Resurgence

by Stephen A. Fender

  He smiled. "Not all of them." Reaching out, he turned the temperature control dial a few degrees.

  There was a hum as the heaters came online, and Kristin began to uncoil in the seat. "Much better. I think it's time I took a tour of the ship. I like to know what we've got here."

  Alasdair shrugged. "There's really not much else to see. Some staterooms for the crew, a dining area, weapons control, and the engineering spaces. And there's a small hanger for the shuttle."

  "More staterooms than we need?"

  He nodded. "In a previous life, the Rose was as much a people hauler as she was for freight. A few paying passengers are worth three times their weight in cargo. Wouldn't be too much of a hassle to convert the compartments to something else if you—"

  "No. Just leave the berthing there for the time being. You seem to know a lot about the ship."

  "I was supposed to command the next intelligence mission to Camia, try to figure out what happened to Bobby and the rest of the crews that didn’t make it back."

  "And yet you had no idea where the cockpit was," she joked.

  "Very funny. I admit I was a bit turned around back there. I'd never been onboard before. Just studied a few diagrams for a mission that never was."

  "We're here now."

  Alasdair slumped back, looking out longingly to the stars. "I suppose we are. I just hope it's worth all of this."

  So do I. "So, there's a shuttle attached to the ship?"

  Alasdair turned off the sensor screen. "I'll show you, but I don't think you'll like it."

  As Kristin and Alasdair moved down the narrow passageway toward the shuttle bay, she counted six stateroom doors, three on each side. In the alcove of the final room, Mia’s adopted cat was backed against the door, hissing loudly at the duo before scampering away.

  “Not very friendly for a mascot,” Alasdair remarked.

  “It’s not our mascot,” Kristin countered. “Just another mouth to feed.”

  A few more paces down the corridor, Alasdair stopped beside a closed hatch. "And here we are—the shuttle deck."

  "What? No grand gesture for me to enter?"

  "I'm getting hungry, meaning my polite tank is starting to run on fumes."

  Looking inside, she could tell the compartment was just large enough to hold the Mark-Two shuttle with a narrow catwalk around the periphery to do maintenance checks.

  "You're right," she said. "Not very impressive."

  "Best I could muster. The M-Two was the biggest shuttle Arbrer Intelligence could hold in this bay without raising suspicion."

  "Meaning?"

  "Well, I suppose they could have wedged an M-Seven in here, but that's a bit like attaching a yacht to a garbage scow. It'd raise some eyebrows if you know what I mean." He turned to see that she had a single eyebrow raised. "Yep. Just like that."

  "It's not the thought, it's the description."

  "What? Don't you know what a yacht is? It's a really fancy boat used for—"

  "I know what a yacht is, Alasdair. I'm talking about referring to the Rose as a garbage scow."

  He murmured as he looked around, drawing a finger through a deep patch of dust on a nearby beam. "Just a figure of speech, I suppose."

  "Not anymore. A crew functions best when they've got pride in their ship. As the first officer, you're to see that they get that pride."

  "And how do you suppose I do that, exactly?"

  She smiled. "If you're looking for ideas, I think giving this ship a thorough scrubbing would be in order."

  "Cleaning?"

  The concept appeared to surprise him. "Uh-huh," she nodded. "We've got some time before we set down on Complex. So, it's time to clean. Stem to stern, top to bottom, neck to—"

  He stopped her with a raised hand. "Yeah, I get it.”

  “And the air seems really stale. I want to clean the filters.”

  “The filters are brand new. There’s something else causing the smell, but I’ll have to track it down. So, why Complex?"

  "We need to take on some cargo before we set off on our next destination. It's a neutral planet, so we shouldn't have too many issues with the local authorities."

  "We're not going straight to Camia?"

  "The intelligence you have on Camia is a little lacking, in my opinion. I need more information before we officially set off. Complex is the first step in that process."

  “And the second?” When Kristin fell silent, he decided not to press the matter further. "And what, exactly, are you going to be doing while you've got the rest of us acting like busy little bees cleaning the ship?"

  She wondered the same thing as she looked around. "We passed a broom closet back down the passageway here. Let's see if we can't find something in there to start cleaning up this old girl."

  "Together?" he asked as she walked down to the closet and retrieved a broom, which she tossed at him.

  "For now."

  Throwing the towel into the refuse bin, Kristin wiped her hands on her pants and surveyed their handiwork. She couldn't help but take a moment to appreciate their labors. The Cobalt Rose was beginning to look every bit like the cargo ship she was intended to be for this mission.

  The mission. Kristin was going after her brother's killer, no matter what Governor Riddle, Alasdair, or anyone else wanted her to accomplish. But how was she going to do it? Other than knowing the location where the cargo ships had vanished, neither Governor Riddle nor Alasdair had given her much to go on. She would have to think fast when the situation called for it, and be patient when needed. She knew she could—thinking quickly on her feet was one of her best traits. But what about the rest of these people? She still knew almost nothing about them, save for the fact they all had debts or marks that would, like her own, be erased once the Rose completed her goal. But is that enough motivation to stop them from trying to take over the ship in a coup d' état, or merely killing me while I sleep?

  She found another towel and started wiping down a nearby bulkhead. She dipped it into the cleaning solution, which was some kind of goop she’d never used before. “This stuff looks disgusting, and it smells horrible.”

  “It’ll get the job done. It’s my own mixture of solvents.”

  “Safe?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t drink it, if that’s what you’re wondering.” He turned to her, seeing that she’d covered her mouth with her hand. “Problem?”

  “You said ‘eat it’ and I thought about it and then I was going to be sick. Slime, ooze, goo… it’s all disgusting to me.”

  He chuckled before going back to work. “You’ll need more fortitude than that if you want to get this job done, love.”

  Pushing her nausea aside, she went back to her task until her eyes landed on Alasdair once more. He was whistling a tune unfamiliar to her, but she found it soothing none the less. He was intent on his task, and it wasn't until he chanced glancing up did he notice Kristin staring.

  "What?"

  "Huh?" She rapidly blinked and scanned the cargo bay.

  He smiled as he went back to work. "My work not good enough, so you think you need to inspect?"

  "No. It wasn't that. You were whistling."

  Alasdair chuckled to himself and went back to work on the panel. "I guess I was. Sorry."

  "No, it's… it's okay. I was just wondering about the tune."

  "A song my mother used to sing to me when I was a kid… when I was too anxious to fall asleep. I hadn't thought about it in years."

  She leaned back against the bulkhead and watched him work. "Are you nervous about what we're going to do? What we need to do?"

  "Of course not," he replied confidently.

  But Kristin guessed there was more behind it, so she pressed gently."It's perfectly natural to be apprehensive, Alasdair. I know I am."

  He stopped wiping the panel and turned sharply toward her. "I'm not apprehensive," he recoiled, then softened. "It's just… what with Bobby's death and now having you around… it's got me thinking of family." He sm
iled, then tossed his rag into the nearby waste bin. "Happier times, and all."

  "Were you close to your parents?"

  He leaned against the bulkhead opposite of her and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "As close as any family could be… when they were around. They were always so busy, sometimes too much for even their own son."

  "What did they do? Colonial Operations or something?"

  He laughed at the thought of his parents doing any kind of manual labor. "No. Nothing like that. Let's just say that my parents were respected, and their positions were absolutely vital, sometimes to themselves more than anyone else. But I never wanted for anything. Who was I to complain or get in their way?"

  "You're their son."

  His eyes shifted from hers to the deck. "It was a good life, and it taught me a lot about being a decent intelligence operative. I learned how to blend into any situation, and I made a lot of quality contacts."

  "Like Governor Riddle?"

  He nodded. "That's an interesting story in itself."

  "I'd like to hear it sometime," she said with a weak smile. "I mean, being that the governor is a mutual acquaintance, it'd be nice to know—"

  "I wouldn't say the governor and I are friends if that's what you mean by 'acquaintance'—at least, not how you'd probably define friendship. Not that I have many of those anymore.”

  There was an underlying sadness behind his words. Sensing he was about to become distant, Kristin tried to thwart it. "I wouldn't say he and I were friends either. I just want to know the dynamics of...well, whatever you two have."

  "I would say we have an understanding of how things should be done, though we may differ on our methods at times."

  "And would these methods be the same ones that got you in trouble with the intelligence service in the first place?" The question was an honest one, though Kristin noticed Alasdair's smile melt away.

  "You are a curious little thing, aren't you?"

  "We're going to be working closely together. I think I have a right to know what I'm in for." She noted her frankness only made him more irritated.

  "What happened to my life was my own fault. And I'm on this mission to get it back, no matter the cost. But I never failed to perform my duties, regardless of who I was associating with, and I don't intend to start now. You've got nothing to worry about from me, Kristin."

  "I just thought—"

  "No. I'm sure you didn't." He looked at his watch and noted the time. "We'll be arriving at Complex in the next few minutes. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to see how the rest of the crew is getting on and make preparations for landing. If you don't mind, that is, Captain."

  Chapter 11

  Exiting jump space in a flash of light, the dust-covered world of Complex filled the forward viewports of the Cobalt Rose. The dryness of the planet—the lack of any standing bodies of water—suddenly made Kristin feel parched. Behind her, there was a collective groan from Quinn, Thad, and Mia.

  Quinn looked down to the computer in his lap. "I modified the ship's transponder to read as a bulk container ship based out of Zeptort. All of our documentation matches up, too. Should provide us an adequate cover while we're here doing… well, whatever it is we're here to do."

  Alasdair turned in the copilot's chair to face him. "The transponder is designed specifically not to allow you to do that."

  "That's why I replaced it with my own custom module, built and programmed by yours truly. I can make the Cobalt Rose appear as anything we need it to."

  "We're here to get cargo," Kristin inserted. "I'd also like a chance for us to get to know the ship better before we set off to Camia. When we land, you three will stay onboard and make yourself more useful."

  "How, exactly?" Quinn asked skeptically.

  "You said you'd made some remote modifications to the ship's transponder. Could you make similar modifications to the main computer and engine systems?"

  "Shouldn't be a problem. I could probably squeeze some more output out of both."

  "Well, now's your chance. Take your little bag of tricks and see what you can do."

  "Little bag," Thad chuckled as he gently prodded Quinn's computer satchel.

  "And you," Kristin said to Thad, "Go over the onboard weapons and defensive systems with a fine-tooth comb. Sensors as well."

  Mia slumped back into the chair at the environmental control station. The orphaned cat—appearing seemingly from nowhere—jumped into her lap and purred softly. "And I guess you'll want me to—what? Clean the bilges or something? Good luck with that."

  "Not at all. I want you to find some cargo."

  "Cargo? What do I look like, some kind of dockworker?"

  "You look like you need a job, and that's what you've got. We need something in the hold to give us some legitimacy for our next destination, and I want you to find it."

  "Like what?"

  "I don't care. Livestock. Hardware. Computer parts. Stuffed animals. Anything… as long as you don't have to steal it to get it onboard."

  "Isn’t that what you hired me for?” Mia quipped.

  "I don't need you getting caught doing anything illegal that would set back our departure. There are funds in the ships account." She withdrew a small Unified credit card and held it out to Mia, who snatched it and neatly tucked it into a side pocket. "And I want receipts. For everything. Clear?"

  "Fine. Whatever, captain-sir," Mia said, adding a sharp salute before returning her attention to the animal.

  Quinn leaned back against the doorframe. “Anyone else notice that cat only likes her?”

  When there was a collective groan, Kristin felt better that she and Alasdair weren’t the only ones singled out for the animal’s disdain.

  “I named her Thesril,” Mia replied sharply. “And if you took the time to get to know her, you’d find she’s actually quite sweet.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Quinn replied.

  "And what will you two being doing?" Thad asked Kristin, checking the safety switch on one of his many armaments.

  "Alasdair will be in command of the Rose while she's dirtside. I've got a call to make."

  ***

  "Well, there it is," Mia said, beaming with undeniable pride at the cargo she'd obtained for their voyage.

  On the dust-lined tarmac just beyond the aft cargo ramp, Thad and Quinn could only stare in disbelief, both at a total loss for words. Thad raised a finger, opened his mouth, but then nothing came out. Quinn cocked his head slowly from side to side, neither angle giving him a clearer understanding of what he was looking at.

  "Estupendo, isn't it?" Mia smiled as she clapped her hands in delight.

  Quinn nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond. "It's… something. That's for sure."

  "Indeed," Thad added, scratching at his thick beard, then asked Quinn sideways in a hushed tone. "But what kind of something?"

  Mia's smile was instantly replaced by a scowl. "You can't be serious?"

  Thad said nothing as he continued to look in awe.

  "You got me," Quinn said as he scratched his head.

  Mia stepped over and placed a loving hand against the sizeable transparent container. The pink ooze filling the cylinder, inert to this point, bubbled slowly as her hand made contact. "It's Fragnorian cytoplasm," she offered with reverence.

  "Come again?" Quinn asked.

  Thad only grunted in contempt.

  "Fragnorian cytoplasm," Mia repeated. "One of the most versatile substances in known space. You can eat it, use it for insulation, dry it out and spin it into a thread for clothing, harden it into a nearly bulletproof coating. This stuff is amazing, and I got a great deal on it!" The bubbling inside the container increased as she patted the side.

  "That stuff is nasty," Quinn replied in disgust. "Is it… supposed to do that?"

  Mia rolled her eyes as she stood. "Calm down. It's just a reaction to my body heat."

  "Heat?" Thad chuckled. "I always thought you were as cold as an—"

  Quinn raise
d a hand toward Thad. "Hey. That's no way to talk to a lady, especially in front of the ooze. You see the way it likes her, okay? It might… I don't know… eat you or something."

  "Unlikely," Thad sneered, then looked at Mia. "Right?"

  Her response was a muted shrug.

  "And what is a’ great deal’?" Quinn asked as he stepped cautiously toward the tube. He stopped when the pink color turned to green.

  "That means it likes you," Mia said with a smile. "And I've got twenty more just like it for five hundred credits."

  "Huh," Quinn reflected as the color of the slime slowly reverted to pink.

  "For a thief, I think you might be the one that got robbed," Thad grumbled as he approached the container. As he did so, the color of the ooze darkened until it was nearly purple, then began to undulate violently. "If green means it likes you, what does…that mean?"

  Mia crossed her arms in defiance. "I'm not going to tell you. And I know I got a great deal on it. This material is valuable to any number of races and colonies in this sector. It's just rare enough to be traded for more than its value, but not so valuable that we'll get hijacked for it."

  Afraid to get any closer, Thad poked the cylinder with his sword.

  Quinn's expression at this was one of contempt. "And it's… alive? You know it's against the Unified Trade Code to deal in—"

  "It's not alive," Mia assured him as she pinned her dark hair behind her ear. "As I said, it just a chemical reaction to certain temperatures, electronic frequencies, sound oscillations… things like that."

  Quinn stepped back. “You know the Cobalt Rose emits all those things during normal operations, right?”

  "But it's otherwise harmless?" Thad stepped back and sheathed his sword. The color of the ooze went back to its original pinkish hue.

  Mia regarded the bubbling material in silence for a moment before turning her attention back to the duo. "Sure. Mostly."

  "Mostly?" Thad and Quinn repeated in unison.

  "The remainder of it should be here any minute. I'm sure el capitán will approve."

  The unsettling bubbling and gurgling noises from the container were having an undesirable effect on Quinn's stomach. "Or maybe she'll toss you off the ship right after she throws up?"