Suicide Run (Smuggler's Tales From the Golden Age of the Solar Clipper Book 2)

by Nathan Lowell

  “That’s pretty harsh,” Natalya said. “I agree with you. Would it make a difference if I told you it was based on a yacht design?”

  He pursed his lips and considered. “No. Yachts—small yachts in particular—are designed more for show than performance to begin with. They’re not very efficient in terms of useful volume or power-mass ratios.”

  “Have you seen Ms. Pittman’s yacht?” Natalya asked.

  He snorted.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Natalya pulled out her key fob. “Shall we look inside?” She pressed the button and the lock clam-shelled open.

  Panko shook his head. “I’d give it three cheddars and a slab of gouda.”

  “That cheesy?” Zoya asked.

  “All it needs is a robot doorman,” he said.

  “Probably true, but what’s wrong with it?” Natalya asked.

  “Extra point of failure. How do you get in if you don’t have the fob?”

  “There’s an override panel beside the lock,” Zoya said.

  “Do you know how to open the lock using it?” Panko asked.

  Natalya felt the stab in her gut. “No.”

  “Can you imagine not knowing the code on your ship?” he asked.

  “Point taken,” Natalya said. “We need to know that.”

  “Yeah, and if you do, you don’t need the fob,” Panko said. “And don’t give me the security of logging individuals through the lock. That’s just bull. Give everybody their own code and two emergency overrides—one for duress situations to warn people aboard and one for a bogus lock malfunction so it won’t open.” He shook his head again. “This is just expensive theater.”

  “And we haven’t even gotten inside yet,” Natalya said.

  “You’ve not seen this ship before, Ernst?” Zoya asked.

  “No. I saw the plans for what it was supposed to be. This doesn’t look like I remember.”

  “They built this in a month,” Natalya said.

  Ernst frowned at her and looked back at the ship. “I don’t think so.”

  “We saw very different plans for the ship a month ago,” Zoya said. “Those were supposed to be the ship in process.”

  Ernst rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and stared at the deck. “I was here. They laid this keel in February.”

  Natalya and Zoya shared a glance.

  “Fair enough. That’s a problem for somebody else to solve,” Zoya said. She waved a hand at the open lock. “Shall we?”

  Ernst stepped up the ramp, moving slowly like he expected the thing to collapse around him. His head moved in a robotic pattern as he looked up and down, left and right, working systematically over every surface as he went. He turned aft toward engineering and didn’t stop at the airtight door. He grunted a couple of times as he made a circuit around the compartment. He stopped at an inspection panel and pulled the cover, peering in at a breaker box. “Missing half its power supply.” He glanced over his shoulder at the Burleson. “And half its capacitor.” When he got back to the entry, he stopped and glared at the Burleson unit. “If that were a Gemini, it might make sense,” he said, almost to himself.

  “Yeah. That’s a nonstarter for me,” Natalya said.

  “It’s dead weight for an in-system transport and completely useless for interstellar,” Ernst said. “Downs’s work, no doubt.”

  “You don’t like Downs?” Natalya asked.

  “Not even a little,” Panko said. He pressed his lips together as if to hold back further commentary.

  “Wait’ll you see the cockpit,” Zoya muttered and turned toward the bow.

  They only got as far as the galley before Panko stopped. “What was he thinking?” he asked.

  “It’s been handy for us while we run our checklists,” Natalya said.

  Panko paused and tilted his head to the side. “It might make sense on the prototypes. I hadn’t thought of that.” He looked from Natalya to Zoya. “What’s going to go in that space for the production runs?”

  The women both shrugged and Panko hissed. “Sloppy, sloppy and stupid.”

  “Who, us?” Natalya asked, grinning at his distress.

  He laughed. “No. Downs and his bully boys.” He waved a hand at the galley as if to dismiss it. “Somebody’s been getting a cut of that action.”

  “Seems like the way the project went,” Natalya said. “It wouldn’t be the only nest-feathering activity going on.”

  Natalya entered the cockpit and stepped to one side to make room for Zoya and Panko. “You’ll have to pardon the mess. Maid’s day off.”

  Panko smiled and his eyes crinkled at the corners as his gaze swept the area. He stared at the open bus cabinet for a moment. “Redecorating?”

  “There was a short between the display routing bus and the long-range scanner system,” Zoya said.

  “Burned them out?” Panko asked.

  “Nope. Shut them down in time,” Zoya said.

  Panko raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Somebody had fast reflexes.”

  Zoya shrugged.

  “What would you change in here?” Natalya asked.

  Panko braced his shoulders back against a bulkhead and his gaze swept the cockpit in the same kind of near-robot precision he’d started the tour with. “Couch is a monstrosity.”

  “That was the first kickback we discovered,” Natalya said. “Pittman’s trying to put a stop to it and get a replacement.”

  “Good luck with that,” Panko said. He continued his examination. After a full tick he shook his head. “Couch is the only thing that stands out. It’s supposed to double as bunk?”

  “Yeah,” Zoya said. “Makes a certain amount of sense for a solo flight. If you’re the only one aboard, you don’t need much to camp out for a couple of days.”

  “Agreed,” Panko said. “If it’s comfortable. That one looks terrible. My back hurts just looking at it.”

  “It is just as uncomfortable as you imagine,” Zoya said. “Maybe worse.”

  Panko winced. “I didn’t see a head.”

  “We walked by it,” Natalya said. “That actually looks like the best-designed compartment on the ship.” She led them back down the passageway and swung the door open. “Sanitation facilities.”

  Panko stepped in and looked it over. “Not bad,” he said, his gaze taking in the fixtures and arrangement. “I’ll bet this one’s a kickback, too.”

  “Why do you say that?” Zoya asked.

  “That shower-sink combo? Stock fitting. Cheap as chips. Buy a container load for next to nothing and sell them in ones and twos to the company for a big markup that still looks reasonable.” He shrugged. “That would have been an easy pocket to pick.”

  “Would you change anything?” Natalya asked.

  Panko shrugged. “Don’t see anything crazy enough to warrant fixing. Under the deck might be a different story depending on what they used for clean, gray, and waste water connections.”

  “You willing to tell all this to Ms. Pittman?” Natalya asked.

  “The larger question is whether or not she’s willing to listen to me.”

  Natalya met his gaze. “You might be surprised at who she’d listen to these days.”

  Chapter 30

  Pulaski Yards

  2366, May 14

  ALISON PITTMAN DID not looked pleased. A scowl twisted her face while her fists pressed the top of her desk. Her glare raked Panko from top to bottom with enough heat left over to warm Natalya and Zoya. “You want me to what?”

  “Start over,” Panko said, seemingly unaffected by the hostile gaze.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because the design as built is not viable,” Panko said.

  “I got that part,” Pittman said. “Why isn’t it viable?”

  Panko paused for a couple of heartbeats before answering. “It’s too expensive to build, contains too many single points of failure, and operational costs will be monstrous once it’s in the field.”

  “You’ve divined this fro
m a single walk-through in the middle of the night?” She spared a glare for Natalya.

  “Yes,” Panko said. “The problems are obvious.”

  “Not to me,” Pittman said, her scowl deepening.

  “You’re too close to it,” Panko said. “It’s hard to see the problems with a ship you’re invested in.”

  Pittman’s face, already red, took on a darker hue. “You’re saying I don’t know what I’m doing?”

  “Not at all.” Panko relaxed in his chair, recrossing his legs and smiling. “I have the same problem myself. It takes a lot of practice to step back and be objective on a project with so much invested in it. I’m not invested.” He shrugged.

  “Why should I believe an over-aged dishwasher?” Pittman asked.

  “Alison?” Zoya said, her voice lowered and sounding soft against the hard wall of Pittman’s ire. “HR hat?”

  Pittman’s eyes glittered as she stared at Zoya. “What?” She spit the word as if it burned her tongue.

  “You asked us to find somebody who understands design and ship building. Somebody outside of Downs’s influence,” Zoya said. She nodded at Panko. “Mr. Panko comes highly recommended by at least one person who should know and has proven his knowledge to Natalya and me.”

  “You’re biased because he’s just saying what you’ve already told me.” Pittman said. “I’m wearing my HR hat, as you put it, because I’ve reviewed his record and there’s nothing in it to indicate he has any skill or knowledge of basic engineering, let alone ship design and construction.”

  “I understand,” Zoya said. “But name calling?” She raised an eyebrow.

  “She’s right, you know,” Panko said, looking at Zoya. “I’m an over-aged dishwasher with no credentials to speak of.” He looked back at Pittman. “What I have is an example of my work, if you’d care to examine it.”

  Pittman drew back in her chair a bit. “You’ve never worked in a yard. How can you have an example?”

  “I have worked in a yard, actually,” Panko said. “Just not a yard that’s on my record.”

  “How convenient.”

  “Not really,” Panko said. “It’s been difficult to get people to take me seriously.”

  “You have a ship that you designed and built,” Pittman said.

  “Yes. Down in Bay Twenty-Five.”

  “How do we know it’s your work?” Pittman asked.

  Panko shrugged. “You’ll have to take my word for it.”

  Pittman snorted. “That’s not exactly a great way to prove your credibility.”

  “It’s not, no,” Panko said. He paused, then stood, offering his hand across Pittman’s desk. “Thank you for your time, Director. I’ll show myself out.”

  Pittman reached across her desk and shook his hand. The heat in her glare dropped a few degrees as he turned on his heel and left.

  Pittman stood there staring at the closed door.

  “Great job, Alison,” Natalya said, slumping in her chair.

  Pittman frowned at her. “What was that about? Why did you bring him in here?”

  “Is that how you became a good HR director?” Natalya snapped back. “Insulting candidates. Refusing to listen to what they brought to the interview.”

  Pittman settled into her chair, taking a deep breath. She placed her hands flat on the desk in front of her, staring at them for a few heartbeats. “Yes,” she said, biting the word off. “Yes, it is. People lie. They exaggerate. They tell you what they think you want to hear. Their records lie. They get on the job and can’t do the first thing.” She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. She opened her eyes and looked at Natalya. “I learned early that I could never trust what an applicant said. Only what they do.”

  “Yet you wouldn’t look at what he’s done,” Zoya said.

  Pittman’s lips pursed. “I couldn’t believe that the ship represents his work experience just because he said so.”

  “What were Downs’s credentials?” Zoya asked.

  Pittman blinked as if just waking up. “Impeccable. Advanced degrees in structural engineering. Years of experience with the company designing and building habitats, factories, and even communications stations.”

  “And a streak of larceny so wide, it borders on breathtaking,” Natalya said.

  “One instance,” Pittman said, stiffening her spine.

  “That you know about,” Natalya said. “All those projects? Wanna bet he wasn’t skimming from them?”

  “You forgot murder,” Zoya said.

  Pittman’s eyes widened. “That’s a pretty hefty allegation to be tossing around without proof.”

  Zoya shrugged. “Maybe. Somebody murdered your predecessor. So far Downs is the only one we’ve discovered who has the motive and opportunity.”

  “It was ruled an accident,” Pittman said.

  “Of course. Expert shipbuilder just manages to be in the only lock that accidentally malfunctions and tosses him into vacuum without a suit. Perfectly understandable. Happens every day,” Natalya said.

  Pittman’s head twitched to the side. “Motive?”

  Zoya shrugged again. “You think he started skimming when you came on?”

  Pittman frowned. “What are you saying? He wasn’t the project lead until ...” She paused.

  “Until?” Zoya asked, when Pittman didn’t continue for too many ticks.

  Pittman refocused on Zoya. “Until after Jeffrey’s death.”

  “What was he before?” Zoya asked.

  “Head of yard engineering.”

  “So, he managed the maintenance and expansion of the yard itself?” Natalya asked.

  “Precisely. He built the new ways and expanded the habitation section. Upgraded all the life support.” Pittman paused and stared at her hands for a moment. “At least that’s what’s on his record.”

  “Who took over that job?” Zoya asked

  “His second-in-command moved up.”

  “Why did Downs take over the project?” Natalya asked.

  Pittman frowned. “I don’t know. He was already project lead when I came over from the main office. I never asked.”

  “But you checked his credentials,” Zoya said.

  “Of course.”

  “You checked ours?” Natalya asked.

  “Yes,” Pittman said. “Finally.”

  “But it didn’t show Zoya is connected to Usoko Mining.”

  Pittman started, her brown furrowing in a frown. “It’s not in the records.”

  “Why do you suppose that is?” Natalya asked.

  Pittman paused. “Clearly your records are incomplete.”

  “Possibly. I don’t know what records you have access to or what they say about us,” Natalya said.

  “Or it could just be that my record doesn’t reflect the work I did for my grandfather as part of the family business,” Zoya said. “I trust it showed that I went to the academy at Port Newmar.”

  “Yes,” Pittman said. “Four stanyers. Graduated with honors and took a job as third mate on a tanker in the High Line. You’re still receiving income from a blind trust.”

  “That’s in my record?” Zoya asked. “Nothing about working here in the Toe-Holds?”

  “Well, yes. Toe-Holders are notoriously closed-mouthed about what they do and what they’ve done.”

  “Yet you question Panko’s credentials? A man who’s been living in the Toe-Holds his entire life?” Natalya asked.

  “His record shows pretty clearly. He’s been here on this station for a decade. Drifting from one low-skill, low-paid job to another the whole time.”

  “Does it show he applied to work in the yard?” Natalya asked.

  “Why would it?” Pittman asked.

  “Probably wouldn’t,” Natalya said. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t or that he hasn’t spent the last decade trying to get through the door.”

  “What about her record?” Zoya glanced at Natalya with a raised eyebrow.

  “Port Newmar. Graduated with honors. Took a job as engin
eering third on a Saltzmann freighter out of Venitz. Citation of merit from TIC a couple of stanyers ago before dropping off the grid. Financials show she worked for Dark Knight Enterprises with no indication of job duties.”

  “I didn’t know they gave me a citation,” Natalya said.

  “What did you do?” Pittman asked.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.” Natalya paused, then asked, “So no mention of the murder?”

  Zoya coughed into her fist.

  Pittman’s eyebrows flashed upwards. “Murder?”

  Natalya grinned. “And nobody mentioned the rebellion either? How about the mutiny in Dunsany Roads?”

  “You want to mention the hijacking while you’re at it?” Zoya asked, looking at Natalya.

  Natalya nodded. “Best not.”

  “True.” Zoya sat back in her chair and folded her hands on her lap. “Less said, the better.”

  Pittman edged back from her desk, her frown focused on each of them in turn. “When you’re done, you might explain what just happened.”

  “What?” Natalya said. “You have the records. Clearly none of that appears in our records so none of it happened.”

  “And since you know we attended the academy—graduating with honors—we couldn’t have been involved with anything nefarious, could we?” Zoya asked.

  “Because fleet officer is a sign of credibility and trust. Right?” Natalya said.

  Pittman scowled. “What’s your point?”

  “Most of that record is false,” Zoya said. “Either missing experience that’s occurred outside of official channels or flat-out fabricated.”

  “I’ve never worked for Saltzmann,” Natalya said.

  “I haven’t worked on a tanker since I graduated,” Zoya said.

  “How can that be?” Pittman asked, her frown returning. “It’s the official record from High Tortuga. Nobody can change that.”

  “Nobody had to if they gave it incorrect data to begin with,” Zoya said. “Stuff that happened in the family company would be opaque since I was never on the official payroll, never an employee.” She paused. “Who set up the trust fund?”

  Pittman shrugged. “Blind trust. Somebody in the Toe-Holds set up the trust with a wad of credits. High Tortuga administers it and pays out the interest earnings monthly.”