by T. M. Catron
“Me too. I bet he killed his whole family. The Wizards are supposed to be a bunch of murderous sons of Triton.”
“Sons of Triton?” Roote asked.
Abel grinned and jerked his head toward Rance. “You know about the rules, right? No swearing. Around here, we make up our own swear words.”
Roote leaned back, a look of understanding crossing his face. “I thought you were speaking some sort of pirate lingo.”
“Anonymous transporter,” Rance corrected as she finished her drink. “Never pirate.”
Roote looked at Rance and smiled. “Of course, Captain.”
“Galaxy Wizards don’t have families,” Tally said. He always felt the need to keep a conversation on topic.
“Do they really know magic?” Harper asked.
“If you believe the stories,” James said as he shoveled the last bite of food into his mouth, “they can travel without ships.”
Tally snorted.
“What?” James asked. Food fell out. He scooped it up and put it back in before saying, “My girlfriend—”
“Which one?” Abel asked.
James glared at him. “The important one.”
“They’re all important to you, James.”
“As I was saying,” James said, ignoring him, “my girlfriend met one once. Said he was the scariest thing she’d ever seen.”
“Yeah?” Rance asked.
“He dressed all in black. Showed up in her parents’ farming town a few years ago and cleared it out.”
“Cleared it out?” Roote asked.
“Yeah,” James answered. “Made everybody leave. Shipped them off-planet. The Wizards didn’t let her family take anything with them.”
“Why?” Rance asked.
“She never found out.”
“The Galaxy Wizards protect us,” Tally said. “They must have had a good reason.”
James frowned. “Does it sound like protection to you when they up and make everyone move to a new planet?”
“Yes.” Tally sniffed. “Maybe the planet was unstable.”
“I still want to know what in thunder that Solaris did,” Abel said. “Must have been bad.”
“We know what our dear captain did,” Tally said, turning to Rance. “Captain, next time can we get a CO from somewhere else? The Star Streaker doesn’t need the stress of an in-atmosphere jump in the middle of a vicious sandstorm. I shouldn’t even be up here—I should be checking that none of that blasted purple sand got into the hyperdrive.”
“Yeah,” Rance said, “no thanks to Harrison McConnell.”
“Harrison?” Roote asked.
“Your friend ratted me out.”
“He ratted us out, Captain,” James said. “We’re with you.”
Roote stared at Rance. “He told them you were a smu—sorry—anonymous transporter?”
“No, something worse.”
“Worse?”
Rance smiled. It was kind of ironic when she thought about it, that the penalty for skipping out on a Founders’ Marriage was harsher than the penalty for smuggling. At least, for her it was.
“Captain Cooper is engaged to Harrison McConnell,” James said, “or didn’t the rat fink tell you?”
“Her father has been looking for her ever since she ran away,” Tally added.
“So they were looking for you,” Roote said. “I thought they were looking for that Galaxy Wizard.”
“I’m sure they’d like to find me as much as they’d like to find him.”
“Can I ask who your father is?”
“Davos.”
Roote sat back, eyes wide with surprise. “Senator Davos? Davos is your father?” He regarded Rance with renewed interest.
She felt like he was staring at an animal in a zoo. “You mind?”
“Sorry, Captain, but…”
“But what?”
He leaned forward, looking right into her eyes. “I’m impressed.”
The crew watched the exchange with interest, their gazes going back and forth from Rance to Roote.
“It’s not difficult to be born into privilege,” Rance said grimly. “Luck of the draw—or bad luck, in this case.”
Roote shook his head and said quietly, “That’s not what I meant. Takes a lot of courage to stand up to a man like that. I’m impressed you had the guts to defy him.”
Feeling both humbled and pleased, Rance cleared her throat and glanced at Tally. But he avoided her look, pointedly draining the last drop of coffee from his cup.
“I had help,” she said.
“So that explains how you can afford an NNR,” Roote said. “Only the wealthy can afford those. Is it hacked?”
“Of course. And I’m not wealthy anymore—this ship is the only thing I own.”
Roote nodded, watching her. “It’s more than some, though.”
Rance didn’t pity herself; she loved her life, her ship, her crew. But she didn’t feel like talking any more. She was tired, irritated, ready to get some sleep. Roote’s praise had lifted her spirits, but the discussion of her father and her old life tugged them back down again. She stood and climbed out from the table.
Roote followed her out. “One question, Captain.”
Rance turned, expecting more questions about her father, her family, and her life. Like she was still in a fishbowl on Xanthes, paraded about in the public eye. “Just the one?” she asked. Her tone would have sent even Abel scurrying away, but Roote was unfazed.
“Why Doxor 5? What are we picking up?”
Oh, an innocent question. Rance inwardly smirked. Time for a little fun. “It’s not what we’re picking up—it’s what we’re dropping off. You didn’t think the only reason I landed on Xanthes was to find a CO, was it?”
“I had assumed so—mistakenly, it seems.”
“I try to drum up business wherever we land.”
“I didn’t see anything in the cargo bay.”
“You wouldn’t. It’s not there.”
Roote followed her up the steep stairs to the top deck, along the corridor leading to her quarters. “Intellectual property?” he guessed.
“What else is there?”
“Plenty. Diamonds from Xanthes, contraband medicine, banned exotic pets, aggressive species of plants, weapons.”
“You seem to know a lot about smuggling.”
“It’s common knowledge on Xanthes, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. I don’t fool with any of that.” Rance paused for effect, letting Roote make the connection. That was crucial. He was more likely to believe it if he came up with the idea on his own.
“We’re smuggling secrets,” he said, frowning.
Yes! He had taken the bait.
“I don’t ask, actually,” Rance said with a shrug. “But the pay is phenomenal.”
“It better be, because there are severe consequences if we’re caught.”
Rance turned to look at him, ready to lay it on thick. “Did I make a mistake in hiring you?”
“No, sir.”
“We’re not at the Academy. Call me ‘Captain.’”
“Yes, Captain.”
When they reached Rance’s cabin, she turned to him. “I hope you like hyperspace, Roote, because we’re going to be cooped up for a few days.”
He shrugged. “It’s not any worse than some of the places I’ve lived. A lot better than most, actually.”
Rance didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t want to get drawn into a long conversation about it now. She nodded to him in dismissal and entered her cabin.
The lights flashed on, then dimmed again as the ship entered its night cycle. She listened to Roote walk down the corridor to the bridge. He was on duty, and for the first time in a week, Rance could get some real sleep. She smirked at the lie she’d just sold him. If she had been in a better mood, she would have thought it was hilarious.
State secrets. As if Rance didn’t have enough trouble already than to dabble in those. She would rather smuggle a whole crate of hippocri
xes—tiny, biting, squealing exotic pets—than transport illegal documents or stolen Imperial goods.
The joke had been James' idea. Orientation.
Rance flopped down on her bunk face first, breathing in the slightly stale scent of her pillow, feeling the deprivation of oxygen. When she felt a little woozy, she turned over on her side to face the wall and the built-in shelf. Not much there but a brush and an old handset she kept meaning to fix.
Rance picked it up, turning it over in her hands to look at the back. Terryn was scratched into the casing, mingling with the other scratches on the surface. She tossed it back onto the shelf. It needed fixing, but not tonight.
Over the next ten days the crew tried to get to know their new CO, but he seemed preoccupied. Rance wondered if he was worried about the fake state secrets they were “transporting,” and almost felt sorry for him.
“Everything okay, Roote?” she asked as he passed her in the hall on the last day.
Roote paused. “Yes, Captain. Why?”
“I thought you might be missing home.”
“Xanthes is not my home. I only went to the Flight Academy there.”
“You graduated years ago. What were you doing back there?”
“Looking for work. I promise, Captain, I’m not missing that wretched planet.”
“Me, either.” Rance smiled. Since there wasn’t much to do in hyperspace, the crew had got some much-needed rest the last few days. She was beginning to feel like her old self.
James' voice came over her personal comm. “Coming out of hyperspace in an hour, Captain.”
“Thanks, James.”
She walked with Roote to the bottom of the ladder going up to the cockpit. He stood aside to let her go first.
“You’re always so polite, Roote.”
“Nonsense. You’re the captain.”
Rance had meant it as a joke, but he didn’t seem to have got it. Instead of standing there awkwardly, she climbed the short ladder into the cockpit. Roote followed, and they both strapped themselves in.
Rance checked in with everyone, making sure they were in their crash chairs before exiting hyperspace.
“What’s the plan when we get there, Captain?” Roote asked.
“Standard protocol for us is to dock at a public port. The Star Streaker is listed as a legitimate small transport—using a stolen serial number, of course. Officially, we’re here to pick up cargo.”
“And what cargo is that?”
“Today, a specialty shipment of flight suit electronics for a small outfit on Barton.”
“And what are we really picking up?”
“That’s what we’re really picking up,” James said.
“It makes us look good to have officially registered products,” Rance said, then added, “occasionally. And we transport just about anything as long as we get paid.”
“Okay, I get that. But what is it a cover for? Has someone’s IP been woven into the suits?”
Rance’s mouth twitched. She shook her head. “It’s not a cover. Not this time.”
James glanced over his shoulder at Rance, who was struggling to keep a straight face.
“We should tell him,” James said.
“Tell me what?” Roote asked. Realization dawned on his face, contorting from confusion to anger and then to relief. “We don’t smuggle Imperial secrets, do we?”
Rance grinned. James snorted. Over the comm, Harper’s snicker chimed in, soon joined by Abel’s loud chuckle that caused the comm to crackle. Even Tally let out a rare guffaw that echoed through the ship’s interior.
The entire crew had been listening.
“For the love of Triton,” Roote breathed.
Rance laughed. “You should see your face. Harrison must have really told you some stories about me.”
Roote shook his head, then smiled. “You really had me.”
Abel stopped laughing long enough to say, “Admit it. You were going to bail as soon as we landed on Doxor 5.”
“Founder’s eyeballs,” Rance said. “I was going to bail once we got to Doxor 5!”
Everyone laughed at that, including Roote.
“Not too mad, are you?” James asked.
“Are the rules a joke, too?”
“No, afraid not. Captain’s always been serious about those.”
Rance chuckled again, then reached over to turn down the cabin comm, which was still broadcasting the crew’s laughter. “To be fair, Roote, sometimes we do transport stuff that is less than… umm… savory… but never anything to get noticed by anyone.”
She leaned over and tapped James on the shoulder. “I think that was your best one yet.”
Rance turned back to Roote, trying to keep a straight face. “I honestly thought we’d gone too far. You seemed like such an upstanding guy—you really must have been desperate to get off Xanthes.”
Roote cleared his throat and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Please don’t tell me I was right about exotic pets.”
“Nope. Sometimes family heirlooms—jewelry, art pieces and such. Delicate cargo. Anything people don’t want to risk shipping through official channels. Valuable stuff has a way of turning up missing, if you know what I mean.”
Roote smiled. “Was skipping out on a Founders’ Marriage a joke?”
Rance sighed. “No, that part is true, too. And Harrison McConnell better hope I never get my hands on him because it won’t be in the way he wants.”
Roote sat up straight in his too-small chair, looking like a great burden had been lifted off him. “I was apprehensive. I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t know how you were smuggling Imperial secrets without incurring the very furious and far-reaching wrath of Triton.”
He looked so relieved Rance again wondered if she’d let the joke go on too long. “You still want to stay on?”
Roote smiled again, this time a big grin that made his face turn a bit goofy. Rance thought it was endearing. She could get used to that smile.
“Of course I want to stay on,” he whispered.
“Alright, then. Welcome aboard, Roote—again!”
“Woohoo!” James said.
A few minutes later, a light flashed on the console, signaling the ship’s exit from hyperspace. The blue outside the cockpit disappeared, and the Star Streaker entered Doxor 5’s outer perimeter.
Doxor 5 had been colonized and terraformed five hundred years earlier. Part of a ten-planet system, it was the largest of the satellites orbiting twin stars called Doxor A and Doxor B. Rance always wondered what had happened to the original colonists’ imaginations. Why didn’t they invent more original names for their new homes?
Space stations—monstrous ports of call for the larger starships—always crowded the orbit around the planet until a designated flight path had to be cleared so the smaller, atmosphere-capable ships could land.
As the planet grew larger in their field of view, its general color became more apparent. Although they weren’t close enough yet to see it, Doxor 5 was one gigantic city. Gray buildings pierced gray clouds, and giant, miles-long warehouses covered great swaths of the rock. A sliver of darkness ran from pole to pole; night on Doxor 5 was short.
The Star Streaker joined the queue of other ships waiting to land, behind a bulky gray S-class transport. It looked like an old metal crate, and Rance wondered how the ship managed to land. The Streaker’s crew sat back to wait.
“Why is it that when I’m strapped into my crash chair, I always have to pee?” James remarked.
Abel’s voice drifted over the comm. “Who are you going to meet this time, James?”
Rance had just pressed the button to tell Abel to save it when the ship shook slightly as if they’d hit turbulence. But they couldn’t have—they were in space.
“What in the Founder’s armpit was that?” James asked.
Rance looked over at the console and scanned the space around them. “Nothing unusual.”
“I’d say that was very unusual.”
Ra
nce started to tell James to pull out of line when the Streaker shook again, this time with a jolt so violent Rance’s harness knocked the air out of her lungs. The electronics flickered as the cockpit went dark, then came online again.
“EMP cannon!” she shouted as the next wave hit them in the tail. “They found us!”
The ship rolled with the blow but didn’t go completely dark—yet.
James punched the buttons that brought up the shields and at the same time pulled out of the queue. “How the flying flip did they find us?”
The next bright streak from the EMP cannon shot by, narrowly missing their wing and hitting the transport in front of them. It shuddered and went dark.
“How did we survive that—twice?” Roote asked.
“Tally made some special modifications. But we won’t take another hit like that.”
“Illegal modifications, you mean.”
“Not a good time for ethics, Roote. James—watch your six!”
Three UDFs were closing on them in attack formation.
James performed evasive maneuvers, weaving in and out of the queue with the precision of a laser. Another blast slid by them, sending a second small freighter into a spin.
“Why are they firing at us?! What did we do?” James asked.
The attacks had unleashed pandemonium. Ships all around them scattered from the path of fire. Soon the surrounding space looked like an asteroid field of ships.
Metal ships, with people inside.
Rance resisted the urge to speak, relying on James' skills to avoid the Dark Fighters pursuing them and evade the ships scrambling to get out of their way.
She checked the crew’s vitals. Everyone’s heart rate was elevated but otherwise okay. The ship wouldn’t be able to withstand another hit, even with the shields up. But she shuddered to think what would happen if Unity stopped trying to disable the Streaker and decided to blow it to pieces instead.
“Why haven’t they hailed us?” James asked through gritted teeth. “They should have hailed us by now!”
Once again, Roote’s hands were white as he gripped the armrests of his chair. His face had turned ashen. Rance glanced at his heart rate. Surprisingly, it was still within a normal range.
