Confidence Game

by Britt Ringel

  Truesworth balked. “Where are you going with it? You aren’t leaving it in the docking bay, are you?”

  Lochlain pulled with all his might and the container began to slide over the deck. “No,” he huffed. “I’m going to put it in the forward hold. Once we’ve cleared the station, we’re going to remove gravity and let it blow out with the hold’s atmosphere.”

  Truesworth nodded ardently. “Now that’s a good plan.” He spun toward the common areas and raced down the stairs.

  Throughout his life, Lochlain never considered himself a powerful man. The handful of fights he had involved himself in had been brief affairs that relied more on surprise and speed than strength. Yet the knowledge that an explosive device was only an arm’s length away fueled his muscles to permit him to manhandle the container while moving at a backwards jog down the spine. He estimated the case weighed easily over seventy-five kilograms but he was now moving it as if it were empty.

  He reached the forward hold, out of breath, only a minute later. After verifying that Lingenfelter had closed the external hatch and refilled the compartment with atmosphere, he opened the portal and shoved the container past the threshold onto a narrow catwalk. A ladder to his right permitted access to the hold’s deck a single story below. Lochlain walked to the edge of the catwalk and peered over the railing to the floor. Directly below was a two-meter square lift for bringing heavy or bulky cargo from the deck up to the catwalk. He ignored the lift but collapsed the railing to provide the container an unobstructed path on its way out of the hold and into space. Once confident the container was in a good position, he glanced at the timer and dashed toward the bridge.

  As he sprinted past the common areas, he caught a brief glimpse of Brooke inside the medical bay. The auto-doc was still in surgery. Less than a minute later, he stepped onto the bridge.

  Truesworth was behind the captain’s panel rattling off a checklist. Lingenfelter was nodding and echoing, “Check,” at the man’s every pause.

  “We have ten minutes,” Lochlain announced.

  “Captain on the bridge,” Truesworth stated formally as he rose from Lochlain’s chair. He quickly made his way to the sensor station.

  “How’s Engineering doing?” Lochlain asked nervously. He had greater doubts about Naslund’s abilities than Truesworth’s or even Lingenfelter’s. In fact, he would have run to Engineering instead of the bridge if he possessed anything more than rudimentary knowledge of that department’s systems.

  “Okay, I guess,” Truesworth answered and then continued down his checklist.

  Lochlain called down to Engineering. “Casper, are we off shore power?”

  Naslund’s excited reply came seconds later. “Shore power disconnected. Power core is up and running.”

  “Good work.”

  “It was already running at fifteen percent when I got down here, sir. Miss Brooke had almost everything ready to go. Does the helm show the drives as green? I can’t find the mirror controls on my panel down here and I’m not sure how to bring them up on this console model.”

  Lingenfelter answered with an exaggerated nod. “Drives are green but I still need thruster control.”

  “Okay,” Naslund replied uncertainly. “Give me a minute. I know she must’ve already warmed them up, I just need to give you permissions.”

  Truesworth donned a light headset and tapped his left ear to ensure the earbud was seated. Despite the urgent situation, his voice seemed almost bored as he spoke. “Orbital Docking, this is CSV Zanshin at Bay Twenty-two requesting permission to cast off. Pre-filed to the Crucis tunnel point.” He paused briefly to nod confirmation to the controller at the other end of the connection and then stated, “We’re cleared. Elease, do you have thruster control yet?”

  Lingenfelter was squirming in her seat. Her left leg bounced nervously. She shook her head in continuous response until finally exclaiming, “Got it! We’re green.” She reached high on her panel and rapidly entered commands. “I just dropped all our virtual lines. We’re drifting.” She brought shaking hands to the thruster controls and began to back the freighter away from the orbital station.

  Truesworth quickly requested retroactive permission to pull from the slip. A moment later he told his navigator, “You’re cleared direct to the BEMEN hold short marker.”

  Zanshin cleared the orbital and began her ponderous rotation toward BEMEN.

  Lochlain pulled up the navigation plot and placed it on the bridge’s main wall screen. BEMEN was a position in space five light-seconds from the orbital. “How far would you guess we have to be from the station before we blow out the container, Jack?”

  The sensorman cocked his head but did not look back. “Well, worst case scenario is that it’s a gravity warhead. A full light-second would pretty much guarantee nobody got hurt.”

  “Control will see the explosion though, won’t they?” Lochlain asked.

  Truesworth snorted. “They’ll pick up a gravity disturbance halfway across the system.”

  “Keep pedaling, Elease,” Lochlain urged quietly.

  “How much time has passed?” she asked as her leg continued to bob up and down. She had just completed the ship’s turn and was engaging the Toland drives. It took every bit of her willpower to refrain from simply red-lining the throttles.

  Another hundred seconds passed. During the excruciatingly long period, Lochlain prepared to remove the gravity from the forward hold. He had already primed Zanshin to permit her external hatch to open despite being underway and full with atmosphere inside the compartment.

  “Captain, we’re passing one light-second from the station,” Truesworth informed coolly.

  “Decompressing,” Lochlain announced. He disabled the compartment’s gravity and opened the hatch with two, simple strokes.

  Zanshin neither sounded alarm nor shuddered when 54.6 cubic meters of atmosphere violently evacuated from her forward hold.

  Lingenfelter’s mouth twisted briefly. “It would kind of suck if it doesn’t get pushed out with the air.”

  “It worked,” Lochlain stated confidently. “I’m monitoring the camera used for loading cargo in that hold and I saw it drift out.” He closed the hatch himself. “Veer away and keep us moving, Elease, we need to get clear.”

  “Should I go faster?” she asked. Zanshin crawled away at the pitiful speed of 0.01c.

  Lochlain sighed. “No, keep us at legal limits. We can’t afford to draw attention to ourselves. If we violate the speed limit and bring an inspection team down on us, we’re going to have a lot of questions to answer with the mess in the spine.” He grimaced as he realized he should have placed the assassins in the hold with the bomb, though he doubted he would have had the time.

  The bridge’s wall screen divided. The navigation plot condensed to the left side of the screen as Truesworth placed a crystal clear optical of space to its right. “I can’t find the container but it should be in this field of view somewhere.”

  Lochlain watched the gap between Zanshin and where he had blown the hold expand to 0.2 light-seconds. The ship sailed only another eleven seconds before the container’s fuse triggered.

  The dimmest flicker of light shimmered on the optical. “Distortion!” Truesworth announced while reading his sensors. “Definitely not a gravity warhead.” He began shaking his head. “No radiation detected.” Finally, he grunted. “Well, that was disappointing. It barely even registered and I was focused right on it.”

  Lochlain exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding. “I bet it was strong enough to bring down the shielding around the power core though.”

  Truesworth’s back arched stiffly at the insinuation. “An exposed core would have vaporized the ship.”

  “Along with a chunk of the orbital,” Lingenfelter added with a shiver.

  The bridge crew sailed in silence, long past the time necessary for any message from Orbital Control to inquire about the nearby explosion. Lochlain was unsurprised. He knew that space was vast and suspected t
hat the controllers had missed the miniscule, quarter-second disturbance that had occurred 300,000 kilometers from them. “I think we just committed the perfect crime,” he said with a smile.

  Lingenfelter turned in her chair. “Captain, are we returning to the orbital and contacting the university? What’s going to happen to us students? And why did someone just try to murder us and blow up the ship?” Her eyes widened with sudden inspiration. “We’re they trying to steal the new training technology?”

  Lochlain observed Truesworth’s puzzled expression and began to smile sheepishly. “Elease, I owe you an explanation but first let me go check on Mercer. I promise that I’ll come back up and tell you everything, okay?”

  “Okay,” the young woman answered suspiciously. She began to frown. “Am I going to have to repeat this class?”

  Lochlain handed the bridge to Truesworth before exiting. The sensorman had displayed an uncanny composure and Lochlain wondered whether it was due to his experience as a privateer or if assassination attempts and bombs were everyday occurrences for a Brevic naval officer. Regardless, the man had certainly earned his share for the trip. He had not even bothered to ask why three men had attempted to destroy Zanshin. Maybe every Brevic truly was crazy.

  Lochlain stepped down to the main deck, forcing himself not to stare at the grisly scene just a few meters into the forward spine before turning the corner into the medical bay. Brooke was seated upright but held her head in her hands. “Hey you, are you all right?” he said.

  Her right hand dipped to the hem of her t-shirt but relaxed when she saw it was only Lochlain. “I’m guessing the surgery is complete.” She looked at the medical sleeve still encompassing her left arm. “Can I take this thing off now?”

  Lochlain approached the console and reviewed her status. The procedure was indeed complete. The summary characterized the operation as successful and unremarkable. The patient was advised to restrict herself to twelve hours of bed rest and then light duty for at least a week. A list of recommended pharmaceuticals followed the summary along with a reminder to consult a certified physician as soon as one was available. He recited the findings to Brooke as he searched cabinets for the medication.

  “I’m not lying in bed for twelve hours,” Brooke insisted. “Just find me the pain pills and help me off the bed.”

  “I’d argue but we need your expertise too much in Engineering. Bingo!” He pulled several packets of pills from a dispenser. “The computer said you get three.”

  “Thirty? I’ll take them,” Brooke retorted with mirthful eyes. She let herself slide off the bed and her shirt rode up her abdomen. Her shipsuit was a bloody, crumpled mess on the deck. “After I take the pills I can work but the first stop is our quarters. I’m tired of being Chief Engineer No-Pants.”

  * * *

  Lochlain returned to the bridge twenty minutes after he had left. Brooke entered by his side and under his support. She had decided not to attempt the 96-meter walk down the aft spine to Engineering in her condition and would be content to supervise Naslund from the captain’s panel. The console was capable of duplicating nearly any control surface in the ship and combined with communications to Naslund, she was confident she could prevent the fledging engineer from blowing up Zanshin. She thought it would be ironic if he did.

  “Miss Brooke!” Lingenfelter gasped at the woman hobbling into the compartment. “Are you all right?” Lingenfelter rose from her chair and scampered toward the portal to assist.

  Brooke nodded as she remarked, “There’s an old merchant’s rule, Elease. Once you’ve survived an assassination attempt on your ship, you get to call the chief engineer by her first name.”

  The trio carefully made their way to the captain’s station.

  The freighter’s situation had not changed much since Lochlain’s departure. Zanshin was now cruising in the standard sailing lane toward the Crucis tunnel point. The ship’s speed, its customary .15c, had carried her 2lm from Nimiset.

  “Your bridge, Captain,” Truesworth said as he rose from the captain’s chair. He dramatically brushed off the cushion. “I take it our chief engineer turned gun-fighting secret agent is going to monitor things from here?” he teased.

  Lochlain eased Brooke to the seat. “Jack, you have no idea how close to the truth you are.”

  Truesworth gave Lochlain a smirk but his grin slowly fell when Brooke nodded coyly. He crossed his arms, shot a glance in Lingenfelter’s direction and said, “Really? Okay, now I’m thinking I would like an explanation.” His rakish smile reappeared. “You know, after leaving the navy and then the mercenary service, I thought smuggling would damned near put me in a coma. So what exactly is Zanshin all about, Captain Lochlain?” He paused and then asked theatrically, “Your name is Lochlain, isn’t it?”

  “Are all Brevics as good-natured as you?” the captain asked with genuine curiosity.

  “Wait,” Lingenfelter said and pointed at Truesworth. “He’s a Brevic, Brevic? Like from the Brevic Republic? I thought he worked for the sailing association.”

  Brooke began to laugh, sending jolts of subdued pain through her body with every shoulder dip. She winced between each stifled bark. “This has become highly amusing but I think it’s time we lay our cards on the table, Reece.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed and exhaled slowly. “Too bad all we’re holding is a high card.” He leaned against the captain’s console and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

  Chapter 24

  Lochlain summoned Naslund up to the bridge for his confession. He spoke briefly about the falling out with his old smuggling ship while omitting the fact that he had sold out the crew of On Margin. Brooke recounted how she met Lochlain and her decision to disavow CBP. The couple finished with the circumstances of their illegal “purchase” of Zanshin and the squibbing, along with the fact that there was now a bounty on the ship itself.

  By the end of their story, Naslund was rubbing his chin but seemed to accept the situation. He stated he had already assumed the pair had a checkered past and even the revelation of Zanshin’s empty coffers were not terribly troubling.

  Lingenfelter, on the other hand, was on her feet and ready to pounce at Lochlain. Her hands were balled fists at her side and her voice took on a bitter edge. “You’re telling me that none of this is going to count as class credit and that I actually should’ve been on the Evora all along?” She volleyed a curse toward the ceiling before mumbling in disgust, “Trans-Star is going to own me for life.”

  “We were going to write you a recommendation,” Brooke offered feebly.

  Her reward was a dark glare. “Would it have been on CBP stationery?” the Svean snapped back.

  Truesworth, having been oddly silent during Lochlain’s speech, appraised Lingenfelter with a curious expression. “Hang on a second. So, the captain makes you lose your course tuition, basically kidnaps you, dupes you into working for free on a smuggling ship that gets boarded by a group of hitmen… and you’re upset because you won’t receive class credit from your university?” His look became pure approval as he tried very hard not to smile. “Do you know there are mercenaries with twenty years of experience that take things more personally than you?”

  Lingenfelter’s hostile demeanor cracked slightly at the comment. “I don’t give a damn about the scam. I’m used to those and I certainly don’t mind cheating a corporation,” she answered dismissively. “You don’t grow up how I did without bending a few laws.” She returned her withering glare to Zanshin’s captain and tapped her chest. “What I do care about is that you’ve just handed more years of my life over to Trans-Star because they sure as hell will not refund tuition for missing Evora.”

  “Elease,” Truesworth said with sincerity, “I’m growing fond of you but I honestly don’t understand how you could just submissively agree to become some corporation’s slave.”

  “I didn’t have a choice!” she fired back angrily. “I had nothing. Still don’t.”

  “You could work with us,”
Brooke said from her chair. Lingenfelter’s pale eyes locked onto her. “No indentured contracts, no mandatory service,” Brooke promised. “Just the freedom to choose who you work with and how long you stay.”

  Lochlain nodded keenly. “Elease, you’re more than welcome to stay as crew… real crew. In fact, Zanshin needs you.”

  Lingenfelter chewed her lower lip as she thought the offer over. Finally she asked, “And this is the whole truth? You’re done lying to me?”

  “Yes,” Lochlain answered emphatically. “I know it’s been crazy but please believe me that smugglers don’t lie to their own crew.” He looked at her solemnly. “We’re family for as long as we wish to be. No lies, no cheating and we take care of each other because nobody else in this universe sure as hell will.”

  The Svean’s expression softened considerably. “I’m still not certified. How would I get past a ship inspection? Wouldn’t we get written up for it?”

  “I can get you a license in Vulsia,” Lochlain promised. He cringed inwardly at the thought of the extra expense.

  Lingenfelter read his mind. “I have practically no credits to pay for that.”

  “You won’t have to,” Brooke told her in a warm tone. “We owe you that much. After today, we practically are family.”

  Lingenfelter looked to Truesworth as if for a second opinion.

  The rogue swept back his hair and let a grin take hold of him. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t think of you as a sister.”

  She blushed instantly but could not resist a return smile. The larger consequences of her decision began to settle on her. “I wouldn’t have to work twenty years for Trans-Star…” She shook her head. “If they catch me fleeing indentured status, I’ll be ‘serving’ a lot longer than twenty years.”

  Lochlain dipped a shoulder in concession. “We all will be but we’re not staying near the CCZ.” He traded glances with his crew. “There’s too much heat in this sector for all of us. Hell, apparently even Zanshin is wanted.”

  “Jack’s not wanted,” Brooke quibbled.