Tanager's Fledglings (The Tanager Book 1)

by Cedar Sanderson

  Jem sat back in the captain’s chair and picked up the intercom. “This is your captain speaking. Our arrival at Tianjin station will be in approximately four hours, or whenever they send the tugboat for us. We can’t speak for the smoothness of the ride after they latch on, so buckle your acceleration harnesses.”

  A few minutes later Moskvin knocked at the hatch, chuckling. Jem swiveled around and held up a finger.

  “Yes. Scarlet Tanager, under way. Captain Raznick in command. Aye. Dock 16B, for 48 hours. I’ll pay the dock fees from the escrow account.”

  Jem clicked off the headset a second later and looked at Moskvin. “Nearly there. Pilot says he is in our sector, which is a piece of luck.”

  “You’re just aching to get rid of me. Here and I’ve been so quiet.” Moskvin shook his head, smiling.

  “I just want to be alone again.” Jem looked at the board, then back at the other man. “There’s been a lot going on, since Flinders.”

  Moskvin nodded. His face dropped the facetious mask. “Jem.”

  That got Jem’s attention. He couldn’t remember Moskvin using his first name before.

  “I wasn’t making a joke, about the aliens. Nor am I trying to play a game with you. You can be a tremendous asset, out there in the stars, in contact with remote stations. They are coming, and we need an early warning.”

  Jem nodded. “And if I have suspicions? You made it sound like they would just gobble me up and keep going.”

  Moskvin shrugged. “Just... just keep your eyes and ears open. Mysteries, anything odd, send me a message.”

  “To Altressa?” Jem wasn’t sure why Moskvin had traveled this far in the first place. “Oh, and there was one thing. I almost forgot to tell you.”

  “What?” Moskvin stiffened, just a little. Jem almost missed it.

  “The ship that’s usually before me to the, ah, Dark Station. It didn’t show up.”

  “How much do you know about it?” Moskvin pulled his tablet out. “Name? Master? Home port?”

  “I don’t know a lot. We’d never been in dock at the same time. The Gwar. Captain... Mappleton, I think.” Jem watched the other man enter the data.

  Moskvin grunted, looking at the small screen. “Home port Zealand. Not a lot of data on it.” He looked up. “Thanks. And no, not just Altressa. I’ll give you the codes, and you send a packet at every station you stop at.”

  “Every station?” Jem parroted in disbelief.

  “Sorry. You’re being deputized. There’s a small stipend, of course.” Moskvin tapped at his tablet. Jem’s tablet chimed as it received a data message.

  “Can I say no?” Jem picked it up. He wasn’t worried about being paid, although that was nice. He was more worried that the spy had drafted him into being a spy.

  “Sorry. You know too much. My boss’d have my head.”

  Jem scowled at his device. “Here, and I’d been thinking you were a rogue running your own op. Why do I care about your head?”

  “Because you like me.”

  The comm board chimed, and Jem spun around to talk to the pilot ship, unable to respond to Moskvin’s outrageous statement. He could hear Moskvin’s footsteps as the man walked away. Presumably to pack. He confirmed that when he left the bridge a few hours later, having been tucked into the dock by the tender cares of the pilot. He was thinking about an EVA to check on some ominous clangs he’d heard during that process. Something sounded a lot like it was sheared off. For the price he’d paid, he would have liked at least semi-competent, but as Walter had explained, the tugships were largely manned by nepotism, so training wasn’t part of the criteria in hiring pilots. But when Jem reached the outer hold, Moskvin was standing by the hatch, his bag next to him. Moskvin had changed out of the comfortable shipsuit he’d worn throughout the voyage, and into one of his loud shirts, this one neon green and black, over tan pants and station grippy shoes. The soft silicone soles allowed for easier traction in low-grav areas.

  “Leaving so soon?” Jem checked his wrist. “Actually, I hate to say this, but you can’t leave for about ten minutes.”

  “What?” Moskvin looked confused.

  “We have to wait for clearance. Tianjin’s main commerce is in regulations.”

  Moskvin laughed. “Point. Do you expect problems?”

  “Always. Walter said that they make it a point of principle to put at least one flag on any manifest submitted. Otherwise they lose face.” Jem pulled out his tablet. With a couple of clicks, he had the list pulled up, and could scroll through it. “Yeah... three, no, four flags today. Two of them are easy to clear, the other two I need clarification on.”

  Jem put the tablet on the contact point above the hatch screen. Having a place to keep the tablet handy, and see what was coming in for messages, was nice. Being able to type two-handed was even better. He fired off a quick message to the customs officer. One of the consigned shipments he had been given was a sealed delivery. Only the end recipient could break the seals, or Jem would forfeit not only haulage but cost of cargo. Tianjin wanted to know what was in the cargo. Jem had the consigner’s statement, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t open the shipment for inspection. He sent a second message to the recipient. Customs would have to talk to him.

  “So does this delay my dis-embarkment?” Moskvin asked, seeing that Jem was finished. “I’m meeting someone.”

  Jem looked at him, seeing that the other man was restless and unusually serious. “It shouldn’t if your visas are all in order.”

  “They were when I left Altressa.” Moskvin shrugged. “As you say, Tianjin is not always a certain destination.”

  The hatch chimed. “Ah, there he is.” Jem could see two men in uniform standing at attention outside. He pressed the button, and the hatch slid back, allowing them entrance. They marched in and snapped a salute off at him, to which Jem didn’t respond. Walter never had, and he wasn’t going to either. It would, he’d decided, show that they somehow had a hold over him. “Good day, gentleman,” he said instead.

  “Papers?” One asked, holding out his hand. Moskvin reached into the pocket of the shirt and pulled out actual paper folders and handed them to the man. Jem pulled his tablet off the bulkhead and opened the digital file for the man to scan. The code on the screen would open a compressed file on the man’s own tablet.

  They looked at Moskvin’s papers first, giving preference to the physical, Jem was interested to note. The first man looked at them, flipping through all the pages, scanning one, then waiting for a result. With an almost inaudible grunt, he passed the folders over to his partner. Moskvin, as Jem watched him out of the corner of his eye, wasn’t fidgeting any longer. Instead, he stood very still, his knees slightly bent, his gaze steady in the direction of the officers. They never even looked at him until they were both finished with his papers.

  The first one took the folders back, and then held them out to Moskvin. “Dilar Moskvin, your papers are in order and you are free to enter the public areas of the station. Please register your housing as soon as possible, and do not wait more than three days to register your exit passage with the Bureau. If you do not do so, passage will be booked for you. If you attempt to access restricted areas of the station, or to descend to Yueliang, you will be deported on the next available transport. We do not care where that transport is destined, you will be on it. Do you understand?”

  “I do.” Moskvin tucked the papers back in his pocket. “I can already tell you where I will be staying.”

  The man shook his head. “You must register with the Bureau, we are not the appropriate authority.”

  Moskvin shrugged and looked at Jem. “Safe travels, Captain Raznick.”

  Jem nodded at him. “And to you.”

  With that, Moskvin walked out of the hatch and vanished from Jem’s sight around the corner.

  Chapter 19: The Iron Law

  The two officers were now looking at their tablets. Jem guessed they were both reading his paperwork. Because they wore identical gray uniform
s trimmed with a dark blue piping, he had no way to know who was in charge, what their names were - he was taking it on faith they were real officials, for that matter. He shook that last off. They were the same uniforms that had met him and Walter on the last trip. Just different faces.

  “There are two flags.” The first man, Jem decided must be in charge since he was doing all the talking, spoke.

  “Yes. One is open for inspection. The other I cannot open. I have sent a message to the consignee, and he must take delivery before you can inspect it.” Jem said.

  Both of them glared at him. Jem wondered what he’d said wrong. He shrugged. “I can’t open it. My contract prevents that.”

  They exchanged a glance. “Take us to the cargo.”

  Jem nodded, and turned to close the hatch. One of the men grabbed his wrist. “No. The hatch must remain open while we are aboard.”

  “There are loiterers out there.” Jem pointed. Three men, or people, anyway, at this distance it was hard to tell much, were pressed against the far dock wall. They seemed to be dressed in rags, and their faces were somehow painted or discolored so they almost blended into the dock’s battered walls. Tianjin was the dirtiest station Jem had ever seen, with patches of algae and rust scattered over the walls and ceilings.

  The officers turned. One of them spoke in a language Jem didn’t know. It wasn’t Mandarin, he’d studied that. He did, however, recognize the resonance of the voice: his guest was transmitting over comm and broadcasting outside the ship. The three loiterers scattered like roaches with a light shone on them.

  “They will not board. Come, show us.” The man turned back to Jem, expressionless.

  Jem led them into the holds, wondering just what the officer had said to frighten the loiterers away. He felt his shoulders tightening up as he walked, their eyes on his back. This was not a place he’d want to live.

  “Here, this is the cargo you may inspect.” Jem pointed. He’d moved the pallets out from the wall so they could access them all the way around, and now he stood back and tapped his tablet on. He was hoping for a message giving him a time the consignee for the sealed load would be there. He got a message, but it wasn’t the one he wanted. “Dammit.”

  “What is it?” The officer, alert to Jem’s actions, stopped in the middle of opening a crate.

  “It’s the other cargo. He’s insisting I deliver it to his location. He says,” Jem looked down at the message. “Cargo is due in three hours, or haulage is forfeit. He also says the contract is to his location, not to the docks.”

  The officer frowned. “You are not permitted to remove cargo, uninspected, from your ship. We must freely inspect.”

  “I know. I know, but this guy doesn’t seem to know that.” Jem sighed. He seemed to be caught between a rock and a hard place. He opened his mouth to ask them if they would contact the consignee, but he never got the words out.

  The siren resonated through his bones. Jem clapped his hands to his ears, forgetting he still held his tablet, and hit himself hard enough that he saw stars. He staggered as the hull lurched under his feet, then broke into a run, ignoring the officers.

  The dog didn’t have thumbs. Jem knew what the siren was, all too well. The docks had lost atmosphere. In an explosive decompression, with his hatch standing open, the only thing that would save EB was Jem reaching the inner hatch.... He threw himself at it, his world shrunk to just the red button on the upper corner. It was out of the way, to prevent accidental triggering... the siren wailed, and distantly Jem thought he could hear the pup’s howls. He punched the button with all his strength, breaking the cover and depressing it. The hatch sealed. Jem slid limply down the hatch, on the wrong side, and almost as an afterthought pressed the tab on his collar that activated the shipsuit’s helmet.

  The puppy was safe. Jem was, for a time. The shipsuit had limited air reserves. Enough to get him to a hardened suit. He headed for the outer hatch, looking for the customs officers as he went, but he didn’t want to stop and wait on them. He’d do them no good passed out on the deck. He forced himself to slow down, do this methodically. The hardsuit was just like getting dressed. Walter had drilled him so many times Jem barely had to think about it. As he was climbing in, a slightly tight fit in the shipsuit at the moment, he was checking displays. The tablet had been left on the patch of hook and loop by the hatch, now he was depending on the suits.

  Shipsuits were designed for use inside a ship. The readouts were limited, and they told him only that there was still atmosphere, but it was in the orange. He didn’t see the display cascading - it wasn’t falling quickly. He’d take that. Until he had the ship buttoned up he wasn’t even going to worry about the docks and workers. Not his business.

  He latched on the helmet and took a deep breath as his shipsuit helmet thinned and collapsed. He’d had plenty of air, but the tight confines always made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. And now he could get real data. He sucked the controller into his mouth and bit down. Comm chatter filled his ears.

  Jem filtered the comm channels with flicks of his tongue while he walked back into the hold he’d left so precipitously just a couple of moments before. The customs officers were both lying on the deck. He bent over one of them, who opened his eyes. The man looked terrified, but at least he wasn’t unconscious.

  “There is atmosphere.” Jem spoke loudly. He didn’t have external speakers - you don’t need such things in space, where sound waves don’t propagate - but he was hoping the man could read lips. From the look on his face, no joy. Jem sighed and gently gripped the man’s arm. He tugged upward and pointed with the other hand.

  What he needed to do was get them into the garden. As it was a cargo hold, it didn’t lock down with the main living area of the ship in emergency, but it had its own air supply. And the plants, although that didn’t amount to a whole lot. But if he could get them there, he could go for help, or call for help. Depending on the situation in the dock.

  The man staggered to his feet, one hand over his nose and mouth. Jem resisted the urge to shake his head. That wouldn’t help any. He hoisted the other man easily over his shoulder, the augmented servos in the hard suit making him relatively superhuman. He trotted for the garden hold, the officer weaving in his wake. The garden hatch hissed open, a little air lost, and Jem pushed them in unceremoniously. He didn’t have time to explain, there wasn’t that much air. The conscious officer looked stunned as Jem closed the hatch again in his face.

  Once more, Jem found himself on the wrong side of the hatch. He headed for the outer hold. Time to seal the ship and then figure out what the hell was going on out there. The atmosphere indicator was inching down from orange into red, and he was detecting levels of dioxins and heavy metals in it. Something was burning. He could see the smoke when he entered the hold, and the dock outside the ship was dark. Jem hesitated.

  He could look outside, but it might not help, and it exposed him. There was nothing showing on the screen. He held onto the hatch coaming and quickly put his head out, making a quick scan with a camera recording, and then pulled back. But as he did so, something came running out of the dark and through the hatch, knocking Jem off balance as it did so. Jem, already in motion to close the hatch, slapped the button and staggered backward.

  Catching himself on the wall, he crouched, looking around the cluttered hold for the person (his brain had finally caught up with the blurry image and identified it) that had run in. He mentally cursed the lack of an external speaker on the suit. When he was underway, there was another project on the list. Both suits got talkers, even if he never used them again. He didn’t see any movement.

  Moving slowly, facing the hold, he reached out and pressed the sequence to close the inner hatch. That would, at least, keep his trespasser in this hold. Still no movement. He didn’t think there had been time for the person - who wasn’t wearing a shipsuit, and probably had respiratory problems - to have reached the other hatch. He could just leave the air off, and that would solve the probl
em. An unconscious unknown would be easier to handle than a potentially hostile one. But he couldn’t do it. As long as the person had to have been in the dock, it could kill them to be without air any longer.

  With the comm in the suit, he ordered an air cycle in the holds. He didn’t think the main area, where the dog was, would need it. He’d sealed that promptly. Checking readouts confirmed it. The garden was also in the green. The outer hold was in the orange and climbing indicating there were still toxic chemicals in the air, and would be until he could put the scrubbers online.

  Jem moved crablike along the wall toward his tablet, still secured at the other hatch. In the suit, he wasn’t exactly vulnerable, but something had happened in the dock, and his look outside hadn’t helped much. To the naked eye it was dark, smoky, and there was an orange glow he associated with fire to the port of the Tanager. He’d review the camera later, when he could put it up on the screens and toggle to infrared. In the meantime... he caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Using the head’s up display, he painted a camera feed of that area over part of his helmet.

  All he could see now was a foot, sticking out from behind a crate. Ah... there were fingers, gripping the corner. And right on cue, a head popped out, looking at him. Jem didn’t move. He didn’t know if the dock rat was aware his suit was covered in cameras. He was hoping that was a no - then he could look like he was looking away, clueless.

  Jem did at least know that his intruder was a dock rat, now, though. The man or boy - hard to tell through the body paint and mop of hair - was definitely not one of the officials. Jem dubbed him with the slang term from boyhood, and started to move again, pretending to not see the other. He didn’t care if the other was the scum of the station, he was still a human. And a human wearing a nose filter, which told Jem he’d been expecting the smoke. Or he was oddly prepared for a high-tech station with consistent life-support. As Jem moved away, more of the dock rat’s body showed. He was preparing to pounce.