by J. S. Morin
As the glow faded from the knock-knock fruit, Mort handed it to Kubu. The canid cradled it awkwardly in one upturned paw. “Now put this in your saddlebag and run it back to the mountain. When you get a bunch of important people to listen to it, bite it good. Crush it. Just don’t swallow it until it’s done talking. Got it?”
Kubu nodded.
“Good boy.”
Kubu rolled onto his side and squirmed until he managed to tuck the fruit into one of his packs. Then he rolled to his feet and shot off into the jungle like a loosed arrow.
Mere seconds later, Mriy pushed her way through the underbrush. “What was Kubu running off for in such a hurry?”
Doherty scratched at the back of his neck. “Well, Mort got it up his craw that Kwon was going to be running things while Ramsey’s offworld. He recorded a message into a piece of knock-knock fruit saying that Roddy’s in charge and sent Kubu to deliver it.”
One of Mriy’s ears twitched. She stared at Mort. The same ear twitched again. “If I thought for a minute that Kubu could get back to main camp without eating that fruit, I’d chase him down and eat it myself. What are you thinking, putting Roddy in charge? He is on a quest of purification.”
“All the better,” Mort countered. “What’s the worst he’s going to do? That lazy chimp doesn’t have the ambition to cause any serious harm. They’ll probably halt work to play computer games, maybe allow drinking on the job. It’d be a shame if he fell off the sobriety shuttle, but he’s not going to do anything.”
# # #
Carl reclined with his feet on the console of his own ship. There was a spot just above the long-range scanner display where resting them didn’t hurt anything. And for once, he wasn’t getting any crap about it. For twice, he didn’t have to hold his tongue about the quality of the flying going on next door in the pilot’s seat. Amy Charlton had been a 99.99th percentile pilot in Earth Navy. If Carl had been 99.995th, the years since they both left the service had dulled any minute differences. He couldn’t honestly claim to be any better suited, and that suited him just fine.
The gray of astral space surrounded the Mobius like a bank of fog. Esper lacked the pomp and gravitas that Mort brought to the star-drive business, but she’d gotten them 8.4 standard astral units deep, which was still better than most civilian ships could manage. Amy was finishing course calculations based on their freshly measured depth. The navigational computer was the closest to true A-tech the ship carried, despite being fifty years from modern.
Amy swung the ship onto a new course and powered the thrusters. “Not too shabby. We’re only three days out. I can get used to traveling like this. Makes the galaxy a smaller place.”
“Well, for security purposes, being in the ass-crack of charted space has its advantages. But fuck me if I’m going to put up with month-long runs to the nearest trade route. Wizards all the way. Wish I had ten more of them.”
“I’m just glad Esper got us deep enough to make the trip worthwhile. Time is money. Speaking of which, I know operations security is nice an all, but when are you going to tell us the job?”
Carl shrugged. “It’s not operational security if I haven’t worked that part out yet. A lot of this business is reactive. I can’t plan a job worth shit until I have a target locked in. For starters though, we’re going to fence some illegal pharmaceuticals. We need a credible reason to be in contested space, and a little contraband dump to the black market’s as good a reason as any.”
Amy gave him a sidelong look that flounced her mop of tiny braids. “You raided the med bay on the Odysseus before we left?”
Carl held up his hands. “Come on. They’re my people. I’m not robbing our own med supplies.”
“So what’ve you got?”
Carl’s defensive posture faded into a grin. He’d grown so used to being second-guessed that he’d read too much into Amy’s question. “I’ve got Tanny’s stash of marine enhancement drugs.”
Amy raised an eyebrow. “That stuff’s worth the trip?”
“You’d be surprised. Tanny didn’t blow her take on booze and magic swords, like some of us. She was always teetering on broke because she had to maintain her supply. Most of the stuff in there is solid terras, but the Recitol’s worth the trip by itself.”
“The stuff you said was a knock-off…”
“That’s the beauty of it. We bought that batch knowing it was a high-grade imitation. We don’t have to sell it that way. Let the next poor fool figure out it’s only 80% effective. The packaging and the markings on the pills are dead on. I think they might have even stolen the packaging equipment from one of Zammos Biochemical’s suppliers. But it means we laid out about three hundred terras a pill for it, and we’re going to sell them for five thousand apiece. A marine wants to keep a level high on the stuff, but the tweakers who buy most of the aftermarket stuff are looking for an edge when they’re about to pull something dangerous and potentially fatal. Piracy. Jailbreaks. Mercenary work. That sort of shit.”
“So we’re going to piss on the leg of someone looking to kill people. Leaving a trail of enemies in your wake is kind of your shtick, isn’t it?”
Carl shrugged as he climbed to his feet. “Can’t change who you are. But hey, you’ve locked us on course. Let’s go grab something to eat.”
# # #
Esper sat on the couch, quietly munching on a strawberry and chocolate Snakki Bar. Her new crewmates were watching a marathon of Nebula Falls on the holo-projector. As inconspicuously as she could, Esper was watching them. In her head, she thought of them as Roddy II, Mriy II, and Chip II. Even though she’d never met Chip, he was the last computer tech the Mobius had employed. Plus, she’d officiated his funeral, so that was almost like meeting him.
Roddy II was Jean Niang. He was sun-drenched from years of outdoor work on Ithaca and had only recently started letting his hair grow. His square jaw and muscled chest gave him the look of a laborer, which in a certain sense, he was. Just because Roddy took the job of mechanic and made it into an equal mixture of tinkering and shortcuts didn’t mean it couldn’t be hard, honest work when done right.
Yomin Dranoel was a mousy, dark-skinned Martian girl who talked too fast for her own good. Even off duty, she wore a tech headset with an eyepiece just like the ones in modern military holovids. Similarities of age and planet of origin ought to have made her Esper’s best chance to make a friend among the newcomers. But Yomin was all tech, all the time. Any time she noticed Esper looking her way, Yomin would avert her eyes.
The last of the newcomers was Reebo St. Jardin. He was Mriy’s replacement as security officer. If Esper hadn’t known better, she’d have suspected him of being a spy for the followers of Devraa. He looked more like a marine than a sailor, towering over the rest of the crew. But he had a wife and an adorable two-year-old daughter back on Ithaca, so Esper couldn’t imagine him betraying them. The partially disassembled blaster rifle in his lap was a cleaning project for idle hands as he watched the holo. No risk of devilry in that one.
“Hey, what’s that you’re watching?” Carl called out as he entered the common room.
Amy followed close behind. “It’s Nebula Falls. Looks like episode 6 of the third season, where Landry sets up Dawson to look like he’s guilty of Azu’s murder.”
Groans from around the room greeted her reveal of the spoiler. Esper didn’t mind. It wasn’t the sort of entertainment that interested her—just a tangle of lies and betrayals from one episode to the next. There was no one to root for because everyone had a slimy, sinful secret that tainted even the most outwardly kindhearted moments. Azu and Dawson’s romantic gestures were overshadowed by the fact they were both cheating on their spouses. Archibald Corver agreed to let the colonists stay on Fellion IV because his miners went on strike and he needed the labor. Elsabeth only adopted the orphaned Setrina because she knew the girl’s DNA would scan out at the time of her true mother’s death and make her heir to a fortune. The whole series was spoiled from the inside out.
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“So, where we headed, boss?” Niang asked.
“A place called the Capstone Colony. We’re going to unload a crate of Tanny’s old marine drugs to establish ourselves as players in the local market. Then we’re going to dip our toes on the omni and see what we can dig up for a pair of deals to cross-wire.”
Reebo didn’t look up from the trigger assembly he was wiping clean. “How’s that work, exactly?”
“We’re going to set up a three-way deal. Normally, when you work something like that out, A gives to B, B gives to C, and C gives to A. We’re going to make B and C both thinking that they’re paying us and receiving from one another. We just need to find the right schmucks to be B and C for us.”
“So,” Amy said with a wry smile. “We’re going schmuck-hunting?”
“Something like that.”
It was so strange, seeing them together. Amy wasn’t quite new, but in many ways she was Tanny II. The flirtatious glances, the shared jokes that no one else seemed to be in on, and the ease of their interactions all seemed out of place. The distinctive lack of a looming threat of physical violence sapped Esper’s worry over Carl’s safety. But it had sparked something else. She had prayed about it, and had sat inside her own head in Esperville to puzzle through it. But there was only one conclusion she could draw.
Esper was jealous.
# # #
Kubu munched quietly—for him—on the knock-knock fruit as everyone sat in disbelief. Eight of them had gathered to humor Kubu and his mysterious talking coconut. Sephiera Kwon was among them, having accepted listening to the canid as part of her duties as acting commanding officer. As a semi-official member of Ramsey’s original crew, ignoring a message he carried would have been impolitic. She wasn’t sure what she had expected. Perhaps a funny noise when bitten. Perhaps just a joke. The creature had a childish sense of humor, after all, amused by boorishness and simple wordplay. But a message from Mordecai The Brown elevating the rehabilitating laaku above her in rank had been unexpected.
Fortunately Rodek of Kethlet hadn’t been present for the airing of the message, and its vessel was even now settling into the furnace that passed for the canid’s digestive tract.
An ensign named Braubeck was the first to find words. “What now? Should we go find Roddy?”
“And what?” Kwon crossed her arms. “Tell a barely functioning alcohol rehabilitation patient that he’s C.O.?”
Skip Farnsworth scratched Kubu behind the ears. “What’s the harm? Not like we can’t carry on same as ever. Roddy won’t give a wet shit what we do. Rather let him play captain for a couple weeks while Ramsey’s away than tell Wizard Mort to go screw himself.”
That was the real question, wasn’t it? What to do about Mordecai. Kwon had known a wizard or two in her time. The otherworldliness had made them seem exotic, dangerous, exciting. But she’d never said more than a passing hello to the Convocation’s delegates aboard capital ships, the ones who were there in case a ship should come under magical attack. By all accounts, those were lap dogs in comparison to this renegade who acted as Ramsey’s wild card. If Kwon hadn’t realized her options for legal living were painfully limited, she wouldn’t have consorted with anyone like him. Ramsey and the others tiptoed around the issue. They said he was on the run and had defended himself from capture. What she heard was that he murdered anyone who stepped into his path.
“Lieutenant?” Braubeck prompted.
Kwon sighed. With a beckoning gesture that brought Kubu loping to her side, she headed for the door. “Might as well get this over with. When I graduated the naval academy, I never thought I’d end up taking orders from wizards and laaku.”
# # #
It was called a swap station. Three berths, equally spaced around a central hub, connected to one another by cargo transport conduits. Each berth was enclosed in a defensive shield, preventing both quick escape and firing on the other ships at the station. The idea was simple: if you needed a secure three-way trade, a swap station would provide that security for a reasonable price. They popped up in areas of space where law was scarce and a little security was worth paying extra for. This nameless specimen of the breed was located in intersystem space, along the edge of Eyndar territory. Carl had bargained for its location with the woman who’d bought Tanny’s drug stash.
“Mobius, this is station control. All vessels are secure. Transmit the all-clear when you’ve got your merchandise. Shields go down once I get the all-clear from three ships.”
The voice on the comm had a lazy drawl heavy with boredom. He already had Carl’s money—whoever he was. Three thousand terras it had cost Carl for his share of the fee. The captains of the other two ships had likewise transferred their shares; otherwise, Mr. Personality wouldn’t have raised the shields to commence the deal.
“Everyone clear on the plan?” Carl asked. He’d lost track of how many times they’d gone over it, but with a green crew, it never hurt to ask again.
Reebo scowled. “Both ships send us their cargo. We send nothing. Yomin overrides the shields, and we high-tail it before the other two ships get loose.”
Niang and Esper nodded.
Yomin raised a finger as a point of order. “I also have to convince the station that there’s cargo going in all directions, otherwise they’ll rat us out.”
Carl clapped his hands. “Well, let’s get to it!”
# # #
Esper waited in the cargo hold as Niang and Reebo pulled in shipments from the two trader vessels that shared the little pirate space station with them. There wasn’t much else for her to do but wait. Her part wouldn’t come until everything was stowed, Yomin had tricked everyone’s computers, and it was time to make their escape. Esper should have been worried that so much was riding on her. She wasn’t.
The trips through the astral were simple. Trying it without Mort around as a safety valve had taken getting used to, but the universe was listening to her like one of those nice old ladies who’d talk to you for hours so long as you minded your manners. And Esper always minded her manners. Hearing Mort harangue God’s creations into doing his bidding had begun making her uncomfortable. The better she understood the bargaining for power, the less she appreciated his approach. It was inarguable that he dwarfed her power, but it just came across as unseemly the way he bullied creation.
But Mort wasn’t here, and Esper’s way was getting the job done just fine. When the time came, Carl would signal for her, and she’d nudge the Mobius astrally.
“Careful with that, buddy,” Niang shouted as Reebo slid a steel crate off the grav sled. It slammed to the cargo bay floor with an echoing thud. “That’s raw data crystal. All the trouble we gone through to steal it, I don’t need a big ox cracking ‘em all.”
“Ease off,” Reebo replied. “You’re not in charge anymore. This is Ramsey’s ship, not your jungle.”
“Wasn’t my jungle.”
“Yours, Kwon’s… who cares? But you don’t get to boss me around out here. You’re not even an ensign anymore.”
Esper idly wondered whether she ought to intervene. The old Esper would have. That Esper hated conflict—avoided it whenever possible and when she couldn’t, she pretended it didn’t exist.
“Think you’re a big man, Reebo? Got picked for the big heist with Ramsey, so you’re in. That it? Lemme shine a light up that ass of yours so you can see what’s what. You’re only here because Mriy’s busy hunting marines. Six years in the jungle and you don’t get tapped for that detail.”
“Fucking azrin are animals. How am I supposed to—”
“Hey!” Esper snapped.
Niang backhanded Reebo in the shoulder. “Mind your language around the lady.”
Reebo hung his head and wouldn’t look at her. “Sorry, ma’am.”
“Don’t give me that ‘sorry’ bullshit,” Esper said with a venom in her voice that surprised even her. “Mriy is a friend of mine. She’s a friend of Carl’s, too. Bear that in mind.”
Reebo cleare
d his throat. “You won’t… you’re not gonna tell Mriy, are you?” He still wouldn’t look up.
Esper smirked. “I’m no murderer. Now get back to work. The sooner everything’s accounted for, the sooner we can cheat these nice people and go home.”
# # #
Carl sat in the co-pilot’s seat, staring out the forward window. The Mobius had never been blessed with the greatest viewing angle from the cockpit, and from his vantage, Carl couldn’t see either of their two trading partners. One was a Singapore-class freighter that frequented disputed space under the command of a guy named Wilhelm Schrodinger. The other was a civilian Eyndar trader, the first of his species that Carl had ever done business with.
“Doesn’t sit right with me, either,” Amy said. Carl looked over and got that I’m-reading-your-mind look from her. Amy had a bit of innate precognition, enough to give her unnaturally quick reflexes, but she was no wizard. Any mind reading was the strictly feminine sort. And she was right.
“Hey, it’s not like we’re trading with them, right? I mean, sticking it to a few of those dog-faced bastards ought to do the Odysseus crew some good.”
Amy ran a hand over the throttle. She couldn’t wait to slam it wide open and blow this little bubble bazaar. Even the stars were muddy pinpricks beyond the energy shield, which was as much a trap as it was a protection from their trading partners. The fact that they weren’t free to go didn’t sit right with her. Carl could read Amy’s mind, too, when she was this obvious.
“You do this shit for a living, Blackjack—sorry—Carl?”
Carl snorted and kicked his feet back, trying to feign casual disinterest. He even created a quick Carl Who Doesn’t Care About Getting Caught for the occasion. “This is small-time, to be honest. Wanted to see what a tech-based job was like, since we’ve got Yomin along.”
“Is this the sort of thing to try with an amateur?”
Lacing his fingers behind his neck, Carl gave an indifferent shrug. “Shields are in the best shape I’ve ever seen ‘em. Neither of our trader friends has got the guns to do too much damage, even with the station helping. All Yomin’s got to do is fool a decrepit old station’s cargo sensors and override the shields. This mission’s got the flight assist locked in.”
