Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1)

by Nathan Lowell

  Trask snorted. “He operates on a completely different level wherever he is.”

  “Not surprised.”

  “You got Josh Lyons out of his stateroom to help. I’m impressed.”

  “Wasn’t as hard as I thought. I hit him when he was weak.”

  “Drunk?”

  “No. Nearly sober. I just pestered him until he had no choice but to choke the life out of me or get on board.”

  Trask frowned at her. “How was he to work with?”

  “Pretty good, actually. Once I got him up and moving in the morning, he hardly ever complained. We just plowed through the locker, one bin at a time. He knows his inventory.”

  “I almost swallowed my fork when he came into the wardroom for lunch the other day.”

  Natalya grinned. “He was nervous and still kinda shaky. I don’t know if he kept any lunch down but he’s been eating regularly again.”

  Trask cocked his head to the side. “Again?”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t eating much, if at all. Then when I got in the way of his bottle, he had a little withdrawal. I wasn’t sure he was actually going to stay upright the first day but once we got beyond that, he’s been getting stronger ever since. Hands hardly shake at all now.”

  “His? Or yours?” the captain asked with a nod at the console. “That’s a hefty chunk of change to replace.”

  Natalya sniffed. “Not like I’d be able to do anything about it.” A stray thought pinged a nerve. “We will be able to replace it, won’t we?”

  Trask eyed the list again. “Siren should have most of this. Confederation systems like to keep things lined up proper.”

  “I was thinking more of the credits involved. That’s going to be a deep cut.”

  “Kondur will probably make it good through a blind account at High Tortuga. He’s not going to be happy about it.”

  “Don’t blame him.”

  Trask sucked his teeth for a few heartbeats, his face turned to the console but his mind clearly elsewhere. “You said you thought the ship was idle.”

  Natalya had to scramble to remember the conversation. “Knowles said something about the particulate count being off for a ship that had been in service all along.”

  “So somebody could have had access while the ship was docked.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “Not really.” Trask chewed his lip. “Caretaker crews make a living by being trustworthy. They’d not be doing anything like this. It would be too easy to trace back to them.”

  “How long do you think this has been going on?”

  Trask sighed. “That’s the hell of it. I can’t be sure. We might have been flying without significant spares for a long, long time. Without an engineer, we’d never have known.”

  “When was the last time you sailed with a real engineer?”

  “Pritchard’s been with us so long, I don’t remember. I’m not sure if the guy before him was really an engineer or not. Seems like he might have been, but that’s still at least almost half a dozen stanyers. There was a guy trained in propulsion systems for a time.”

  “The guy who trained Solomon?” Natalya asked.

  “Yeah. Henry something. Something Henry. Don’t know that I ever heard anybody call him anything but Henry, now that I think of it. Old guy. Retired and left the slot to Solomon.”

  “So, we’re back to who has the knowledge to be able to do this.”

  “Yep. I have no idea. I certainly wouldn’t. An engineering chief could probably take a pretty good shot at it. The problem is that they’d have to know that we weren’t flying with somebody who’d catch them out.”

  “Wouldn’t they know you were smuggling?”

  Trask boomed a great laugh. “Lass, everybody in Toe-Hold space is smuggling, one way or another. It’s just part of the culture.”

  “But I mean, how many people know you’re not flying with a qualified crew?”

  Trask shrugged. “Depends on what you mean by qualified. A lot of spacers out here don’t bother with CPJCT credentials. Your old man must have told you that.”

  “He did, but I guess I didn’t think that all the way through.”

  “You were always bound for the academy, I suspect.”

  “Yeah. My mother insisted that I get an education before I hared off to the backside of the beyond.”

  “So, you and Usoko are Newmar grads. I am. Lyons is. Blanchard isn’t.”

  “He’s not? He certainly seems like an academy grad. How’d he get started?”

  Trask shook his head. “Apparently, he’s been plotting courses since he was a kid. Learned on his parents’ ship and just kept at it. He’s a good navigator. One of the best.”

  “He seems nice enough.”

  The captain humphed. “As long as you’re on his good list. Don’t get on his bad list.”

  “He has a bad list?”

  “Albee was number one on it.” Trask rubbed a hand across his mouth. “I shoulda paid more attention to that.” He nodded at his console. “Which of these are priorities?”

  “All of them if we get boarded.”

  He snorted. “I got that, but we have a couple of problems. First, Kondur may not want to pay for parts here that he might be able to get cheaper there.”

  “It’ll be real expensive if we get boarded and they confiscate the ship because we don’t have the appropriate spares aboard.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. I appreciate that’s important to you but the probabilities run against you.” He held up his right forefinger. “We’d have to be boarded after we leave Siren. If we’re boarded before then, we have the excuse of getting to Siren to replace the missing spares. It takes a lot of red tape to tie up a freighter. They’ll let that slide.” He held up a second finger. “They’d have to notice the discrepancy in spares. That’s not very likely. Sure they check, but they don’t check very far beyond immediate consumables.”

  “Like scrubber filters,” Natalya said.

  “And water filters. They’re more concerned that we have proper gasses and fuel tankage and that we’re not irradiating the crew.” Trask held up a third finger. “Assuming both of those unlikely events happen, they have to decide it’s serious enough to roll out a really big ball of red tape to keep us from harming ourselves. They can do it, but will they? Odds are they’ll give us a warning and a writeup rather than trying to get us to kill our outbound velocity and dock up again.”

  Natalya pondered that for several heartbeats and nodded. “Makes sense, Skipper.”

  He gave her a wry smile with one eyebrow raised. “Thanks for believing I might actually know more about this than you do.”

  Natalya felt her face get hot and she looked down at her hands. “Sorry, Skipper.”

  “No hoo-hoo. Only way you learn is by asking. If I thought you were over the line, you’d be scrubbing the deck in the engine room.” He smiled at her.

  “Thanks,” she said. “What was the other problem?”

  “What other problem?”

  “You said we might have a couple of problems.”

  “Oh, yeah. The other problem is that Kondur might want to see for himself before he starts replacing stuff.”

  “That’s assuming we make it back.”

  Trask chuckled. “That’s always a consideration. Spotting that bus coupling malfunction probably saved our asses.” He stared into Natalya’s face. “We all have you to thank for that, not just Kondur. He’ll know and remember it.” He nodded at his console again. “So what’s on this list that you couldn’t fix even if we had it?”

  Natalya brought the list up on her tablet and they dug in. By the time dinner mess came around, they’d whittled the list down to immediate priorities, a handful of nice-to-haves, and a big pile of wouldn’t-helps.

  “You know there’s another problem I didn’t think of,” the captain said as he led Natalya to the wardroom.

  “I thought the two you had were pretty good.”

  “What happens if a freighter docks
and places a replenishment order for almost a whole ship’s worth of spares in a single whack?” he asked.

  “The chandlery celebrates?”

  “I think it more likely that TIC spots the transaction records.”

  “Why would they do that if they know the spares will be aboard?”

  “They might like to know where the credits came from, but they probably already know that. They might like to know who’s on the ship that can drop so much in a single order. I suspect that they already know that, too. Or will, as soon as we dock and the little birds start singing.”

  “I’m missing the point,” Natalya said. “I bet it’s something obvious.”

  “A ship docks with almost bingo spares and commits to several hundred thousand credits to replace them. Seems to me TIC might want to have a look inside that ship and maybe a good look at the crew and officers to see if anybody’s on their watch lists.”

  “Are there?”

  “What? People aboard who are on their watch lists? Probably. I suspect you and Ms. Usoko might be.”

  “We didn’t kill anybody.”

  He stopped in the passageway and looked back at her. “That’s a good habit to have. Try to keep it if you can. I don’t think you’re what TIC will be most interested in.”

  “What then?”

  “I suspect they’d want to see if the rest of the ship was in as bad a shape as a full spares replenishment would suggest.”

  “If we have TIC informers on board, wouldn’t they already know?”

  Trask nodded and turned toward the wardroom again. “Yeah, but nothing like getting up-close and personal with a Mark One eyeball to tell you what you want to know.”

  “And the goal is to attract as little attention as possible,” Natalya said.

  “Point, Regyri.”

  Chapter 33

  Siren System: 2363, July 23

  Captain Trask looked around the wardroom over the remains of breakfast. He smiled a little when he looked at Lyons and gave the man a short nod. “I’m planning on going to navigation stations around 0930. I don’t know what kind of reception we’ll get at the dock, but Moe doesn’t take kindly to strangers.”

  Blanchard and Pritchard both offered chuckles while Lyons stared into his coffee cup.

  “If we stay on plan, we’ll dock just before lunch. Will you be able to sign off, Joshua?” Trask asked, looking directly at Lyons.

  “Yeah. Should be. Assuming they’ve got our can ready to go, we could be out of there in as little time as it takes their people to swap them.”

  “Good. I’ll alert Moe and we’ll try to get out again this afternoon.” He looked at Blanchard. “Transit to Siren Orbital?”

  “Maybe a week. We’ve matched orbit with Moe’s now but the orbital is inside us so we’ll have to dig into the primary gravity well a bit more.”

  “All right then.” Trask looked at Natalya. “You’ve got that replenishment order ready?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Good. When we get secured from navigation stations, forward it to the orbital via Moe’s link. And stay on ship’s power. We’ll top off tanks after we get to Siren.”

  “Will do.”

  Trask looked around the table. “Anybody got anything else?”

  “I’m very much looking forward to visiting the orbital again,” Pritchard said.

  “We’ll have a couple of days’ liberty, Steven. You’ll have your visit. Anybody with ship’s business?” Trask asked.

  Nobody spoke for a few heartbeats.

  “Let’s get at it.” Trask pushed back from the table and left the wardroom.

  Pritchard followed him out.

  “What was that about Moe and strangers?” Natalya asked.

  Blanchard shook his head. “Nothing much. Moe has had some run ins with TIC and the CPJCT inspectors. She’s not happy when they’re visiting.”

  “Whew,” Natalya said. “I thought the skipper meant we were the strangers.”

  Lyons said, “Moe’s good people.”

  Blanchard’s eyebrows flickered in response. “There aren’t many.”

  “No, there aren’t,” Lyons said, pushing his coffee cup back from the edge of the table. “See you after we dock.” He left without so much as a backward glance.

  “That was unusual,” Blanchard said. “You’re a good influence on him.”

  “Me?” Natalya shook her head. “Personally, I think he’s just bored.”

  Blanchard stared into his coffee mug. “Did he tell you his story?”

  “Nope.”

  “Huh.”

  “That’s it?” Natalya asked.

  Blanchard shrugged. “Josh has always had problems on these runs. He manages logistics for Kondur between.”

  “That much he told me.”

  “If the story’s true, the man’s bloody brilliant with keeping ships, stations, and outposts all supplied with what they need. You have to be a juggler to keep all those balls in the air.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be true?”

  “I’ve only ever seen him on the annual run. He’s always a mess.” Blanchard shrugged and looked at Natalya. “Always was, anyway. That conversation was the longest civil exchange he and I have had in three stanyers.”

  “What is there for him to do?”

  Blanchard shook his head. “What is there for any of us to do? We’re actors on a mobile stage. The play’s been written and we’re slotted into our roles.”

  “You don’t believe that.”

  “I do.”

  “How can you? You’re plotting our course.”

  Blanchard shook his head. “I’m just fiddling the numbers to get us where Kondur wants us to be when he wants us to be there. I’m good at that, but it’s just mechanics. Time, distance, velocity. The only uncertainty is when we jump and even that’s relatively small.”

  Natalya shook her head. “I think you’re just jaded. You’ve done it so long, it’s second nature, like using a fork. The rest of us poor mortals can barely get the food into our mouths.”

  “Maybe,” Blanchard said. After a few heartbeats he said, “Your friend Zoya is a piece of work.”

  “How so?”

  “She’s smart enough. Even capable enough. She could step into the second mate’s slot and handle the navigation without any problem.”

  “So?”

  “So everything else pushes her off-balance.”

  “She’s a bit rigid. It’s one thing to know Toe-Hold space is out there, but to run your face into its bulkheads puts a different spin on things.”

  “I’ve seen armor plating that’s less rigid than she is,” Blanchard said, a smile making it into almost a joke. “What do they teach about Toe-Hold space in the academy?”

  “Basic history. Accurate as far as it goes, I think.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I spent most of my formative stanyers with my father. He’s been banging around the Western Annex for decades. He’d take me to places and tell me their stories. Stories I was required to validate, by the way. He’s a stickler for accuracy, too.”

  “Where’d he take you?”

  Natalya cradled her mug between her palms and thought back. “High Tortuga was fun. Mel’s place was … interesting.”

  “How long ago were you at Mel’s?”

  “I don’t remember. Ten stanyers, probably. It was one of the early trips.”

  “Interesting how?”

  “It was like a hive. People buzzing around. Everybody had some kind of deal going, something they’d be able to cash in on. Everywhere you looked, any time of day, people. To me it was crazy.”

  “You didn’t find that at Dark Knight?”

  “I haven’t spent that much time on station there. There’s a certain air of busy-ness, but nothing like the roiling waters at Mel’s.”

  “What was your favorite?”

  “High Tortuga. Their systems amazed me. If you could think of a way to look at data, they could make their system render
that view.”

  Bray stuck his head in from the galley. “Sars? May I clear? Diana wants to get the cleanup done before we dock.”

  Natalya stood immediately. “I’m done. Thank you, Mr. Bray.”

  Blanchard waved him in. “Have at it. I should go make sure we’re still on the approach track anyway.”

  Natalya followed him out of the wardroom as Bray started piling dirty dishes in a tray.

  The ship docked at Moe’s Mining at mid-morning. Natalya kept the kickers hot, but safed the sails and keel generators just as a matter of routine. By 1100, the ship was snugged in and waiting for the cargo swap.

  Natalya’s tablet bipped with a summons to the cabin. She found the door open and all the officers inside.

  “Good, Regyri. Come in,” Trask said waving her into the crowded cabin. “We’ve a bit of a problem.”

  Natalya looked around at all the faces. Zoya looked slightly baffled. Blanchard looked like a particularly well-fed cat, but that was his normal expression. Lyons looked as dour as ever. Pritchard looked ever so slightly bemused, like a kid who’s just opened his birthday present and found it to be underwear.

  “The issue is TIC,” Trask said. “They’re here on the station.”

  “That is unexpected,” Pritchard said. “Will they want to inspect us?” His face had a pale and waxy sheen.

  “Moe is keeping them busy for now, but we’ll want to do whatever we can to move on quickly.” Trask looked at Lyons. “How soon before they’ve swapped the cans?”

  “At least another stan. Probably two.”

  “Anything we can do to light a rocket under them?” Trask asked.

  “Nothing I can do, no,” Lyons said. “Moe’s good. She’ll want to cover us as much as she can.”

  Zoya said, “I have a suggestion.”

  Trask nodded to her. “I’m listening.”

  “Invite their command team for lunch.”

  Pritchard made a short retching sound, but Blanchard’s smile widened.

  Trask cocked his head to one side a bit as if to shake a loose piece into place in his skull. “Invite them for lunch?”

  “It was just an idea.”