Nimbus

by Jacey Bedford

  That was hopeful. If the pilot of the Cotton had been intending to dump bodies, he could have done it anywhere this side of the jump gate, in which case they could float forever unless someone stumbled upon them accidentally, or unless a Finder was on the case. It was good news that Max couldn’t locate Ully immediately.

  Rather than using the jump drive, Ben filed a flight plan for the Dromgoole Hub and prepared to follow the Cotton’s trail.

  *Prepare for foldspace,* Cara told the crew. *Any time—*

  *Now.*

  • • •

  Entering foldspace from a jump gate should be no different from entering via a jump drive, but somehow it is. It’s as if there are echoes of every other ship that’s ever passed through, and a well-worn track that stretches to a vanishing point ahead. Close to the gates foldspace is redolent with comings and goings. The tracks in front of them converge, and they jump out of foldspace at Dromgoole Hub without incident.

  • • •

  Cara gave a false ident for the Solar Wind, one of the ones supplied by Mother Ramona for such an eventuality. They docked against one of the outer rings of the hub. Cara logged into the station network.

  “Don’t waste your time,” Mother Ramona said. “I bet none of you came prepared with a false identity, did you?” She looked around at their blank faces. “Then I’ll get this.” She flashed a warrant card from her breast pocket that identified her as Investigating Officer Rae Fields.

  “If you get caught impersonating a Monitor, you’ll spend five years on a prison planet,” Ben said, frowning.

  “Then you’ll have to come and get me, Benjamin. Or better still, I won’t get caught.”

  Officer Fields exited the ship and Ben pulled up the ramp behind her.

  “How long should we give her?” Max asked.

  “As long as she needs,” Ben said. “Cara’s keeping contact.”

  Cara nodded.

  It took about three hours for Mother Ramona to return to the dock, this time on a neat little transporter driven by a young man in the uniform of hub security. Ben watched Mother Ramona shake his hand before walking sedately up the ramp, glancing once at the camera eye and winking.

  “Did you find it?” Cara asked as Mother Ramona climbed up the tube to the flight deck.

  “Nothing. No arrival or subsequent departure. I’m as sure as I can be that the Cotton never reached here.” She turned to Ben. “Is it possible she changed direction while in the Folds?”

  “It’s not impossible, but it would need a pilot who was a high-grade Navigator.”

  “Ack!” Max butted in. “Is now the time to say I’ve had no sense that Ully passed through here at all? I sensed her presence in the Folds, but I lost it once we passed through the gate. I thought she’d probably been and gone, but it could be that she was never here.”

  Ben felt a buildup of tension in his belly that heralded not so much a flutter of butterflies but a whole flotilla. Into the Folds and straight out again; that was the way he liked to do things these days. Crashing around in there searching for Ully could bring them to the attention of all manner of nastiness, chief among them being the Nimbus itself.

  • • •

  They are in the Folds once more and all’s quiet. Ben tells Max to concentrate on Ully. The faster they can get out of here the better.

  “Five minutes.” Yan calls the time and Ben knows that even five minutes is too long in this limbo.

  “Max?” he asks.

  Max has his eyes closed now. He points.

  Using him as a compass, Ben turns the ship. He has no idea of distance and would be surprised if Max did, but speed isn’t relevant in this place.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Benjamin?” Mother Ramona asks, but her voice sounds as though she’s under water even though the flight deck looks normal.

  Cara has set the audio comm so they can hear every part of the ship.

  “What’s that, man? Get it off me!” Comes from one of the cabins.

  “Wake up, you’re dreaming,” says another voice, female this time.

  Cara switches the video to the cabin where four of Tengue’s mercs are strapped into transit seats. There’s a faint ripple on the screen that Ben recognizes.

  “Relax. You’re not seeing things,” Ben says over the comm. “It’s one of the otter-kind. It won’t hurt you.”

  But where the otter-kind are . . .

  A big snout pushes its way through the aft bulkhead. Ben swivels to face it. The prehensile claws on its beard take on a life of their own. The creature noses Max and the claws comb through his hair, but he has his eyes closed and obviously feels nothing.

  *?* the void dragon asks.

  *Searching,* Ben says, trying to make the thought imitate the word. He pictures Ully in his mind as he last saw her: slight build, lined face framed by an explosion of fine white hair. Then he adds Ilsa Marquat to the image.

  The void dragon looks at Max and projects a picture of Red One.

  Kennedy has jury-rigged a jump drive to Crossways and they’re trying to maneuver the station through the Folds. Gen goes into labor and drops out of the gestalt. The void dragon is curious enough to turn its attention to the little miracle as Gen gives birth.

  *Yes, he’s the father,* Ben tells it, trying to project the relationship.

  *?* the void dragon asks again.

  “Cara, can you connect me to Max, so I can show the void dragon what he’s doing?”

  Cara smoothly forms a triad channeling Max through Ben to the void dragon.

  There’s a feeling of understanding. Its head disappears, but the ship moves as if the void dragon is guiding it.

  The head reappears and Ben gets a sense of *!* before it pops out of existence.

  “External views all round,” Ben says.

  Yan flicks the external sensors on to panels on the forward screen. There’s something out there in the darkness.

  “Is that the Cotton?” Mother Ramona asks.

  Yan magnifies the image. A small ship is mired in something dark.

  Ben’s heart begins to pound. Nimbus!

  Between the Solar Wind and the Cotton something smaller floats alone. He hears a sob from Mother Ramona. The cloud of white hair haloing out from the slender corpse is all that’s needed to identify her.

  “Solar Wind to Cotton,” Cara says. “Solar Wind to Cotton. Are you receiving me? What is your status?”

  There’s a fountain of static and a female voice answers. “Oh, God, Solar Wind. Our drive has died and there’s this thing.”

  “Identify yourself,” Cara says.

  “Ilsa Marquat, and my pilot is James Beech.”

  “Your purpose.”

  “What?”

  “What’s the purpose of your journey?”

  “Courier for Lord Roxburgh.”

  “Not murder?”

  “What?”

  Mother Ramona lurches across the flight deck and screams over Cara’s shoulder, “That’s my friend out there, you bitch!”

  “It’s getting closer. Help us.” Marquat begins to gabble. “You don’t understand. We were taking her to safety, but she died. Such an old woman. Must have been a heart attack. We said the words and buried her in space. Oh, God! It’s getting bigger.”

  “Stand by, Cotton.” Cara turns to Ben. “What next?”

  Ben is ready to turn and run. One close encounter with the Nimbus is enough for any man.

  “Benjamin, you can’t leave Ully behind.” Mother Ramona’s face is streaked with tears. “Get her back.”

  A weight settles on Ben’s shoulders. That’s the Nimbus out there, and he has a full crew to keep safe, but leaving Ully’s body is not an option.

  “Tengue, I need two people suited up and at the upper hatch on tethers in five minutes. Not the
man who saw the visions.”

  He considers telling Tengue that they don’t actually need to suit up as long as they believe they can breathe. Foldspace isn’t like the deep dark of realspace. Since nothing is real within foldspace, even you, then you can survive if you believe you can. Ben is living proof. So is Cara. So is Garrick.

  It’s not the time to start a philosophical debate.

  He nudges Solar Wind toward Ully’s floating form, sees that the airlock is cycling.

  “Target acquired,” Tengue says. Airlock secured.

  Ronan and his med-techs are waiting for them in the suit locker, a space wide enough for a gurney. Ben can see it all on the screen.

  “Ronan?”

  “Dead,” Ronan says.

  There’s a heavy thump in Ben’s belly. Until that moment there was always a chance that Ully had believed and that foldspace had been kind to her.

  “If they’re claiming it was a heart attack,” Ronan said. “I never saw one that left contusions on someone’s throat.”

  “Bastards!” Mother Ramona clutched the rail at the top of the access tube. “Murderers. Make them pay, Benjamin.”

  She slides down the tube and moments later appears in the suit room, bent over the gurney with its sad burden.

  “Are you coming to get us, Solar Wind?” Marquat’s voice comes out as a squeak.

  “Stand by,” Cara says. She turns to Ben.

  On the forward screen, the view shows the Nimbus has already shrouded half the Cotton. When it had been Garrick in danger, he hadn’t hesitated. Maybe he could do the same thing again, by floating across foldspace and pulling Marquat and her pilot out of the doomed ship.

  “Which one of you did it?” Ben asks.

  “Did what?”

  “Strangled Ully. It’s your last chance for a clean confession. When that cloud of black reaches you, you’re gone.”

  “No! Get us out.”

  “Which one of you did it?”

  “He did. He killed her. You’ve got to help me!”

  “She’s lying.” A male voice this time. “Roxburgh told us to get rid of her and bury the body where no one would find it. She did it. The old woman hardly put up a fight.”

  Ben has heard enough. He edged Solar Wind away from the Cotton.

  No one speaks as the gap between the two ships widens.

  “Wait. Hel—”

  Cara flicks the switch, and Ilsa Marquat’s last words are lost.

  “If anyone has anything to say, say it now,” Ben says.

  He’s met with silence.

  “Let’s go home.”

  He powers up the jump drive and looks for the line for home.

  “You’re sure this is a good idea?” Cara asked.

  “Have you a better one besides spacing them all?”

  Garrick had held his trial, with witnesses from the casinos and the whorehouses giving testimony, some reluctantly, presided over by a panel of judges and a pair of independent Empaths.

  The former controller of Port 46 turned out to be up to her neck in people trafficking. Four of the heavies had multiple counts of murder against them, and the other two were guilty of intimidation, inflicting bodily harm, and kidnapping, including the snatching of Mother Ramona and Ully.

  Garrick would have been happy to space all of them, but he’d promised they’d get a fair trial and a fair punishment. Mother Ramona had argued that the ones who snatched Ully were also guilty of murder. She’d wanted to see them floated out of an airlock, but the judges, well versed in intergalactic law, said if they were trying this case anywhere other than Crossways, they’d hand the prisoners over to the Monitors for deportation to a prison planet for life.

  Ben had said he knew a man who might be able to help, which was why Cara found herself with a dilemma.

  “You want to talk to the Monitors?”

  “Unofficially, and only to Jess. He might not be inclined to help, but it’s worth a try.”

  “Should you remind him where you are?”

  “The Monitors have known where I am since the battle.”

  Cara frowned. “They might hesitate to try to come after you officially, but there have been two attempts on your life. It might have been them.”

  “Extra-judicial killings? I don’t think so. I’ll take my chances.”

  “We’ll take our chances. Don’t forget I’m on their list also, as is everyone in the Free Company.”

  “If you think we shouldn’t . . .”

  She sighed. Ben knew more about the Monitors than she did. “I think we should, but with due caution.”

  Not knowing where in the Galaxy Jess Jessop was wasn’t a problem. Cara had met the man and could find him mind-to-mind if she had to. She closed her eyes tightly and concentrated. Jess wasn’t his real name, of course, but he’d suffered from the usual Monitor nicknaming as Ben had and it had stuck. Ben Benjamin instead of Reska, Jess Jessop instead of . . .

  “What’s Jessop’s given name?” she asked Ben.

  “Rich, I think. Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s Richard, but no one ever calls him that.”

  “Just checking.” She continued drawing a complete picture of the man in her mind. When she was fully familiar with it, she sent a thought questing out across the galaxy.

  *Who wants to know?* Jessop didn’t immediately recognize Cara’s mental handshake. That was good. She brought Ben into the conversation and took herself out of it, listening but not interrupting.

  *Jess, it’s Ben.*

  *What the hell, man?*

  *Can you talk?*

  *Wait a minute.* There was a short silence. *I was on the bridge. I think my crew might have noticed something.*

  *Your crew? You made Prime.*

  *There was a vacancy. You might have had something to do with that. I inherited the Carylan and Alexandrov’s crew.*

  *He’s not someone I’d like to follow into a job.*

  Cara felt Jessop’s full agreement. *There were a few discipline problems, but I sorted them out.*

  *I’m sure you did.*

  *This isn’t a social call, is it? What do you want, Ben? I should be setting a Finder on you right now.*

  *Don’t bother. I’m on Crossways. Any time you want to come and visit, let me know.*

  The communication wobbled. If Jessop didn’t get him, Cara thought she might kill Ben herself . . . slowly.

  *Do you mean that?*

  *I do, though not if you arrive with a warrant. Garrick’s cleaning up Crossways. I know it’s unlikely, but things are changing around here. There’s been a purge, and we have seven perps who would be ideal candidates to spend the rest of their lives on a prison planet. We need you to make the arrangements.*

  *You can’t send people to prison planets without a trial.*

  *They’ve been tried by fully accredited judges, with qualified prosecutors and defenders. Garrick even had two Empaths to see there was no miscarriage of justice. They’re guilty. I can send you the charge sheets and the trial proceedings. In the old days Garrick would have floated them out of an airlock, but as I say, things are changing. If they’d been tried anywhere in the galaxy, they’d all get life on a prison planet.*

  *I still can’t take the law into my own hands.*

  There was a pause. Cara felt Jessop pull back, thoughts spinning.

  *Do you trust me, Ben?*

  *There was a time, out on the Rim, when we were both straight out of the academy, that we had each other’s backs.*

  *Will you let me take your request to Rodriguez?*

  Cara almost dropped the connection. Sebastian Rodriguez was the head of the Monitors. The buck stopped with him.

  *He’s a fair man, Ben. If the records are all squeaky clean, there’s no real reason why he shouldn’t sign off on the order. I can do prison transportation.
I’d need the charge sheets and the court records, of course.*

  *And you’d want to come and pick up the prisoners on Crossways.*

  *I’d be obliged to if we’re keeping this legal.*

  *I’m going to have to vouch for you to Garrick.*

  *And I’m going to have to vouch for you to Rodriguez.*

  *Fair enough.*

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  COLONIES

  BEN WAS BOTH LOOKING FORWARD TO JESS Jessop’s visit and dreading it. His time in the Monitors had been fraught with trouble. His first posting had been to a system with five well-established colony worlds. Lots of work there for an eager new copper. He’d had a good boss, and Jess and he had been both working partners and friends.

  But once he’d been posted out to the rim under Alexandrov, the job turned to shit. Alexandrov was on the take, and the Monitors ended up policing the dispute that turned into the Burnish War. Helping Burnish refugees to freedom and then confronting Alexandrov had effectively ended his Monitor career.

  He might have left the job, but the job hadn’t ever left him. How many times had he been told he had White Knight Syndrome? If he could make a situation better, he felt obliged to or—at least—to try.

  If he’d still been in the Monitors and someone—maybe even an old friend—had given him carte blanche to land a fully armed ship on a station full of people wanted by the law, he might be very tempted to do as much good as he could by taking out as many criminals as he could find.

  He hoped Jessop didn’t have White Knight Syndrome. In fact, he was counting on it. Jess was older and wiser now. While Ben had been running colony missions for Crowder and losing time in cryo sleep, Jess had been living steadily toward middle age.

  Ben and Cara waited in the port controller’s office with Franny Fowler, who had taken over the general running of Port 46, both security and shipping.

  “I could dock him in one of the external cradles,” Fowler said. “He could only bring a small shuttlecraft on to the station, then, and—poof!—the threat is eliminated.”

  “I thought about that, but if Garrick is legitimizing the station, we have to trust the Monitors sooner or later.”