“Not in the judgment of our commander.”
“Your father, Jack Carter.”
“Yes.”
Nodding, Petrov said, “Instead, he chose to turn and fight. As I understand it, using your ship’s cargo as an improvised decoy, and a twin-maser turret installed on your ship. One that notably is not listed in the documentation you submitted to Lloyds.” With a thin smile, he added, “And one not generally allowed on civilian ships without permits you don’t have.”
“Those permits are almost impossible to obtain,” Carter protested.
“With good reason.”
“It’s dangerous out here. This isn’t the first time we’ve been attacked, though usually by smaller ships than this, fighters, modified shuttles. Even other freighters, on occasion. The Patrol doesn’t come out here anything like often enough.” Schmitt was glaring a warning at her, but she pressed on regardless, adding, “If the government won’t protect us, we have no choice other than to protect ourselves.”
Frowning, Petrov said, “Do you want that on the record?”
“No,” Garcia replied. “She doesn’t. If she had legal counsel present, he would warn her that she risked leaving herself open to potential criminal charges. As an officer of the court in this context, I am formally giving her that warning.” Turning to her, he asked, “Who installed those cannons?”
“My father.”
“Were you on the ship at the time?”
“No. I was on Colchis, studying at the university. Business with a minor in Astronautical Engineering. I graduated two months ago.”
“And the cannons were installed?”
“Nine months ago, I think.”
Turning to Petrov, Garcia said, “She wasn’t present when the guns were installed, had no role in their installation and was not a part of the decision-making process.”
Raising his hand, Petrov replied, “I have no intention of making formal charges at this time. I find the concept in extremely bad taste, given the circumstances. I do, however, intend to make it clear that in my judgment, the presence of such weaponry emboldened Captain Carter to take unjustified and unnecessary risks.” He looked down at his datapad, then added, “Let’s talk about your escape.”
“I thought we’d covered that,” Carter warily replied.
“Not in sufficient detail,” he said. “The aftermath, perhaps, but I’m talking about what happened twenty-one seconds after you launched your escape pod.”
“My father destroyed the ship, in order to cover my escape.”
“And he did this how?”
Taking a deep breath, she replied, “Two shaped charges, positioned in key points on the hull.”
“Controlled directly from the bridge and installed by your father. And also not in the official manifest.”
“Yes.”
Nodding, he replied, “In that case, Miss Carter, I’m going to have to make it clear in my report that your ship was destroyed, not as a result of enemy action, but by her own crew.”
“Wait a minute,” Garcia said. “Once the insurance company…”
“Oh, I’m certain that Lloyds of New London will have a lot to say when they read the final report, and I suspect that you are correct in that the odds of them agreeing to pay out on the policy are remote at best, but that’s not why we are here. Our job is to determine the cause of the ship’s destruction, and I must make it clear that in my opinion, the illegal acts caused by Captain Carter were in part responsible for the destruction of his ship and the loss of his crew.”
“And the pirates you refused to chase?” Carter asked. “They have no responsibility?”
“If your father hadn’t decided to take the law into his own hands, and to arm his ship beyond all legal restrictions, he might have opted to choose safer passages through space, perhaps join a convoy of other ships.” Before she could reply, he continued, “Don’t talk to me about commercial considerations, either. Life and death can’t be measured on a balance sheet.” He glanced at Schultz, and said, “I think that’s all for now. You will receive a copy of the report before we leave, and any objections you care to make will be appended to the final draft.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, stepping forward. “What are you going to do…”
Rising to his feet, his face reddening, he replied, “I’m going to do just what I have been doing, Miss Carter. I’m going to continue to maintain law and order across a dozen inhabited systems and hundreds of uninhabited ones with woefully insufficient resources, because people like you and your father push out beyond controlled space and then complain when they run into trouble they are unable or unwilling to handle. That is what I have done since I was assigned to this region, and that is what I will continue to do, and any protests you care to make will be entered in my log. Where they will languish unread until and unless the Commonwealth Senate decides to take an active interest in the frontier. Do I make myself clear?”
“Is that on the record?”
“Yes, damn it, it is all on the record.” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “It must seem very easy to you, looking at this ship.” Looking around his office, he continued, “It’s a fine ship, with a good crew, but it’s only one ship, and we cannot be everywhere at once. Nor are we in the business of revenge. I am sorry for your loss, Miss Carter, I truly am, but I cannot bring back the dead.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Then you are dismissed. Except for you, Lieutenant. I’d like to speak to you privately. Doctor, I suggest you make sure that Miss Carter is ready for our arrival at Colchis. We should be entering orbit in a little under three hours.”
“I’ll see to it, sir,” Schmitt replied. Turning to Carter, he added, “Come on. Let’s go to the Observation Deck. Should be nice and quiet at the moment.”
“But…”
“Come on,” he replied, moving to the door, his hand still on her arm. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the room, following the doctor into the elevator, the mechanism engaging to send them racing the length of the ship.
“That wasn’t an inquiry. That was a witch hunt. He knew exactly what he wanted to get into that report right from the start, and…”
“Did he make anything up? Falsify any data?” Shaking his head, Schmitt replied, “Ultimately, it all comes down to interpretation, and he chose to interpret the data in a manner that supported his arguments and rejected yours. This isn’t the first time he’s railed against unauthorized weapons on civilian starships. Just consider yourself fortunate that he didn’t have you arrested.”
“He wouldn’t…”
“He could, and I think he damn near did. You owe Rusty a beer when you next see him. He probably kept you from admitting to half a dozen charges that would have involved jail time.” He paused, then said, “Petrov’s parents were in the Patrol. He lost them when he was a kid, not even in school. Both killed in two separate battles during the Seven Stars War. A war fought when a collection of renegade freighter pilots like your father strapped guns to their ships.” He raised his hand, forestalling her protest, and said, “I know that you wouldn’t consider anything like that. More than a hundred thousand people died in that war, though. Maybe ten times as many indirectly, one way or another. Captain Petrov sees it as his duty to stop that from ever happening again.”
The door opened, and they stepped into a wide, empty room, one wall transparent, showing a simulated starfield, and she replied, “If he thinks that, why doesn’t he launch proper patrols, fight the pirates directly?”
“Captain Petrov is responsible for the protection of this sector, and he has only two ships with which to do it. This ship and Icarus, which isn’t much larger than your freighter, and is about as old. As well as a few garrisons, scattered across local space. With that he has to cover nine colonies, twenty-one outposts, three space stations, and more than a thousand uninhabited stars and transit points. We’d need ten times as many ships to cover all that, and we simply don’t have the funding.”
“Then the Senate…”
“Less than one percent of the voters live outside Sol, even now. Where do you think the money, the interest goes?” Shaking his head, Schmitt continued, “I think he was wrong not to stay and investigate further, but I’m just the Medical Officer. He’s got the responsibility, he’s got to sit in the worry seat. I don’t envy him the job.”
“There must be something he could do.”
Patting her on the shoulder, Schmitt replied, “We’re doing everything we can. And you know that Rusty’s in there arguing your case right now.” He paused, then added, “I just hope it doesn’t cost him too much.” Shaking his head, he added, “Not your problem. Have you got somewhere to go when we get to Colchis? I can spot you a few credits…”
“Not necessary,” she replied. “I’ll survive, Doctor. But thank you for caring.”
Pulling out a datapad, he said, “I’ll put together a kit for you, the rest of the pills I’ve prescribed. On the house, complements of the Patrol. Under the circumstances, that’s the least we can do. And I’ve had your clothes laundered. They’ll be waiting for you in the transit shuttle. Can I have an address? We’ll need it for the report.”
“The Second Stage Bar.” She smiled, and said, “I lived there when I was a student. I just hope Aunt Bella hasn’t given away my room.”
“That’s a pretty rough part of town.”
“I’m used to it.”
“I guess so,” he replied. Looking from side to side, he reached into a back pocket, pulling out a data rod, and passed it to her. “An early copy of the report. Including all the information we harvested from your escape pod, and everything we picked up on our own sensor sweep. As well as everything Rusty and I could find on the Fortuna.”
“Thanks,” she replied, taking the rod, turning it over in her fingers. “Why?”
“You aren’t going to let this go. I know that much. This might give you a place to start.” He paused, then added, “Just be careful. I went to a lot of trouble dragging you back from the abyss once. I’d rather not have to do it again.”
Chapter 3
Carter stepped down the shuttle ramp, hold all in hand, her senses assaulted by the violent combination of garish light and discordant noise as she walked through the vast airlock onto the main thoroughfare. A wave of exotic odors savaged her nostrils, too-spicy food, the sweat of ten thousand people, cheap deodorant and behind it all, the faint tang of a life-support system struggling under the weight of the endless tide of humanity within.
Colchis was a long-settled planet, Solstice City entering its second century. Built on the shores of the Stygian Sea, a vast, inky black ocean made entirely of exotic petrochemicals, the colony made its living as a vast refinery, pumping its products into the vast supertankers in orbit, fuel that kept the Commonwealth’s industry working. Increased automation and overpopulation had created mass unemployment, the bulk of the population now dependent on government handouts to survive. And all of them dreaming of a better life in worlds beyond, worlds where the air was breathable, the water drinkable, where they could grow their own food.
There were worlds aplenty where that was possible, but few of them could ever be economically viable, and few of the colonists had the skills to even survive on such a world, still less thrive. There were ways off the planet, ways to escape the mire that Colchis had become, but most chose simply to dream instead, to fritter their lives away in the harsh tranquility of chemical stimulation. Solstice City catered to those whims, and she walked down the familiar streets, past ever-cheaper bars and clubs, tired men and women plying their trade outside, Colonial Security content merely to handle the most blatant excesses.
Periodically, they’d get a Governor who vowed to clean up the streets.
They never lasted. The local syndicates saw to that. Either they were hastily recalled to Earth, or they remained on Colchis forever, buried in Memorial Park, one of the few patches of green space on the planet. Or, more often, they quickly gave up their high ideals, content instead to sit out their term of office on Gemini Station, high over the planet.
She splashed into a puddle, following the familiar path, winding her way to the core of the vast domed city. Theoretically, it was transparent, but the constant hammering rain from overhead, laden with toxins from the sea beyond, had blotted out the starlight almost instantly and kept it that way, despite periodic attempts to clean the muck from the dome. Sometimes some seeped through, and the stink from outside could still be tasted in the air, no matter how hard the life support systems worked to keep it out. Just one more reason why the population chose to scramble their senses, as best they could.
The further she got from the starports on the rim, the closer to the heart of the city, the more unsavory the environment became. When she’d studied at the local campus of the Astral University, she’d never dared to wander the streets without a weapon at hand. The Patrol wouldn’t have given her one, would have taken it if they’d found it. Just one more example of their willingness to allow the people to walk defenseless, then refuse to protect them themselves.
She walked past a pawn shop, the owner nodding in recognition as she passed by, then saw something out of the corner of her eye. Someone was following her, watching her every move, ready to pounce. She glanced down at her clothes, then inwardly cursed at her own stupidity. She was wearing a clean, pristine outfit. One way, way above the normal level of this part of town. She’d made herself look like a perfect target for every petty criminal on the street.
Pausing for a moment, she looked through the racks on the outside of the shop, poking through some of the battered jackets, the discarded possessions sold by their desperate owners to satisfy an urgent need for funds. She bought herself some time, trying not to make her detection of the pursuer too obvious. One man, small, wiry. A scout, almost certainly. If they’d recognized her, then they’d know where she was going. Not good.
And yet, she was almost there. Maybe five minutes from at least relative safety.
It was worth the attempt. She stalked away from the pawn shop, walking towards the alley that would lead her to her destination, setting the quickest unobtrusive pace she could manage, keeping her hands low by her sides, as though ready to seize a weapon she knew wasn’t there. It was a psychological game, and one that she had to win, no matter what.
Footsteps followed her into the gloom, at least two pairs. She rushed onward, windows overhead being pulled shut, curtains drawn. The residents were willing to tolerate what was about to happen but were unwilling to watch. She increased her pace, not caring about detection now, spotting the critical turning just ahead, the path to Spaceman’s Walk, one of the lesser-known haunts of the itinerant trader.
An arm grabbed at her from behind, and on instinct, she turned, jabbing the man in the chest, sending him recoiling away, spotting the flash of a blade in his hand. She sprinted for the alley, another knife flying past her as she dodged to the side, an obsidian blade rattling harmlessly on the ground, missing by mere inches. She slowed for a second, snatching it up with her hand, slashing wildly behind her in a bid to cut her assailant, only to hear the familiar whine of a laser pistol charging up.
“That’s close enough,” a cold voice said. “Christ, Vicky, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Glad to see you,” Carter replied, looking up at the two people walking down the alley towards her, pistols in hand. A tall, muscular woman and a short, burly man, Josephine Rogers and Joseph Scott, the husband-and-wife owners of Valkyrie Technology. Big Joe and Little Joe, spacers made good, who still visited their old haunts. And remembered their old friends.
As soon as her would-be attackers had spotted them, had realized that the odds had changed, they’d fled into the gloom, leaving as rapidly as they had come. Carter slid the knife into her pocket, walking forward with a grateful smile.
“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she replied, as Scott holstered his weapon. “Bella home?”
“A
t the bar,” Rogers said. “What happened? I didn’t know O’Dell was in, and why were you walking around the streets unarmed?”
“I’ll tell you over a drink when we get to the bar,” she said. “I’m going to need one to tell this story. Maybe more than one.”
Rogers led the way, Scott dropping back to cover them, and the trio emerged onto Spaceman’s Walk, a pair of bars at either end – the First Stage and the Second Stage, named by the original owners as a hint to the order in which they should be visited – and a collection of shops in between, all of them tailored to the needs of spacers, selling and trading equipment and trinkets from a hundred worlds, much of it smuggled through the customs barrier. The best gunsmith in town, with the hum of the laser modulator permanently in the background, ozone sweeping through his doors as they opened.
Since she’d left the deck of the O’Dell for the last time, she was home.
The Second Stage Bar was just as she’d remembered it, the weary Vikram Patel at the bar, taking one drink for every dozen he dispensed and still somehow standing upright, the usual customers at the tables, a collection of retired spacefarers talking about old times and would-be crewmen attempting to glean secrets and hints for the cost of a pint of beer or a shot of vodka. The walls were decorated with memorabilia from centuries of spaceflight, replica mission patches from the first landings on the Moon, Mars, Titan, Proxima III, models of the first starships that dared to risk the early Tachyon drive, knowing that one in ten would fail to return, destroyed by the tempestuous otherspace that still was barely understood, centuries later.
She walked up to the bar, and a white-haired woman entered the room on the far side, running towards her, arms outstretched, gathering her in a bear hug so tight her ribs almost cracked. Carter returned the hug, smiling as she looked down into the face of Isabel Kharkova. Aunt Bella. Once First Mate of the O’Dell, now the owner of the bar on retirement. And one of the last close friends she had in the galaxy.
Fortunes of War (Stellar Main Book 1) Page 3
