by Sharon Lee
She finished and Clarence nodded.
“I hold myself ready, Captain. We’ll also have to consider Win Ton’s—space! All of us ought to have consistent name badges for ports like this. Carrydocs all need to be in Terran, and any showing sigs in Terran, too.”
Win Ton sat up as if he were going to object, then sank back into his chair, nodding.
“I can have those documents ready immediately,” Joyita said.
“Captain’s gotta agree,” Clarence suggested, but Theo shook him off.
“Executive officer’s got to do something, I guess, since we have one. It does sound like they’re a little touchy here. I’d really like to finish our business and roll out without any…unpleasantness. Now, what about for Liaden ports, should we all have a Liaden port kit ready as well?”
“Table that ’til we’re at one,” said Clarence. “That would be my say. But we’ll want to be set if they call me down to the office, so I’ll go over what we’ve got on your friend’s situation.”
Clarence looked at Joyita.
“Can you send me that info in two? One coded to show what’s in the public view and the other for what we’ve picked up on the side? Don’t want to start off knowing too much when I’m talking to the top Johnnies, do I?”
There was a slight pause as Joyita reached out to a toggle. There was an audible click from his screen and he turned back with a single nod.
“Your tabs and Theo’s are now color-coded. Blue is for public documents and local news reports; green is information garnered from the port newsletter and from general port directives. The white tab covers information taken from private correspondence and internal directives.”
“Thank you, Joyita,” Theo said and looked around at them, her gaze touching each face in turn.
“So, it’s settled,” she said. “Clarence will represent the ship to Minot Station in this if they need a face-to-face. In case of that, he will go with Kara, our chief engineer. From what I’ve been reading, this isn’t a comfortable port. We should go on-station by pairs. I want all intelligence gathering to continue at pace; including, as high priority, information that will assist the pathfinders.
“Questions? Remarks?”
There were none.
The moment of silence was broken by Bechimo.
“Bridge, we have complete access to Minot Station’s encryption engine, as well as several Standards of archived transit reports. We have access to station stay records, to…”
“Excellent!” Theo said aloud, but she didn’t find an excellent in the field of sense and information Bechimo was extending to her. An image of Rig Tranza flitted across her mind as if a memory she’d never had, a man tireder than he usually permitted himself to become, more…bitter, she thought, studying his face. Rig Tranza had been a happy man in general, who’d made an effort to see good news in everybody.
Bechimo spoke again, this time sounding like he was speaking a line from one of those Liaden plays Kara used to share with her.
“I believe, Theo, that Primadonna’s situation here is no simple accident of theft. I am accumulating information. I believe there has been treachery—and I believe it continues.”
* * * * *
Stost and Chernak considered the station feeds that Joyita had granted them, perusing both the newsletter and the public news broadcasts with equal interest. They made for a satisfying break from study, while proving the study itself. Their reading skills were the equal of Up to the Minot, if their grasp of idiom was not. The news broadcasts might have been more difficult, save that they were captioned in Trade. Thus they improved their skill in spoken Terran while gaining both the news and an opportunity to exercise those skills in which Explorers are trained.
“An unruly station,” Chernak commented, flipping through Up to the Minot. “One hopes that the captain will take precautions. She can ill afford to lose even one, from so small a crew.”
“True,” said Stost, who had been watching the video news on his screen, Grakow asleep on his lap. He blinked lazily and said, not loudly, “Friend Joyita.”
“Pathfinder Stost?” came the now-familiar voice.
“Our respects to the captain, and a reminder that we are capable guards. It would be an honor to serve.”
“I will convey your message to the captain,” Joyita said.
“My thanks.” Stost said and turned to meet Chernak’s eye.
“Bored, my Stost?”
“Admit it, Senior; the prospect of walking unfamiliar halls and breathing new air, though it be station air, beguiles you.”
“You know me too well,” Chernak said and went back to the news sheet.
* * *
The captain’s reply came more speedily than Stost had expected, and it was of course Joyita who brought it to them.
“The captain thanks the pathfinders for their willingness to serve and states that she has already considered you in the capacity of crew escort. She asks your patience while circumstances clarify and also asks that you hold yourselves ready should need arise.”
Stost turned to Chernak, seeing the surprise he felt reflected on her face.
“Thank you, Joyita,” she said. “We are ready on the captain’s word.”
“Well,” said Stost.
“Well,” Chernak agreed and stood. “I will shower and dress, so that we do not shame the ship should the captain call.”
First prep was her privilege as senior and she hurried to make herself ready. It would be best, she thought, if they were both ready should the captain call.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Minot Station
“Bump coming!”
Clarence’s pace was steady and comfortable, slow enough that his caution came in good time to warn Kara, if she’d needed it. He led them according to a printout they’d both memorized rather than wearing the in-ear and letting Bechimo or Joyita guide them, as Bechimo had clearly preferred.
Theo, though, had been adamant. “We don’t want to look like we think there’s anything strange—nothing like we suspect treachery. Most leaves, crew has comm and personal arms. So that’s what we’ll have, too, unless Clarence or Kara won’t feel safe…”
“I’ll feel safe enough, Captain,” Clarence assured her, with such a degree of earnestness that Kara had regarded him thoughtfully before making her own answer.
“I will feel perfectly safe, Theo. After all, we will have a stationer escort.”
That was only for part of the way, but Theo had nodded, and they were away across the docks.
The bump Clarence had warned of at the transition point was stronger than Kara expected, but then Minot Station’s docks were built for spacers and not for casual cruise ship passengers. The decking was clean, if worn, and there was a spot right there that would have had her out with a meter and test probe if it had been hers to deal with. The gravity was suspiciously variable, and Kara sniffed disdainfully. Fluctuating gravity might have something to do with the restraints on Primadonna, which were likely on the same grid. That thought made her feel somewhat better. A station that arrested ships on a routine basis would surely have a grid dedicated to restraints.
Traffic was light, foot and cart, and when Clarence brought them around the next bend in their path and past two sets of auto-seal emergency doors, the lighting changed to a hue more comfortable to civilians.
“Lift ahead, then right and three doors, and we’ll be arrived.”
Kara aimed a walking bow at Clarence’s back. Being Terran-sized, he took Terran-sized steps; if they’d walked in cadence she’d have fallen behind or had to strain her own stride.
She caught up to him when he paused at the lift. He signed comms still live to her before the door opened and they entered.
Kara looked around. The lift was an old grid design or retrofit locally rebuilt. It offered no clues as to its original builder, and the dated inspection certificates that should have been prominently displayed—were not. Kara sniffed again at that lack.
She could see no obvious surveillance, but for all she knew the floor did that work. If there was an active video monitor aboard, it was cleverly concealed. There were scarred grab bars on the lift’s back wall. Someone lashed cargo there, Kara thought, else there were autocarts that locked themselves in against the bars.
The controls were actual touchpad. She sniffed at that, too, when Clarence’s hand wave was insufficient to start them on their way. Well…at least she wasn’t going to have to troubleshoot it.
Clarence was probably as busy as she was watching the equipment. If he noticed the notched insets as anything special, he didn’t mention it—but to Kara it looked like at some stops there were side feeds for ’botcarts. The pattern of wear on the decking gave some credence to that theory.
Five levels down and four changes of gravity later, the lift opened its doors upon their destination and they debarked.
Once they locked on Avenue A and the pressure equalized enough to permit them to enter the hallway, their path was left, right, and straight ahead. The hall was moderately crowded, shipfolk and stationers intermingled and vastly incurious. They passed some dayside shops. Flowing arrows on the overheads promised trade bars, all-nighters, and something called a curio.
They turned their final corner and there paused. Kara frowned in irritation, for the promised guide was not—Ah, but no!
A blandly uniformed youth easily three hands taller than her stood with drink in one hand near the door. He was studying a device held in his free hand, which must have informed him of their arrival, for he suddenly looked up and at them.
He pocketed the device and moved toward them, surreptitiously dumping his beverage container into a convenient trash chute.
Clarence pivoted toward him, and she stepped up to his side.
“Bechimo staff?” inquired the youth.
Clarence tapped the ship’s badge pinned neatly on his left breast and nodded for both of them.
“Right here. I’m executive officer.” Clarence was speaking in one of his…less couth dialects of Terran, retapping the badge in emphasis.
The young man nodded and turned to Kara. He hesitated, plainly startled.
“And…engineering officer?” he said tentatively.
Kara produced a cool nod, which was an ironically proper greeting to a person of…substandard manners.
“Myself,” she said, in a Terran less colorful than Clarence’s choice. She tapped her badge: K.v.Arith Engineering.
“Oh,” said their supposed guide. “I thought from the image that…that you were older.”
“I am as you see me.”
He reached into his pocket and brought out the device, holding it toward her.
It was, Kara admitted, a good likeness, and one she ought to share with her mother eventually. Though why it had been taken from the work deck where she was full deep in hydroponics equipment and concentrating on a—well, it did make her look older and disguised her height as well.
“You know who we are,” Clarence said. “Care to return the favor?”
The youth’s pale face flushed pink.
“I am Admin Intern Eidalec,” he said, slipping the device back into its pocket. “If you will follow me, I will guide you through the inner halls. This way, please.”
* * *
The intern wore his permissions on his hands. At least the doors to the inner halls were of a higher order of elegance than the lift; nothing so crass as a touchpad.
Intern Eidalec was also a quiet guide, and his uniform fit him well, as Kara saw from time to time, as she glimpsed him on the far side of Clarence. He flashed his hands left or right, waking muted sounds in reply. Pneumatic slide doors with pressure seals slid aside for him. There was rhythm to his gestures, almost a dance. Kara nearly smiled; she could appreciate someone who took joy in his work.
As well as he moved, Intern Eidalec had not yet mastered the art of patience. He swung energetically out, without even a glance to be certain that his charges remained with him. Indeed, his headlong course made her realize that she needed to increase her routine workouts. It would not be good to become incapable of working in other environments, forever shipbound for lack of strength or stamina. Watching him made her consider bowli ball for the first time in…a long time, though where one might play on Bechimo…
Ahead, the intern stopped, so quickly that Clarence nearly overran him. He waved his left hand, but failed to rouse the door, though it had produced a small chime in recognition. Or, perhaps, in apology.
His sigh was loud in the quiet corridor. He lowered his hands and turned, looked beyond them toward the busier hall they had just quit.
Reflexively, Kara also looked that way and saw two men coming toward them, one in uniform and one in a more formal business attire.
Their guide muttered, “Of course,” very quietly, and then, more loudly, to them, “Please, these officials will have the key. Let’s step aside to let them through.”
* * *
The officials were Dock Supervisor Franksten, in the rather well-used uniform of one personally doing day-to-day physical work, and Corp Veep Semimodo, wearing a bright, multistriped civilian suit that reminded Kara of the clothes her clan’s elders had worn when she was a child. She’d seen texts at Anlingdin about the ebb and flow of fashion, even did the Econ section on the power of fashion to change cultural necessity. Now she wondered if that meant Eylot was in that culture funnel that went from Liad, bounced to Terra, bounced back to the Liaden subcenters, then spread to…
Kara realized that the man in the suit was speaking again, as if all was agreed on.
“And the case is that we’ll need to use a tug or even two and cross-pull the pod, since Primadonna’s apparently not going anywhere soon. Or ever.”
Veep Semimodo was expansive and—soft. His motions were not those of a dancer or a worker. His hands moved constantly as he pointed to this and that on the display screen that none but he could see clearly. He spoke rapidly, his voice high and as soft as his hands.
It might have been easier if they had been in a conference area but the seating in the inner office was cramped. Intern Eidalec had been relegated to a stool near the door, while she and Clarence sat on bare metal chairs, facing Semimodo across his desk, while Supervisor Franksten stood beside it.
The big display screen was angled in such a way that it favored Clarence and Semimodo, which meant that Kara and Franksten had to crane and peer. The intern had no view of the screen at all, and Kara noticed that his eyes were on her far too often.
Clarence had told them to address technical questions to her. Thus did Supervisor Franksten ask about Bechimo’s necessities regarding the state of the pod upon receipt.
“Bechimo can receive the pod docked or undocked,” she said. “If it is the standard mini-pod, we will attach it to a free podpoint. We will, of course, need to establish that the pod self-checks. I assume it contains a standard power reserve and automatics.”
Franksten nodded. “Standard mini-pod, so far as she checks out to us,” he said.
“Excellent. Have you the values to hand?”
He looked to Veep Semimodo, as if for direction, but the administrator was studying the display.
Finally, Franksten lifted his hands, fingers fluttering don’t know.
“We don’t have the current values,” he said, sounding both apologetic and irritated. “We ought to, mind you, and in the normal way, we would have ’em. Fact is, the ship’s not forwarding to our comms on this.”
Kara blinked and sent a quick glance to Clarence. He gave vent to a dramatic trader’s sigh before he took up the conversation, with Semimodo as his target.
“I’m able to sign for the ship if we’ve got a good cargo. It ain’t always you see a cargo coming off a ship under arrest, but self-contained cargo is cargo if we got a destination. Cargo has to be in good order. Carrying order’s gotta be good, too. Cargo history’s gotta be clean.”
Semimodo nodded at Clarence’s points, visibly agr
eeing, then holding up his hand for a pause.
“The point you raise is correct. The cargo…” He cleared his throat, his voice going even softer. “A moment, just a moment.” He looked to the intern perched on a stool. “Caffeine or beverage for those who do. You, also. This may take a bit. Use this! You know mine!”
The intern took the proffered object with a nod and turned to them.
Clarence nodded to the admin, “Thanks.”
“Standard hot caff for me, no ’toot,” he told Intern Eidalec. “If what you got is ’toot, I’ll take water, cool or cold.”
Clarence nodded at her, and Kara caught herself before recalling where she was. Not a tea, then. Well, she’d lived on Eylot; she could stomach coffee, if she had to. “The same for me, if you please.”
The intern made a dancer’s turn and slipped out the door with an elegant flick of the wrist.
Veep Semimodo waited until the door had closed fully before he leaned forward, his eyes on Clarence’s face.
“Now here’s the thing,” he said, almost whispering. “The cargo’s got a clean history, just longer than you might think. We’ve been looking at the trade situations out there toward the center of things and we offered, a while back, to be forwarding agents ourselves if it would help. We also do some of our own financing, when we can find cargoes and ships that ought to be compatible but don’t have the business. Was going to put together a full proposal for you, but then we got in the middle of this muddle and it’s had my attention a bit.”
He sat back, waving his hands meaninglessly at the screen.
“So here, the cargo’s going through to Lefavre. We don’t have anyone on a regular route from here to there. Since you’re route-building and haven’t got a firm schedule, this felt like a fit.” He smiled, uneasily to Kara’s eye.
“We solve each other’s problems, see? And a nice piece of profit in it for your ship.”
Clarence didn’t return the smile, and after a moment, the man continued.