Debts of My Fathers (Father Chessman Saga Book 2)

by Dan Thompson

  “Aye, sir,” the pilot replied.

  Elsa frowned silently. As much as she faulted Gallows for his impertinence, his approach to the transfer station was a textbook example of good ship handling. He might not be the captain she wanted him to be, but he was not as bad as others she had been forced to tolerate. She felt a twinge of guilt for what she had planned for him, but only a twinge.

  “Down-tach in five,” the navigator said, her head bobbing to the display’s countdown. “And down. Sails confirmed, beacons on marks, relative velocity two-eighty-eight. I yield to the pilot.”

  “I accept,” the pilot replied. “Radio beacons confirm navigation report, grav-pulse is online, plotting course for approach. No other ships in the lane.”

  “All right,” Gallows replied. “Comm, get me the station report and ping all other traffic.”

  “Aye, sir.” Elsa did not know the communications officer well, but she seemed meek and unlikely to offer much resistance. “Station report is on automatic, no staff in residence. Coded log shows most recent visit was the Charging Bull, fifty-two hours ago. No other traffic present.”

  Gallows turned to look at Elsa with a creased brow.

  She shrugged.

  “Comm,” he said, “confirm lack of traffic with a tach-pulse query.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Gallows stood and walked over to the systems console and spoke quietly to the officer there. Elsa counted out the seconds. Tachyon pulses traveled at thousands of times the speed of light. In truth, they were merely recognizable shapes in the tachyon winds that drove their sails. However, those shapes became too muddled for useful communication after a few thousand light-minutes. If the Sophie’s Grace were merely hiding somewhere, she would be hiding within that range, waiting for such a query. The seconds accumulated to minutes, and finally to ten minutes.

  “No response,” the comm officer said.

  Gallows nodded. “Pulse confirmed by nav-beacons?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. It was a formality, Elsa realized, but he was making it clear that the tach-pulse signal had indeed gone out and been heard by the automated beacons.

  Gallows took a deep breath, looked briefly at Elsa, and then turned back to his second officer. “Mr. Martins, you are to proceed on approach and dock at port seven where we will begin cargo operations. Notify all hands that this is to be a quick turnaround, scheduled for eighteen hours.”

  “Aye, sir,” Martins replied.

  Gallows walked to the hatch and paused there, one foot hovering over the threshold. He turned back to lock eyes with Elsa. “Eighteen hours,” he said. “Not a minute more.”

  Winner woke in a fog. The first thing she noticed was how much her head and abs hurt, but that was nothing new to her. Waking up in pain after a match was typical. The second thing she noticed, however, was much more alarming. She was naked and kneeling. Even in the fog, she knew this was not good.

  She held herself in still silence for a moment, taking in what she could from the senses available to her. Her knees were pressed against cold metal, but not a flat sheet. It had a coarser texture, like ridges. She could feel some kind of restraint around her wrists, holding them up above her head. They were slightly numb as well. In fact, much of her was numb, especially her lower legs. She realized she was probably sitting on them, so she made a slight attempt to move only to have the numbness explode in pins and needles focused on her feet and ankles.

  She began to put it together. She was restrained at the wrists and ankles. A raw rubbing at her armpits suggested that her chest was tied as well. This was not typical of her post-match aches and pains. Clearly, something had gone wrong. But what?

  She heard footsteps in front of her, boots on a metal deck. There was some shifting around, the creak of something metal, and then a quiet curse. “It figures,” said the voice. It was familiar, but only recently so. It was someone new in her life, likely related to recent events, and quite possibly responsible for her current position.

  She remained still, and did what she could to breathe shallow.

  “Hey, Perry,” the voice called again. “You holding up okay?”

  “It’s crap,” came a distant reply. “Not exactly comfortable up here.” This voice was familiar, too, and it set off alarms in her memory. This was an enemy.

  “I’m sure that panel’s placement is more about practicality than ergonomics,” said the first voice. She could not quite place it, but the memory of it was clearer. She had been lying in wait to attack the owner of this voice, him and one other, but this voice had always urged caution.

  “I’ve sat next to these generators for days at a time and never worried, but up here, I can’t shake the feeling that this damn thing is frying my nuts. Are you making any headway on the other station?”

  “No, only ruling things out so far. Are we still at half-sail?”

  “For now. Stefan says it looks stable for the next bit, but that’s what he said two hours ago, and we had to drop down to quarter-sail for a good long while.”

  “Well, slower is probably better while I fix this.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Just you wait your turn. Sail changes aren’t exactly push-button up here.”

  “I hear you. Three hours, then we’ll switch.”

  “No rest?”

  “Apparently not. Stefan broke out the stims, so I think the plan is to push on until we get there no matter what.”

  The distant voice was quiet for a moment. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  The closer one moved again, and she felt him draw nearer. “No, not yet. There are still bonuses to be had, and I think we’re past the worst.”

  “We’ll see,” the distant voice replied.

  The sound of clanging metal surged around her. She did her best not to flinch, but she knew she had moved, enough to cause the strap across her chest to shift. She let out a pained groan and let her head roll to one side. She knew she was showing her face to the closer one, and she allowed herself a pained expression and clenched her left eye shut briefly. Then she released it all and went limp again.

  “It’ll be your turn soon, mystery girl. I’m not looking forward to it, but better you than me.”

  With that, the voice departed, and the sound of boots on metal receded in the distance.

  Carlos was awake again, and Michael had given him the bad news from the lockpicker. None of the various Catai manufacturer codes had worked.

  “Crap. We’re not out of options, yet, but that was one of the better leads.”

  “How goes the storm?” Michael asked.

  Carlos played with his tablet for a few minutes, and returned with a frown. “Good news and bad news, Skipper.”

  “Okay, hit me.”

  “They’re back up to half-sail, and it’ll be another hour or so before I can believably throw another shock front at them.”

  “Well, half-sail … that’s still pretty good news.”

  “No, Skipper, that’s not it. Every time I let them get back up to half-sail, they try to return course toward their original destination. It’s not always straight on, of course, because I’m still tweaking the wind enough to push them around, but it’s enough. By triangulating all those different vectors, I think I’ve found the destination. There’s nothing on the charts there, but it’s pretty clear where we’re headed.”

  Michael nodded eagerly. “That’s great news, Carlos. Where is it?”

  “No, sir. That’s actually the bad news. You see, it’s close. Even at half-sail, it’s less than a day.”

  “But you can keep pushing them around, right?”

  “I guess, but even then, no more than a day. Quite possibly less.”

  “Why?”

  Carlos frowned. “Taking out the drive console was definitely a good move, sir. It’s kept us down to half-sail or less for seven hours, but if they can spare someone, they’re going to try to fix it.”

  “You’re worried about Dieter? I am, too.” Especially if Richard wa
s in fact Stefan Carrillo and working directly with Elsa Watkins. That would not end well for anyone.

  Carlos shook his head. “No, I mean, it’s not that. Dieter knew what he was doing, and I figure he’s in it as deep as the rest of us. But what worries me is that they’re going to run some diagnostics. If they run one on the navigation system …”

  “Then the jig is up.”

  “That’s about it.”

  “And with clear navigation, they’ll go to full sail and be there in a few hours, right?”

  “Well, probably more than a few hours, sir. That’s actually the good news. It looks like there’s actually some real weather out there.”

  Michael stared at him blankly for a few moments, waiting for the punch line. “Bad weather is the good news?”

  “I figure it’s time we actually stop them, sir, not just slow them down.”

  “Is the weather that bad?”

  “Not really. There was a class one disturbance reported out in this direction, but it wasn’t much to worry about. Sure, it would keep a navigator busy for a couple of hours, but nothing like what I’ve been throwing at them.”

  “So, what does that give us?”

  “Remember your navigation exam?”

  He thought back and repressed a shudder. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but even in a crisis like this, the stress of that exam still got to him. “Regrettably.”

  “You ever get a problem wrong? You know, really wrong?”

  He nodded. He recalled one from a sample test Gabrielle had given him. His answer had been so far off, she said he would have been lucky not to pull the sail generators off their mounts. “But you knew from the start I wasn’t a good navigator.”

  “That’s not the point. If I can use the fake weather to push them into some real weather in exactly the right way ...”

  “Meaning, in exactly the wrong way.”

  “Yeah, it would be enough to collapse the sails, maybe even throw the polarization filter out of alignment.”

  Michael sat back. “Shit, Carlos. That would strand us out here in the void, off the shipping lanes, with no one knowing where to look for us. That’s a long, cold death.”

  “That’s a risk, but it all depends how bad it is. I mean, you’ve worked with this particular drive for years, and Dieter and Vivian know their stuff too. I figure that in a pinch, we can realign that filter in the field. It won’t be shipyard quality, but it would be enough to limp into a friendly port.”

  Michael thought about it. It was damn risky. If the generator took too much damage, they might not even be able to send out a tachyon-pulse distress call. If they had to rely on a radio beacon out there in the void, it might be two or three years before someone picked it up, and they would be long dead by then. Ships disappeared out in space, and this kind of accident claimed more than piracy ever did.

  On the other hand, if Elsa Watkins was waiting for him at the end, he was as good as dead already. But not necessarily the crew. Malcolm had told him that some of the worlds in the open frontier between the current Confederate border and the Solarian Union were essentially Yoshido slave colonies. The conditions were supposedly not as harsh as you would think, but it was still a lifetime imprisonment on a world not of your choosing. The crew would probably live—not well, but they would live. This decision could not be about him or his ship. It had to be about the crew.

  “Look, Carlos, they’ve been feeding us. There’s a reasonable chance you and the others will come out of this alive. If it were just me, I’d risk it. If nothing else, I would die knowing these guys will starve with me, but I can’t make that decision for the rest of the crew. They didn’t sign up for this kind of risk.”

  Carlos nodded. “I see your point. I mean, I’m up for it, but that’s the kind of guy I am. Besides, what with the admiral’s warning and all that, I kind of did sign up for this. Then you’ve got Dieter, who’s so pissed at Richard that he’d gladly go for it.” He paused. “But you’re probably right about Vivian and Hector. As far as I can tell, they’ve been quiet as mice, and I can’t imagine our little Winner taking that kind of chance. Of your loyal crew, that’s still three to two against.”

  Michael smiled, thinking about all of Winner’s little cuts and bruises, trying to picture her in the ring fighting for the prize money. He had no idea how she had handled the hijacking so far, but he could not imagine she would miss a chance to fight back. He chuckled a little. In fact, he had a hard time imagining she had been even remotely compliant this whole time.

  “What’s so funny, Skip?”

  “If we get through this, I’ll explain how I know this, but Winner would vote yes. Do what you can to get ready, and let’s see what we can throw at them for real.”

  Carlos nodded. “All right. Now, back to the lock for you. Hit the mode button, and try 474. I have a hard time believing your locks could have been made by the damned Shiantics, but nothing else has worked.”

  Elsa looked in the mirror and adjusted the bustier. This was part of what she called her man-hunter outfit, but it was not only about sexual allure. Centered between the cups was a small sheath. It was not long, but it would accommodate a short shock stick. She had two to choose from in her kit. Her normal preference was the one with the wider handle, but that did not fit as well. Instead, she opted for the one with the round handle, meant to be held within a closed fist, the shock probes coming out between two fingers.

  She tucked it in and shifted her breasts. It was not going to show beneath her uniform, but that extra outward thrust of her chest would provide both coverage for the stick’s handle and distraction for any who would be inclined to look.

  She pulled her dress shirt on over it and buttoned it up. The door chimed as she was finishing. “Come in,” she said.

  It was Celeste Davies. “My Lady,” she said. “It’s been twelve hours and still no sighting. I understand Captain Gallows intends to put you off the ship here by force.”

  Elsa put on her jacket but left it loose. “It’s not going to come to that.”

  “But if your team doesn’t arrive by the deadline …”

  “Then your captain and I will have one more conversation.”

  “And?”

  “And then I expect you to back me in front of the crew.”

  “Over his orders?”

  Elsa shook her head. “No, not over his orders. I would never expect a loyal first officer to do that.”

  “Thank you, my Lady. There’s no love lost between Gallows and me, but mutiny ... that would be difficult for me.”

  “I understand, and I appreciate your efforts, both now and in the future. And when we settle this issue, there will be enough of Father Chessman’s gratitude to spread around. If I have anything to say for about it, a captaincy for you should be in the cards.”

  Davies frowned. “You really think Captain Gallows will yield?”

  Elsa returned to the mirror and fastened her jacket. “In the end, they always do.”

  Nick had been going over the schematics for three hours now, checking one access point after another, before he noticed the one in Dieter’s quarters. At first, it seemed unlikely given that any sabotage there would have also cut the reactor’s data flow to the bridge, but then he realized it could have been intentionally selective. So far, he had only been checking places where complete failure would have been the cause. A more careful sabotage had not occurred to him.

  He looked at Stefan, still hunched over the navigation console. His left hand was clenching every few seconds, but at least he was no longer nodding. His ability to make it the rest of the way on stims, however, seemed unlikely.

  “I think I found it.”

  Stefan looked over sharply. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it might be sabotage from somewhere in your musician’s cabin.”

  “Dieter? That little prick? I don’t think so. He really doesn’t seem the type. I mean, sure, maybe he could be, but it seems a little crazy to me.”r />
  Nick let the rapid pitter-patter wind down and simply nodded. “Well, I think we should check it out. Maybe we could drop out of tach for a little while, get some rest, and all have a look.”

  “No,” Stefan said and jerked his head side to side. “Not going to happen. We have to keep going. Already a day behind schedule. Can’t miss the rendezvous.”

  “All right, but if we at least drop to quarter-sail, then Perry can climb down off the generator and help me. After what happened to Alex, I don’t think any of us should face off against the crew alone.”

  Stefan checked the navigation readings again and sighed. “All right. It’s smooth enough right now.” He toggled his headset. “Perry, we’re going to drop to quarter-sail, and then I want you to come forward and help Nick.”

  “Gladly.”

  Nick met him in the cross-corridor and led him to Dieter’s door, explaining the situation along the way. “So I want you to guard him in the corridor while I check the panel under the floor.”

  “Fine,” Perry replied. “I’ll take point, and you secure him once he’s out.”

  The musician seemed surprised when the door opened. He had been in the bathroom and made a show of flushing the toilet. “What do you want? You’re early,” he said.

  “Out,” Perry said with a nod toward the door. He had his pistol out, held tightly to his hip but aimed at their prisoner. As tired as they were, it was good to see Perry keeping to good practices. It was still ready to be used, but it did not put it any more within Dieter’s reach than necessary.

  “Stop,” Nick said as he came into the corridor. “Turn aft, hands behind your head.”

  Dieter complied. “Are we there yet?”

  Perry seemed about to answer, but Nick cut him off. “No questions. Keep quiet, and you won’t be harmed.” To drive home his point, he stepped forward and slapped a pair of handcuffs first onto his right hand and then his left. There was a mild attempt to escape it, but that was so common as to almost be involuntary instinct. He had watched the crew on that first day and knew this guy to be a right-hander, and the off-hand never did a good job at getting away. Once he had secured both hands, he put a hand on his shoulder and pressed. “Kneel.”