Either the person manning the station comm didn’t know the correct procedure for ship hailing or they didn’t care anymore. Lorai heard panic underneath the carefully delivered message. She relayed the information to Palmer.
“The main section is losing pressure. Shipsuits mandatory if we leave the ship. They want to know how much room you have for passengers.”
Palmer swore under his breath, then hauled himself out of the pit without bothering with the stairs. His battered face showed concern. “Ask 'em where the hell Boniface is. They got cargo space enough to put the whole damn station in.”
Lorai relayed the message, feeling the tension knotting her stomach go up a notch when she heard the reply. “They say Boniface who? You’re the first ship to show up after the evacuation order. Oh, and don’t try any of the cargo berths—stay topside. Reactor’s having problems.”
Palmer ran his stubby fingers through his stiff hair, making it look even wilder. “How’m I supposed to get any salvage if I fill my holds with people? Stop looking like that. Ya really think I’m gonna leave these poor slobs to freeze–dry? Guess the warm fuzzy feeling of a good deed well done will console me when I’m an itinerant dockworker who has to save up for a liter of Pain–Away.” He shifted his gaze to the pit, grimacing. “I’d sure like to know where Tran Huong got to. Boniface left ten hours before I did.”
He leaned over the console and toggled the comm to general pickup. “Hey, station. How many passengers we talkin’ about?”
The woman at the station comm was prompt. “Twenty–seven. We’re the last. Is anybody coming after you?”
Palmer shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t count on it, though. I can fit you guys in somewhere, but you can’t take a lot with you. You’ll need your own supplies, too. I don’t have much.”
“Can do,” replied the station. “Most of us are on Level Two. Pick any dock you like, we should have one still undamaged.”
“This just gets better by the minute,” Lorai commented. “I wonder if the station will stay in one piece long enough for us to get docked. Want me to watch the screens for you?”
Palmer grinned, a scar on his face pulling the smile slightly askew. “Good idea. You’d think they’d been in a war or somethin’, all this debris floating around. Good thing I don’t keep Lady for looks 'cause she’s gonna get a crater or two.”
Palmer ran Lady of Leisure on the ragged edge, sometimes by himself but more usually with one or two additional crew. Nobody else was willing to go back to Criminy with him, so he’d been very glad when Lorai showed up. She’d learned a lot about him on the way out. He took dangerous jobs, scavenged anything that wasn’t welded or bolted in place, and didn’t always check if it already had an owner. When on station he liked to relax by getting into fights, which was why his face looked like a topographic map. The ship had gotten its name, he claimed, because “that’s the only way I’m gonna get either one.”
Between Lorai’s careful watching and Palmer’s skillful handling, Lady made it to a Level Two dock with only a few minor dings. Lorai did a quick check of her shipsuit seals as Palmer finished running the interlocks. She’d been wearing it constantly after seeing how Palmer liked to run his ship. She didn’t think the station was making people wear them for fun, either.
At first glance Level Two looked like any ordinary, non–disintegrating station level, if you ignored the group of frightened people impatiently waiting for the hatch to open. Then she saw people lying on pallets farther down and beyond that, closed pressure doors. Everybody knew stations had them; they were part of the safety system and were tested regularly. Seeing them actually in use made Lorai very uncomfortable.
“Where’d they come from?” Palmer said suddenly, jerking a thumb at the pallets. “I thought they got the wounded out first thing.”
“We found them in a section that had been cut off,” a man in a grimy uniform said. “A day ago, or is it two now? The ship they evacuated everybody but us on—pilot warmed up the gravitics too close. Part of the station got caught in the field. Already structurally damaged, and that was all it took. Fortunately there was a large air pocket, and then the survivors got clever and found a way to signal us. But they aren’t in good shape. Lost one already, and some are getting worse.”
“OK, let’s get some mass moving,” Palmer said, waving his arms about. “Get them in, get your stuff and some food, and we’ll get the hell out of here. I’ll getcha back quick as Lady can run.”
Lorai breathed deeply, wondering if she would be able to tell when the pressure dropped. Concentrate on surviving; concentrate on getting these poor folks somewhere safe. Then she could worry about what she was going to do next to find Harrington, because if he’d been here he’d left on that last ship. She didn’t see anybody who looked like him here, and that nose would be hard to hide.
While Palmer started the able–bodied moving supplies, Lorai headed for the wounded, wondering where they could stow them. They were still wearing their station uniforms: stained, burned, and torn. She glanced about for something to move them on but didn’t see anything. They might have to do it by hand.
“Got to go back…” moaned a woman slathered in burn gel. “Please, somebody go…still alive, I saw….” She tried to sit up, whimpering with pain.
“What’s she talking about?” Lorai asked.
“She thinks she saw somebody still back there, where we got trapped,” said a man with bloodglue smeared on his scalp in a blue mess. His face was tight with pain. “Give it up! It doesn’t matter; there’s nothing we can do!” He pushed the burned woman back on her pallet.
“Didn’t anyone check?” Lorai asked. If Palmer’s was the last ship, somebody ought to try. There was also the tiny, niggling thought that Harrington might be there. She had to make sure. Ren was counting on her.
“When the beam broke and the hull went we were on the station side,” said a man with a suit nametag that said D’Este. His words had the slow, measured sound of someone talking through pain meds. “It’s vacuum now. Not sure if anything could trap air on the other side. We were there a long time….”
“There may be some people still trapped,” Lorai explained when Palmer came to see what was going on. “Let’s take a look, at least.”
Palmer rubbed one ear. “Well, um, that might be a problem.” He didn’t look at her.
“Why?”
“All we’ve got for air gear is this,” he said, tapping his shipsuit collar. “They were just asking me if I had anything more. We don’t have any way to get to 'em. I know it’s rough, but those are the facts.”
Lorai snorted. “Yeah? So how do you get all that scrap metal in your holds, then? Wishing real hard?”
His face was red now, making the scars even more visible. “Servo arms and a couple welder bots I fixed up,” he mumbled. “Don’t like vac.”
She sagged in disbelief. A hard–core spacer who was afraid of suiting up. Palmer, of all people. She could see he was afraid, and ashamed of it.
“Where I come from we don’t just leave people to die without at least trying to get 'em out. What about moving Lady?”
He shook his head. “Too many big pieces out there. Take the hull out if I tried.”
“Dammit, I’m going to do something.”
“What are you going to do for air?” Palmer said sarcastically. “Wish real hard?”
Lorai unsealed the tiny front pocket of her shipsuit and pulled out the spare oxygen capsule. Only one, since they were expensive. She wished she had ten now. “One will give me fifteen minutes. I have the one in the collar and this. At least I can look, all right?”
¤ ¤ ¤
“Which level, Captain?”
That was Kilberton, on the salvaged ship. Moire studied the station plan, chewing her lip. It was like the opening move of chess, a game she’d always been lousy at.
“You go in on three. We’ll be on four. Stay on board until we come for you, OK?” She thought fo
r a moment. “Is Menehune there?”
A small click, and Yolanda’s voice came over the link. “Got somethin’ for me, huh?”
Moire grimaced. “Yep. I want you to check the situation on the station. If it seems safe, get the latest versions of the three main circulars and meet us at our dock. If not, scoot back to Kilberton and give me a call.”
“It would be better if I were to go with her, if it is dangero—”
“No!” Kilberton meant well, but he couldn’t help looking like the law–abiding citizen he was. On the lower levels of Kulvar that was a very dangerous thing. He knew it, too. So why had he volunteered?
“Yolanda can move around without attracting notice much easier without you. She’ll be careful. Right?”
“Damnall sure I will. Mammababy gonna die of old age if she can.”
Kilberton’s only response was a sigh of resignation.
“Is there trouble?”
Moire started. Ennis was standing next to the pilot’s chair. He had spoken softly enough that he would not have been overheard by anyone else on the bridge.
“Last time any of us was here, it looked like there was going to be a major shakeup. Everybody was carrying and nervous, so you can imagine what it was like.”
“I know what it was like.” His voice was curt. He shook his head sharply. “Fimbul was like that all the time.”
Oops. And here she was making him remember his wonderful, happy childhood all over again. “Whatever was going to happen has probably happened, but I want to be sure before we wander in like a bunch of tourists.”
“Good idea.” He glanced at her. “Do you really need to sell the ship? It could tie you down until you find a buyer.”
Moire leaned back in her chair. “I pay my crew well, and they stay loyal. Payroll is a huge chunk of my budget.” That was true, but not the real reason. They had enough from the previous sales for that and a good bit over. What she really wanted was enough cash to get some weapons and cover the construction, which was bound to be more than the initial estimate. That much would never change in the entire history of the universe. She was sure even the crabs had this problem.
Which reminded her…she flicked one of the viewers to the vid in Radersent’s quarters. The crab was hunkered at his workstation, tendrils manipulating the device on his end of the communication link. She switched to Perwaty’s side of the secure area and saw Perwaty surrounded by all the Created, including her son. They appeared to be having an intense discussion concerning what they were going to show the crab on the new display system that had been installed to help with the language lessons. She punched the comm.
“We’re docking in a few minutes, Perwaty. I’ll need you to close things down and lock up on your end, OK? Kids, you need to leave.”
A chorus of protest erupted from the Created. “But why? We were being quiet and everything!” George sputtered. “We’re helping.”
She saw Ennis grinning from the corner of her eye. “I’m sure you are, but remember, we have to keep Radersent a secret so he’ll be safe.”
Perwaty got up, wiping his hands on his coverall. “I’d really like to…I mean, my family—they think I’m dead. I just want to let them know that—could I please send a message?”
“Of course you can.” Moire hesitated. “Kulvar’s a rough place, though, and we’re docking in the bad section. If you really want to send it yourself keep that in mind.”
“I can write it up on a tab for one of you to take. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them about you or anything. I don’t suppose you know how long you’ll be needing me?” Perwaty had agreed to help them with Radersent at least until Fleet had been contacted. She had the feeling he was doing it more for Radersent’s sake than theirs. It was hard for Moire to ask him, knowing how much he missed his family, but they desperately needed his experience.
“Sorry, that’s still up in the air.” A puzzled pause told her that once again she had slipped into anachronism. “We don’t know yet. I’ll let you know when we do.”
“Why can’t we stay with Radersent?” George said stubbornly. “Jim gets to stay.”
“Jim stays because Radersent is afraid of being alone, but I need you to guard the ship. What if somebody got in and tried to hurt him?” Moire babbled, improvising wildly. “You can’t see out of the secure section, so you need to be outside. Don’t go out the hatch, though.”
She saw Hideo shaking his head sharply on the vid, alarm visible on his face, and the other Created sobered up as well. They reluctantly started to leave.
“I wonder how long that will work,” Moire said after closing the connection.
“The duration of this visit, maybe,” Ennis said, looking skeptical. “I doubt it will go a second time.”
Moire shook her head at him, knowing he was probably right. She sat back and switched to the realspace controls, patching the station connection to the captain’s earring. The connection was so bad she couldn’t hear the hail, and she yanked the thing free with a curse. “Do these things need batteries? I thought all gizmos nowadays had lifetime power supplies.”
Ennis picked it up and turned it over. “It may have been damaged—you said they made some modifications, right? This is the one from Ayesha?”
“Yeah. Toss me that commlink, will you? I need to have a chat with the Bribery Department.”
He handed it to her and took a seat on the pit stairs. “Is Kulvar so corrupt you can’t even dock without bribing someone?”
“To dock on the levels we want, we do. If I wasn’t on the hit list of two different armed factions I could go to the legal levels.” Kulvar picked up then, and Moire focused on negotiating a reasonable payoff. Things had changed—she ended up paying more than she wanted to, but managed to get a dock on the main section of Level Four instead of one of the terminals. Harder to move the ship in, but much nicer in the event of a quick, unscheduled departure since it would be difficult for anybody to block access to their dock hatch.
She moved Raven in slowly and docked, hoping Kilberton was already in place. She didn’t want to stay here any longer than she had to. “Think Harrington got the message yet?”
Ennis shifted on the stair. “I doubt it. Lorai would have to have found him days after we left.”
“Yeah, I doubt it too. I wonder if she’s had any luck.” Moire picked up the comm again and set two of the crew to man their hatch. She’d issued weapons before they'd even dropped out of webspace. It took a few tries, but she managed to set up the vid feed from outside the hatch. Kulvar Lower assumed its visitors would be paranoid and usually tried to accommodate it.
“I hope Menehune didn’t run into anything,” Moire said, and chewed on her lip. She shouldn’t panic. Yolanda was probably taking her time and being extra careful. Of course it would take longer.
“Assuming Harrington isn’t here—and I doubt he is—what happens next?”
Moire spun her chair around to face Ennis. He didn’t seem too upset about it. He was looking at her intently, and she only hoped her face did not reveal how much she was enjoying the view.
He was still looking at her patiently, but now with a hint of amusement. He’d asked her something, but what was it? Damn his distracting blue eyes. Then she remembered.
“Since you’ve started George and company on the path to perdition, you may as well finish the job and teach them the entire manual of arms. With special emphasis on not shooting unless your commanding officer and/or adoptive mother tells you to.”
Ennis grinned. “I want hazardous duty pay and some good blast armor, then. No, I meant what you—your crew—will be doing.”
Moire leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and stared at the decking. “Gren, Montero, and their assistants have been working all hours trying to figure out how to tow that crab ship. They think we can use this big ore ship that’s out there; one that saved us the first time, as a matter of fact. It’s one of those surface landers, for asteroids and rock planet
s, so it has a bigger power plant than most ships.” She glanced up at Ennis. “What if we can’t find him?”
He grimaced. “Yes, we should plan for that. I don’t know. The big problem is communication.”
Moire thought for a moment. “How about towing it somewhere Fleet will find it? Maybe with a beacon or something.”
Ennis shook his head. “If they aren’t expecting it, they’ll assume it’s a trap and blow it up. You haven’t been in the thick of it for a while now. We aren’t doing well, and Fleet won’t take a chance. Not like that. Even the beacon they’ll think was stolen.”
It made sense, unfortunately. So, they had to find a way to get a believable message back to Fleet, with or without Harrington. She couldn’t do it, that was for sure. While Fleet wouldn’t shoot any of her crew out of hand, they wouldn’t listen to them either without proof, and if they tried that through regular channels Toren would find out. Which left Ennis. No.
Moire sat up with a jerk. It would happen even if they did get a message to Harrington. Ennis would return to Fleet, and she had a horrible feeling she knew what they would do.
“When you go back, are they going to send you off by yourself to some sheet–metal outpost on the edge of the Fringe so Toren can grab you again?”
He was still staring at her. “The ship would be a big…I don’t know. Maybe they would.” His expression was bleak.
Now she was getting angry. The kind of deep, cold anger that didn’t fade or burn away.
“What’s wrong?” He leaned closer, eyes searching her face. “Look, Fleet has bigger problems than me. As far as they’re concerned, I’m expendable.”
“You are not expendable to me.” The edge in her voice surprised her. “If they think you are, I’m not sure I should let you go.”
She was standing now, and so was he, confronting each other in the pilot’s pit. She expected him to blow up at what she’d just said, but he didn’t. He just stood there, his face working, and the pain in his eyes even stronger than before.
“I don’t want to go,” he said finally, in a rough voice. “But I have to. Do you understand?” He reached out and held her face in his hands. “Do you?”
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