Against the Odds

by Elizabeth Moon

  They cleared atmosphere without any problems that Goonar knew about—and he had patched in to the pilot's communications. On approach to the Station, he heard Jas's bland explanation to Traffic Control.

  "The boss has us on the short list, so I thought I'd just autopilot the cargo shuttle up. Otherwise I'd have to ferry Reuben down to bring it . . ."

  "Some day one of you guys is going to crash one of those auto shuttles and kill us all."

  "Not this day," Jas said. "I'm going to dock 'er right onto the Fortune. No danger to the Station at all."

  "What about her papers?"

  Jas reeled off the same manifest number and clearance codes.

  "All right. Just be careful."

  "You won't feel a thing."

  * * *

  Once aboard Fortune, Goonar headed straight for the bridge. As he'd expected, Station Security wanted to inspect the autopiloted shuttle and its cargo. This was standard, and probably had nothing to do with the Benignity diplomatic mission, or even the Benignity liner docked on the far side of the station. Goonar made the predictable protests—they'd already cleared customs down below, this was costing him time and money, he might lose his launch spot. This too was standard. If he didn't protest, at least a little, they'd notice that change in behavior. When he judged the right moment had come, he gave in semi-graciously.

  * * *

  The Station Security team came first to the bridge, where he handed them the hardcopy of the manifest, assigned a junior officer to lead them back to the cargo shuttle, now tucked into its bay. "And no dillydalling," he said to the young woman. "We've got a slot to keep."

  He spent the next hour on departure paperwork—one of the loaders had failed to clear a repair bill, and he had to authorize transfer of funds to cover it. Another loader still wasn't aboard . . . Georg, as usual. Which meant he was deep in a philosophical discussion somewhere; Georg could handle drink and women, but not the thrill of finding another person who wanted to talk about Will and the Oversoul. Goonar knew from experience that Station Security wouldn't have a clue where such a discussion might be going on; he himself had to figure it out. Universities were always a good bet, but this Station had only a technical school and a two-year arts school. Sure enough, Georg turned up in a coffee bar next door to the arts school. Goonar flagged a Station Security patrolman and asked him to get Georg on his way.

  "Captain Terakian?" That was the head of the Station team, back at the bridge.

  "Yes?"

  "Er . . . we found nothing amiss, sir, but the Stationmaster says there's a request from the Benignity ship here to do a detailed search for some missing property." The man looked embarrassed. "I know, sir, that Terakian and Sons are reliable merchanters; I'm sure you have no Benignity property aboard. But—"

  "And why is the Stationmaster kowtowing to the Benignity here in Familias Space?" Goonar asked. He would definitely throttle Basil, the first chance he got. "Or is this Benignity person, whoever he is, making a formal charge against me?"

  The man flushed darker. "He's—I can't say anything, sir."

  "Quite so." Goonar chewed his lip. "Then I will file a formal protest, with your Stationmaster and with Sector Three R.S.S. Headquarters and with the appropriate court." He turned to his deskcomp and called up the extensive legal files. With a few strokes of his datawand he entered the particulars, and transmitted the first file to the Stationmaster.

  In only a minute or two, the com screen lit, and the Stationmaster's face glared out. "What do you think you're doing, Terakian?"

  "Protecting my legal rights," Goonar said. "You're asking me to submit to an unreasonable search on behalf of a foreign power which has offered no shadow of proof that my ship or crew has anything to do with some property they claim they're missing. You've given me no reason to comply, but your armed men are on my bridge."

  "Don't get huffy," the man said; his eyes glanced to one side, as if to someone out of line of the pickup.

  "You haven't seen huffy yet," Goonar said. "We're a reputable firm; we've traded here for over forty years. We're all Familias citizens, and this is supposed to be a Familias port. If you've changed its affiliation to the Benignity, I'm sure Fleet would like to know. So would its own citizens, who are still under the impression that they have civil rights."

  "I'm just trying to keep things friendly," the Stationmaster began.

  "By accusing us of being thieves?" Goonar said. "That's not the way to keep Terakian and Sons friendly. And I notice all the Conselline Sept ships have left—did you fully search them, or are you playing favorites?"

  "They left before we got the request," the Stationmaster said. "And it's not that we think you did anything. You're too defensive—"

  "Of my ship, and my family's good name, I'm damned defensive, and with good reason," Goonar said.

  "It's just that they wanted us to check on any ship that had cargo from downside. They said they'd help."

  Alarm bells went off all the way down Goonar's spine. "The Benignity said it would help? How?"

  "They've offered to lend us their own security personnel, who know exactly what they're looking for . . ."

  Goonar said, "You're asking us to let foreign troops onto our ship to search us? What kind of traitor are you, anyway?"

  "They're not troops, they're . . . more like the police."

  Goonar grunted. "They're foreign, whatever you want to call them. No. No foreign personnel are going to set foot on a Terakian ship, so they can figure out how to pirate us later. Absolutely not."

  "I insist."

  "You can insist until the stars go cold. No. If you want your own Station Security—and I will check their Familias citizenship—to prowl around looking for God knows what, that's one thing. But the Benignity will never set foot on my decks, and that's final."

  "That's unwise, Captain." Now the person the Stationmaster had been glancing to moved into pickup range. An officer of some kind, in a uniform Goonar didn't recognize. Not the usual Benignity naval uniform, which he did know. "It will save you—and us—and others—a great deal of trouble if you will only permit that search now. Otherwise—"

  "Threatening civilians in the Familias?" Goonar did not have to simulate anger. "What—have you hidden an invasion fleet in the edge of the system or something?"

  "We don't need such crude methods," the man said. "You will never leave this station alive if you don't let us board."

  "Hey—wait a minute!" The Stationmaster reached for the man, but sagged suddenly. Goonar had seen no weapon, but he had seen enough. He glanced over his shoulder at the Security team commander, who looked as startled as he felt himself. "Sorry," he said, and gave the Terakian signal.

  Even as he did, he thought of Georg, poor Georg who was about to find out if the Oversoul was any more real than his own imagination.

  Terakian crew had only the usual sort of riot training, but they were more than capable of disabling the search team which had, after all, expected nothing to happen. As Goonar said, they'd seen Terakian ships before, and Terakians didn't cause trouble.

  "You can't do this," the search team's commander said indignantly, when he was wrapped in tangletape.

  "I'm sorry," Goonar said. "But I'm not about to let a Benignity team aboard this ship. They're foreigners, and it wasn't that long ago they invaded Xavier. I'm not going to let them take this ship and use it to infiltrate Familias space. Everybody knows Terakian ships—"

  The commander's eyes widened. "Is that what you think they're up to?"

  The excuse had come upon him like a random hit from space debris, but Goonar knew a good idea when he found one. "Why else a so-called diplomatic mission to a backwater like this? Why else would they be putting a hold on outbound traffic, wanting to search each ship? They're looking for the right one. We're an independent trading firm—we've got plenty of cubage, and they'd just dump our cargo before jumping, give themselves more room—"

  "But—"

  "We haven't been anywhere ne
ar Benignity space, so how could we have anything of theirs? No. They're after this ship, or one like it. They can blow me away, I don't care—" He did care, intensely, but he could see in the commander's eyes a growing belief in what he said. Embroidery in the service of truth, the family said, was not a lie. "I'm not letting them use my ship that way."

  "I . . . see. I did wonder—"

  "Of course you did." Basil, now that the rest of the team had been disarmed and immobilized, came to stand beside Goonar. He had waited until he heard enough of Goonar's spiel to be sure he wouldn't muddy the trail. "It's not often you get Benignity ships in here, is it? And a diplomatic one giving orders to the Stationmaster?"

  "What they said was, some fugitives came in on a transport within the last four weeks, they weren't sure from where. A bunch of actors who'd been in Benignity space, fled with stolen goods, and all they knew was that all the leads led here."

  "An acting troupe?" Basil frowned, as if taking this seriously. "What could an acting troupe steal that would be worth this kind of chase?"

  "They didn't say. I wouldn't think actors would have access to anything that valuable, myself."

  "Unless . . ." Basil said, dragging the words out. "Suppose—suppose another fugitive—a political fugitive, say—tried to take sanctuary among actors, and they smuggled the person out—or the Benignity thought they did."

  "Ridiculous!" Goonar said. "Why would actors take in a political fugitive—or anyone they didn't know? That'd be like a Terakian ship picking up any riffraff off the docks. We know better; surely they do too. Besides, I don't believe there's anything behind this but the Benignity wanting a ship to use invisibly in Familias space."

  "Yes, but it would make sense," Basil said. "Look at it from the Benignity point of view—"

  "I am," Goonar said. "And what I see is their desire to use my ship. And I say no."

  "Look," the Security commander said, "let me talk to the Stationmaster. I'm sure you don't have any contraband—and maybe he hasn't realized what the Benignity are up to . . ."

  "He'd have to be an idiot," Goonar said, clashing with Basil's "He probably thought they were telling the truth, and maybe they are . . ."

  "Just let me tell him. You don't really want to hijack my team—that will cause trouble."

  "I don't want to take a chance on losing my ship," Goonar said. But he nodded to his crew, who cut the tangletape and let the militia leader walk up beside Goonar. The man faced the screen.

  "Look . . . sir, Captain Terakian is convinced that the Benignity wants to steal his ship. He thinks this is why they've been insisting on searching ships before they leave—that they're looking for a suitable vessel in which to infiltrate the Familias."

  "That's ridiculous," the Benignity commander said. "Only a guilty man could have made up a farrago of lies like that—"

  Goonar leaned into pickup range. "It's not a lie that you people invaded Xavier. As far as I'm concerned, you're the guilty ones. The worst I ever did was get drunk and punch a Fleet ensign back when I was greener than grass."

  The Benignity commander glared, and Goonar met his gaze glare for glare. He'd been glared at by experts in his time—his own father and Basil's among them—and he wasn't intimidated. In fact, now that he'd worked himself into believing his own story, he was able to project patriotic ferocity. Finally the Benignity commander sighed. His gaze shifted to the Security commander. "Did you actually inspect every compartment?"

  "No . . . only the shuttle bays and the freight compartments adjacent."

  "And they had only thirty minutes . . . What was in that auto-shuttle?"

  "What was on the manifest . . . sealed containers, marked with the shipping agents' codes . . ."

  "Did you open them?"

  "Not all of them, no." The Security commander, who had been sounding sulkier throughout this exchange, now burst out. "Listen—you're not my commander, and I know the Terakians. As far as I'm concerned, they could well be right, and I see no reason why I should do your dirty work."

  A long silence, during which Goonar tried to pump up his resentment of Basil for getting them into this mess into a visible rage at the Benignity. Evidently he succeeded, because the Benignity commander, after a last glare, relaxed slightly.

  "All right, Captain Terakian. You may depart. I suppose you're taking those rather useless specimens of Station Security with you . . ."

  "Not if they don't want to go," Goonar said. "But since you appear to be in command of a civilian Station, they might rather." He glanced at the Security commander, whose face had paled as he thought through the implications of that.

  "We intend no harm to the civilian population," the Benignity commander said.

  "Just like at Xavier," Goonar said.

  "Can we stay?" the Security commander asked Goonar.

  "I'm not going to put Familias citizens in the hands of the Benignity if they choose to avoid it," Goonar said. He sounded pompous, almost theatrical, and hoped the Benignity commander would simply think he was that way by nature. Maybe he was. His family always insisted that the real character showed in times like these. "Ask your men."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Merchant ships always used tugs for undocking, but Goonar didn't trust the Benignity commander; he'd signalled his crew and powered up the ship the instant the Benignity commander appeared on screen. When he realized that the only real threat could be the Station's own defenses, he knew that his insystem drive was the only viable counterthreat. Yes, the Station could blow his ship . . . but with the insystem drive up, it was suicide for the Station and every other ship docked there. Now he ordered his pilot to pull away from the Station, as slowly as Fortune's attitude thrusters permitted.

  As soon as possible—it seemed longer than the chronometer indicated—he increased power and set his outbound course toward the jump point. When it appeared that the Station was not, after all, going to spend any of its meagre store of missiles on him, he turned to glare at Basil.

  "Come on, Bas, we need to have a chat."

  In the privacy of the shielded captain's cabin, Goonar rounded on Basil. "I ought to fry your kidneys for breakfast," he said. "Of all the stupid plots to get us tangled in—"

  Basil didn't even try to look innocent this time. "It was important."

  "And you didn't bother to tell me—"

  "We didn't have time, cousin. Truly, I would have told you—"

  "But you didn't." Goonar folded his hands together, rather than around Basil's neck. "Bas, we've been partners for years. You know me, and I thought I knew you. You chose not to put yourself forward for captain; you wanted to work with me—"

  "Of course, I did—!"

  "Wait. You know—you must realize—that a captain needs to be able to trust his second-in-command. You should have found a way, some way, to give me warning . . ."

  Basil muttered something, looking away.

  Goonar could feel his own neck stiffening. "Basil," he said. "What did you just say?"

  "I said, I thought you'd act the innocent better if you were." Basil had flushed. "And you did."

  For some reason, this struck Goonar as funny. He was still angry, and not ready to laugh, but he couldn't help it. "I might have done even better if I had known, cousin mine . . ."

  "I'm sorry," Basil said, this time seriously. "I should have found a way. I will next time."

  "There's going to be a next time?" Goonar asked.

  "Not that I know of, but if," Basil said.

  "Well, then. What is the great secret we're hauling? Did they tell you why the Benignity wants them? Or did you just fall for a pretty woman in distress?"

  "It's one of the stage hands, they said. He's not a criminal, they said, but he is a fugitive."

  " `I am innocent of all wrongdoing, but envious rumor has spread lies around my feet,' " Goonar sang. "Act Two, Scene Four. Is that it?"

  "I don't know," Basil said, spreading his hands. "I did ask, but they just insisted he wasn't a thief or murderer
, and begged sanctuary."

  Goonar sat up straight. "Sanctuary. That's a religious word. Did you speak to the person yourself?"

  "Well . . . yes. I wanted to size him up. He's a quiet fellow—older man, pleasant voice—"

  "A con artist," Goonar said.

  "No . . . I don't think so. Not plausible and charming—I had the sense of . . . of someone like a scholar, maybe. The quietness wasn't fear or shyness, just a habitual quiet."

  "An escaping professor? Someone with technical information?"

  "I don't think so," Basil said. "I know some of them are supposed to be halfwits in the real world, but this man isn't that kind of halfwit. He doesn't seem distracted or abstracted or whatever they call it—he's right there with you when he's talking to you, and he doesn't try to drag the conversation to his pet theory."

  "Odd," said Goonar. "And he used the word sanctuary, or the woman did?"

  "He did. It wasn't dramatic or anything." Now that Basil was spilling all he knew, he seemed almost annoyed with himself that it was so little. "I asked if he'd committed a crime, and he paused a moment before saying no, no crime, but he had angered someone in power."

  "And you asked how—" Goonar prompted.

  "Yes. And he didn't say. He said he wished sanctuary, not to spread rumors."

  "Right. So now we've had a Benignity diplomatic ship giving orders to a Familias Station . . . and he thinks there won't be rumors."

  "I haven't talked to him since we came aboard," Basil said. "Do you want me to?"

  "No, I want to see him myself," Goonar said. "But not now. Now we have other work to do. For one thing, I don't want the Security team to know the troupe is aboard. They're actors; they can pretend to be our crew. Brief them."

  Basil grinned. "That's a great idea."

  "Meaning, you had it first. Fine. Just be sure it's done thoroughly. At the same time, I don't want the troupe having access to any of our critical information—see that our crew know that. And when you've straightened that out, find something for the Security team to do. Not all dirty work—they didn't really ask to be here, and we don't want them angry with us."