “Stop or my men will cut you to pieces,” the man closest to Truesworth warned. The other two men were standing next to a long, black container. “You and the woman,” he demanded, “step into the bay.”

  Lochlain and Brooke complied. The captain looked to Truesworth who merely commented, “Helluva first day.”

  “What’s this all about, Mr. Munn?” Lochlain asked. Information was key and getting his assailants talking was the first step in coming up with a resolution that did not involve gunpowder. “Who’s paying you for this?”

  Munn stared at him with cold, impassive eyes. “Mr. Lochlain, you will use your datapad to call a general meeting inside your freighter’s mess. You will tell every crewmember to attend and if you even hint at our presence or of anything amiss, I will decorate this docking bay with your insides.”

  Lochlain reached for his datapad.

  “Slowly,” Munn advised.

  Lochlain tied his datapad into Zanshin’s main channel and ordered awkwardly, “Uh, Casper, I need to see you in the ship’s mess.” He looked up to Munn. “He’s the only other person. We only have four crew.”

  “That fits a Tuoma’s crew complement,” observed one of the armed grunts. “Three deck officers and an engineer.”

  Munn tipped the short barrel of his weapon to the docking ring. His voice was dispassionate and deliberate. “Everyone will now board Zanshin and proceed to the mess.” He turned slightly to his men. “Bring the container.”

  Lochlain turned to obey but Brooke grabbed his sleeve and tugged lightly. He waited, unsure what she wanted, but she released her hold once Truesworth entered the tube in front of them. She then pushed him forward. “After you, Captain,” she mumbled dejectedly.

  The group walked through the forward compartments and ascended the half staircase of the forward spine. After they walked several more meters, Munn ordered them to stop while his men navigated the black container up and into the long, narrow corridor. They then resumed their march in single file into the gloom of the spine.

  “I really need to get myself a gun,” Lochlain remarked to the darkness.

  Truesworth let loose an abrupt laugh. “I was just thinking that myself.”

  “Quiet!” Munn ordered tersely from behind Brooke.

  “Why would we need guns?” Brooke asked in a quivering voice that brimmed with fear. She turned her head slightly and besought her captors, “Is it possible you gentlemen have mistaken us for someone else? Please just let us live and we won’t tell anyone.”

  One of the men at the back of the line chortled sarcastically. “Sure, sweetheart.”

  “Shut up, all of you!” Munn thundered angrily. He jabbed the snubbed nose of his weapon into Brooke’s back.

  The rest of the trip down the spine was in silence. Truesworth trotted down the half stairs to reach
the hall accessing the common areas. Lochlain did the same after him.

  Brooke approached the top of the short stairs but shuffled her feet slightly to slow her pace. She hesitantly took the first step. Her shoulders shook slightly as if trying to hold back sobs. “Please don’t kill us!” she implored as she sniffed audibly.

  As almost an immediate response, she felt Munn’s barrel jab once again between her shoulders. This time she rocked forward, as if off balance, and set her weight entirely on her left foot. Her right leg coiled and then lashed out in a ferocious back kick. Although she had been aiming for Munn’s gut, the disparity of height caused by the stairs resulted in Brooke’s heel making satisfying contact with the man’s groin.

  Munn exhaled in an explosive burst that rivaled a supernova.

  “Get to cover!” Brooke screamed as she jumped the final steps of the staircase. Truesworth was already at the open portal of the mess and sliding inside on his stomach. Lochlain, further behind, was diving to his right in a bid for the entrance to the tiny medical bay.

  A sound akin to a long string of firecrackers ignited as bullets from the second man’s machine gun tore down the spine. Brooke felt searing lead pierce her left shoulder and the sound of hail hitting metal echoed around her.

  She leaned forward and sprawled out for the medical bay as more gunfire whistled past her, deeper down the hall. When she finally stopped sliding, she realized she had smashed against the support of the med-bed.

  Lochlain was already on his feet and reaching for the portal controls.

  “Don’t!” Brooke shrieked. Her shoulder burned and now her calf felt like it had a cramp the size of an asteroid in it. She crawled back to the open portal and unzipped her shipsuit, revealing an Imdali Gamblers t-shirt. Her right hand dipped inside near her left armpit and extracted her pistol. She stuck the weapon out the portal and sightlessly aimed down the spine. Three rapid shots later, she brought her hand back inside the small compartment. “I want them to know we have a gun.”