by T. M. Catron
“Yeah?” Rance asked. “How so?”
“He dressed all in black. Showed up in her parents’ farming town a few years ago and cleared it out.”
“Cleared it out?” Roote asked.
“Yeah.
“Made everybody leave. Shipped them off-planet. The Wizards didn’t let her family take anything with them.”
“Why?” Rance asked.
“She never found out.”
“The Galaxy Wizards protect us,” Tally said. “They must have had a good reason.”
James frowned. “Does it sound like protection to you when they up and make everyone move to a new planet?”
“Yes.” Tally sniffed. “Maybe the planet was unstable.”
“I still want to know what in thunder that Solaris did,” Abel said. “Must’ve been bad.”
“Well we know what our dear captain did,” Tally said, turning to Rance. “Captain, next time can we please get a CO from somewhere else? The Star Streaker doesn’t need the stress of an in-atmosphere jump in the middle of a vicious sandstorm. I shouldn’t even be up here. I should be checking that none of that blasted purple sand didn’t get into the hyperdrive.”
“Yeah,” Rance said. “No thanks to Harrison McConnell.”
“Harrison?” Roote asked.
“Your friend ratted me out.”
“He ratted us out, Captain,” James said. “We’re with you.”
Roote was staring at Rance. “He told them you were a smu—sorry—anonymous transporter?”
“No, something worse.”
“Worse?”
Rance smiled. It was kind of ironic when she thought about it, that the penalty for skipping out on a Founders’ Marriage was harsher than the penalty for smuggling. At least, for her it was.
“Captain Cooper is engaged to Harrison McConnell,” James said, “or didn’t the rat fink tell you?”
“Her father’s been looking for her ever since she ran away,” Tally said.
“So they were looking for you,” Roote said. “I thought they were looking for that Galaxy Wizard.”
“I’m sure they’d like to find me as much as they’d like to find him.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Can I ask who your father is?”
“Davos.”
Roote sat back, eyes going wide in surprise. “Senator Davos? Davos is your father?”
He regarded Rance with renewed interest. She felt like he was staring at an animal in a zoo.
“You mind?”
“Sorry, Captain, but . . .”
“But what?”
He leaned forward, looking right into her eyes. “I’m impressed.”
The crew watched the exchange with interest, their gazes going back and forth from Rance to Roote.
“It’s not hard to be born into privilege,” she said grimly. “Luck of the draw—or bad luck, in this case.”
Roote shook his head and said quietly, “That’s not what I meant. Takes a lot of courage to stand up to a man like that. I’m impressed you had the guts to defy him.”
Feeling both humbled and pleased, Rance cleared her throat and glanced at Tally. But he avoided her look, pointedly draining the last drop of coffee from his cup.
“I had help,” she said.
“So that explains how you can afford a ZOD,” Roote said. “Only the very wealthy get those. Is it hacked?”
“Of course. And I’m not wealthy anymore—the only thing I have is this ship.”
Roote nodded, watching her. “It’s more than some, though.”
Rance didn’t pity herself. She loved her life, her ship, her crew. But she didn’t feel like talking any more. She was tired, irritated, ready to get some sleep. Roote’s praise had lifted her spirits, but the discussion of her father and her old life tugged them back down again. She stood and climbed out from the table.
Roote followed her out.
“One question, Captain,” he said.
She turned, expecting more questions about her father, her family, her life. Like she was still in a fishbowl on Xanthes, paraded about in the public eye.
“Just the one?” she asked. Her tone would have sent even Abel scurrying away, but Roote was unfazed.
“Why Doxor 5? What are we picking up?”
Oh. An innocent question. Rance inwardly smirked. Time to have a little fun.
“It’s not what we’re picking up. It’s what we’re dropping off. Didn’t think the only reason I was on Xanthes was to pick you up, was it?”
“I had assumed so—mistakenly, it seems.”
“I try to drum up business wherever we land.”
“I didn’t see anything in the cargo bay.”
“You wouldn’t. It’s not there.”
Roote followed her up the steep stairs to the top deck, along the corridor leading to her quarters. “Intellectual property?” he guessed.
“What else is there?”
“Plenty. Diamonds from Xanthes, contraband medicine, banned exotic pets, aggressive species of plants, weapons.”
“You seem to know a lot about it.”
“It’s common knowledge on Xanthes, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. But I don’t want to fool with any of that.” Rance paused for effect, letting him make the connection on his own. That was crucial; he was more likely to believe it if he’d come up with it by himself.
“So we’re smuggling secrets.”
Yes! He took the bait.
“I don’t ask, actually,” Rance said with a shrug. “But the pay is phenomenal.”
“It better be, because there are severe consequences if we’re caught.”
Rance turned to look at him, ready to lay it on thick. “Did I make a mistake in hiring you?”
“No, sir.”
“We’re not at the Academy. Call me Captain.”
“Yes, Captain.”
They reached her cabin, and Rance paused. “I hope you like hyperspace, Roote, because we’re going to be cooped up for a few days.”
He shrugged. “It’s not any worse than some of the places I’ve lived. A lot better than most, actually.”
Rance didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t want to get drawn into a long conversation about it now. She nodded to him and entered her cabin.
The lights flashed on, then dimmed again as the ship entered its night cycle. She listened to Roote walk down the corridor to the bridge. He was on duty, and for the first time in a week Rance could get some real sleep. She smirked at the lie she’d just sold him. If she’d been in a better mood, she would have thought it hilarious.
State secrets. As if Rance didn’t have enough trouble already than to be dabbling in those. She’d rather smuggle a whole crate of hippocrixes—tiny, biting, squealing exotic pets—than to transport illegal documents.
The joke had been James' idea. Orientation.
Rance flopped down on her bunk face first, breathing in the slightly stale scent of her pillow, feeling the deprivation of oxygen. When she felt a little woozy, she turned over on her side to face the wall and the built-in shelf. Not much there but a brush and an old handset she kept meaning to fix.
Rance picked it up, turning it over in her hands to look at the back. Terryn was scratched into the casing, mingling with the other scratches on the surface. She tossed it back onto the shelf. It needed fixing, but not tonight.
Chapter Five
Over the next ten days, the crew tried to get to know their new CO. But he seemed preoccupied, and never joined in on their joking or good humor. Rance wondered if he was worried about the fake state secrets they were “transporting” and almost felt sorry for him. But it could just be nerves. Maybe he wasn’t used to being chased across the galaxy.
“Everything okay, Roote?” she asked as he passed her in the hall one day.
He paused. His head almost brushed the ceiling on the top deck.
“Everything’s fine, Captain. Why wouldn’t it be?”
�
�I just thought you might be missing home.”
“Xanthes is not my home. I only went to the Fight Academy there.”
“You graduated years ago. What were you doing back there?”
“Looking for work. I promise, Captain, I’m not missing that wretched planet.”
“Me either.” Rance smiled. Since there wasn’t much to do in hyperspace, the crew had got some much needed rest in the last few days. She was starting to feel like her old self.
James' voice came over her personal com. “Coming out of hyperspace in an hour, Captain.”
“Thanks, James.”
She walked with Roote to the bottom of the ladder going up to the cockpit. He stood aside to let her go first.
“Always so polite, Roote.”
“Nonsense. You’re the captain.”
She’d meant it as a joke, but he didn’t seem to have got it. So instead of standing there awkwardly, she climbed the short ladder into the cockpit. Roote followed, and they both strapped themselves in.
Rance checked in with everyone, making sure they were in their crash chairs before exiting hyperspace.
“What’s the plan when we get there, Captain?” Roote asked.
“Standard protocol for us is to dock at a public port. The Star Streaker is listed as a legitimate small transport, using a stolen serial number, of course. Officially, we’re here to pick up cargo.”
“And what cargo is that?”
“Today, a specialty shipment of flight suit electronics for a small outfit on Barton.”
“And what are we really picking up?”
“That’s what we’re really picking up,” James said.
“It makes us look good to have officially registered products,” Rance said, then added, “occasionally. And we’ll transport just about anything as long as we get paid.”
“Okay, I get that. But what is it a cover for? Has someone’s IP been woven into the suits?”
Rance’s mouth twitched. She shook her head. “It’s not a cover. Not this time.”
James glanced over his shoulder at Rance, who was having trouble keeping a straight face.
“We should tell him,” he said.
“Tell me what?” Roote asked. Then realization dawned on his face, contorting from confusion to anger and then to relief. “We don’t smuggle state secrets, do we?”
Rance grinned. James snorted. Over the com, Harper’s gentle snicker chimed in, soon joined by Abel’s loud chuckle that caused the com to crackle. Even Tally let out a rare guffaw that echoed through the ship’s interior.
The entire crew had been listening in.
“Oh for the love of Triton,” Roote breathed.
Rance laughed. “You should see your face. Harrison must have really told you some stories about me.”
Roote shook his head, then smiled. “You really had me.”
Abel stopped his laughing long enough to say, “Admit it. You were going to bail as soon as we landed on Doxor 5.”
“Founder’s eyeballs,” Rance said. “I was going to bail once we got to Doxor 5!”
Everyone laughed at that, including Roote.
“Not too mad, are you?” James asked.
“So are the rules a joke too?”
“No, afraid not. Captain’s always been serious about those.”
Rance chuckled again, then reached over to turn down the cabin com, which was still broadcasting the crew’s laughter. “To be fair, Roote, sometimes we do transport stuff that is less than . . . umm . . . savory . . . But never anything to get noticed by anyone.”
She leaned over and tapped James on the shoulder. “I think that was your best one yet.”
Then she turned back to Roote, trying to keep a straight face while she said, “I honestly thought we’d gone too far. You seemed like such an upstanding guy—you really must have been desperate to get off Xanthes.”
Roote cleared his throat and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Please don’t tell me I was right about exotic pets.”
“Nope. Sometimes family heirlooms—jewelry, art pieces, and such. Delicate cargo. Anything people don’t want to risk shipping through official channels. Valuable stuff has a way of turning up missing, if you know what I mean.”
Roote smiled. “So was that all a joke about skipping out on a Founders’ Marriage?”
Rance sighed. “No, that part is true too. And Harrison McConnell better hope I never get my hands on him, because it won’t be in the way he wants.”
Roote sat up straight in his too-small chair, looking like a great burden had been lifted off him. “I was apprehensive. I mean, I didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t know how you were smuggling Unity secrets without incurring the very furious and far-reaching wrath of Triton.”
He looked so relieved Rance again wondered if she’d let the joke go on too long. “You still want to stay on?” she asked.
Roote smiled again, this time a big grin that made his face turn a bit goofy. Now Rance thought it was endearing. She could get used to that smile.
“Of course I want to stay on,” he whispered.
“Alright, then. Welcome aboard, Roote—again!”
“Woohoo!” James said.
A few minutes later, a light flashed on the console, signaling the ship’s exit from hyperspace. The blue outside the cockpit disappeared, and the Star Streaker entered Doxor 5’s outer perimeter.
Doxor 5 had been colonized and terraformed five hundred years earlier. Part of a ten-planet system, it was the biggest of the satellites orbiting twin stars called Doxor A and Doxor B. Rance always wondered what had happened to the original colonists’ imaginations. Couldn’t they be bothered coming up with more original names for their new homes?
Space stations, themselves monstrous ports of call for the larger spaceships, crowded the orbit around the planet until a designated flight path had to be cleared so the smaller, atmosphere-capable ships could land.
As the planet grew bigger in their field of view, the general color became more apparent. Although they weren’t close enough yet to see it, the planet was one gigantic city. Gray buildings pierced gray clouds, and giant, miles-long warehouses covered great swaths of the rock. A sliver of darkness ran from pole to pole—night on Doxor 5 was very short.
The Star Streaker joined the queue of other ships waiting to land, behind a bulky gray S-class transport. It looked like an old metal crate, and Rance wondered how the thing even managed to land. The Streaker’s crew sat back to wait.
“Why is it when I’m strapped into my crash chair, I always have to pee?” James asked.
Abel’s voice drifted over the com. “Who are you going to meet this time, James?” he asked.
Rance pressed the button to tell Abel to save it when the ship shook slightly, as if they’d just hit turbulence. But they couldn’t have—they were in space.
“What in the Founder’s armpit was that?” James asked.
Rance looked over at the console and scanned the space around them. “Nothing unusual,” she said.
“I’d say that was very unusual.”
Rance was just going to tell James to pull out of line when the Streaker shook again, this time with a jolt so violent Rance’s harness knocked the air out of her lungs. The electronics flickered as the cockpit went dark, then came online again.
“EMP cannon!” she shouted as the next wave hit them in the tail. “They found us!”
The ship rolled with the blow but didn’t go completely dark—yet.
James punched the buttons that brought up the shields and at the same time pulled out of the queue. “How the flying flip did they find us?” he asked.
The next bright streak from the EMP cannon shot by, narrowly missing their wing and hitting the transport in front of them. It shuddered and went dark.
“How did we survive that—twice?” Roote asked.
“Tally’s made some special modifications. But we won’t take another hit like that.”
“Illegal modifications, you mean.�
�
“Not now, Roote! James—watch your six!”
Three UDFs were closing in, fanning out in preparation for escort.
But James was already performing evasive maneuvers, weaving in and out of the queue with the precision of a laser. Another blast slid by them, sending a second small freighter into a spin.
“Why are they firing at us? What’d we do?” James asked.
The attacks unleashed pandemonium. Ships all around them scattered out of the path of fire. Soon the surrounding space looked like an asteroid field made of ships.
Metal ships, with people inside.
Rance resisted the urge to speak, relying on James' skills to avoid the Dark Fighters pursuing them and evade the ships scrambling to get out of their way.
Rance checked the crew’s vitals. Everyone’s heart rate was elevated, but otherwise okay. The ship wouldn’t be able to stand another hit like that, even with the shields up. But she shuddered to think what would happen if they stopped trying to disable the Streaker and decided to blow it to pieces instead.
“Why haven’t they hailed us?” James asked through gritted teeth. “They should have hailed us by now!”
Once again, Roote’s hands were white as he gripped the armrest of his chair. His face had turned ashen. Rance glanced at his heart rate. Surprisingly, it was still within a normal range. Maybe even slower than average.
But she didn’t have time to worry about him, because James was positioning the Streaker toward a giant cruiser about to dock at a space station. He tucked their small ship under the engine of the larger one, hiding in its shadow.
“That won’t lose them for long,” he said. “But I’ve bought us five minutes. Captain, what do you want to do?”
“Situation?”
“Too many ships nearby to attempt a jump to hyperspace. We’re bound to hit one of them and blow ourselves—and them—apart. I can try to shake the Unity ships long enough to get a clear path ahead. If we load the emergency coordinates, we can jump as soon as we get away from the chaos.”
“No,” Roote said, nodding to another screen at James' elbow. “They’re sending more.”
At least five more UDF’s were headed their way, closing in from above and below.