by Britt Ringel
“Not to mention a spacewalk out to the sides of your ship to paint over her stenciling,” the technician added. “And I’m sure the orbital you’re currently docked to would have some questions.”
Bay frowned briefly at the interruption but carried on. “To answer your question, if you have the unfortunate luck of an inspector who boards your ship and, say, remembers a certain stain on a deck and associates that with the old Zanshin, its new identity could be blown.” He raised a finger. “Even then, however, you’d have the Federation merchant database supporting your story.”
“What else can go wrong?”
“There is very little else, Mr. Lochlain.”
“What if,” Lochlain speculated, “the Federation busts your office?”
Bay looked bored by the hypothetical. “They will find nothing pertaining to your freighter. We simply do not keep records of our clients. For your protection and ours.”
The technician looked up to Bay and noted, “There’s no good match. We’re ready to create.”
Bay walked to a second console. On the screen appeared a vast array of options, starting with well over a dozen star system names. He waved Lochlain forward. “If you would, we must now construct a past for your ship.”
It took over an hour for Lochlain to select each element from the myriad of choices Bay offered for Zanshin’s new history. Afterwards, Bay escorted him out of the shuttle and explained that his technicians would require approximately two hours to install the changes into Zanshin’s records and the Federation database. Bay informed him that his presence was unnecessary but welcome.
Lochlain watched the technician before growing bored and walked to Engineering. He wanted to discuss the process he had just witnessed with Brooke to ensure he had not overlooked any questions. When he rounded the final flight of stairs, he saw Jones leaning against the main console, chatting with Brooke. The man said something causing Brooke to tilt her head back and laugh lyrically. She had removed the band from her ponytail and her hair flowed and skimmed her shoulders. The man laughed with her and reached out to touch her arm.
Lochlain hastened his approach. “How are things on this end?” he asked as he neared the pair.
Brooke gazed at him. “About as exciting as a server update.” Her eyes flashed a gentle warning. “Mr. Jones, do you mind if I show the captain a problem with the dorsal starboard Thirty-three drive?” She pointed toward the back of the compartment. “We’ll just be over there.”
Jones waved dismissively. “Sure, sure. There’s really nothing to do on our end right now anyway.”
“Come with me, Captain,” Brooke ordered lightly and started walking around the power core.
After they reached the far end of Engineering, she removed an inspection panel to the Toland drive and pointed at nothing particular inside. She whispered, “We have a problem.”
Chapter 17
Lochlain felt his heart rate spike. “What?” he asked urgently. He followed the simple question with a tangent. “Are you armed?”
Brooke tilted her head. “Not that kind of problem but yes, I’m always armed. CBP kind of beats that into you.” She casually looked over Lochlain’s shoulder toward the front of the compartment. “All that old data in the storage devices… it’s back.”
“Back? How?”
Brooke’s shoulders jerked curtly. “I have no idea. Wyatt deleted it all in t-space and I did it again later when it reappeared. At first, I just thought he did it wrong.”
“How do you delete data ‘wrong?’” Lochlain asked.
“He didn’t and neither did I,” Brooke answered. “Nonetheless, when these people tapped into our systems, it was all there.”
Lochlain scowled. “Okay, I’m back to asking how.”
Brooke returned the distasteful expression with one of her own. “Again, I have no idea.” She glanced around the compartment. “Between the chronometer issue and this persistent data, I’m starting to wonder if this ship is haunted.”
Lochlain smirked at her joke but his smile fell rapidly.
“What?” she asked.
“Have you been playing a trading game up in the entertainment lounge?”
“What trading game?”
Lochlain shook his head. “It must have been one of the kids then.” His mouth screwed into a twisted line before he explained, “It’s nothing. It’s only what you said just now… someone keeps leaving this hologame running in the lounge.” He looked at her coolly and declared, “I’m pretty certain it’s not a ghost.”
“I know, but Zanshin clearly has an issue,” Brooke insisted. “The data, the chronometer… the loose mounts and jammed vents. This ship could have been abused at some point and these are all symptoms of that.” She rested her head against the engine panel and said, “I’m starting to think that we’re the ones that got ripped off.”
“Okay, okay!” the technician suddenly screamed from the front of Engineering.
Lochlain and Brooke both jerked upright and dashed toward the man at the compartment’s primary console. Brooke reached him first. The technician was halfway inside the workstation, pulling desperately on the cables snaking out from it. He yanked furiously to sever the final connection before extricating himself. An electronic tang was faintly noticeable in the air.
Concern etched deep grooves into Brooke’s otherwise smooth skin. “What the hell happened?” she demanded.
The technician recovered his easy demeanor before answering calmly, “Nothing, Miss Brooke. We’re finished.” He smoothed his trousers.
Lochlain noticed trembling hands. “So you just ripped your cables out of the console like that for no reason?”
The man swallowed. “They spark oftentimes when being disconnected from older ship models.” He smiled weakly. “Believe it or not, it’s standard procedure.”
Brooke stared intensely inside the console. After a quick inspection, she declared, “Nothing looks damaged.”
Jones was already coiling the cables as he slowly made his way toward the stairwell.
“That wasn’t normal,” Lochlain said to Brooke. “You stay with Jones,” he ordered and pushed away from the panel. “I’m going to have a word with Bay.”
As he stepped onto the catwalk from the stairwell, his datapad chirped. He quickly pulled it from a pocket and found an incoming comm request from Orbital Control, routed from his own bridge. He tapped to accept and answered, “This is Zanshin, go ahead.”
An irate voice assailed him over the channel. “This is the lead controller of Orbital Control speaking, Zanshin. You just stepped on a lot of people with that last transmission. That frequency is for official space traffic control only. Personal communications are not permitted.”
Lochlain flinched at the reproach while his mind raced for a reply. His first instinct was to lie to authority. “Uh, that was an accident, Control. We were doing some maintenance and I think a couple wires got crossed.”
There was a soft grumble from the other end of the conversation. “I won’t write you up but be sure it doesn’t happen again or I’ll be forced to document the violation. Understood?”
Lochlain replied meekly, “Affirmative, Control. Sorry again and thank you.” He waited for the other man to close the connection. Afterwards, he tucked the datapad back into a pocket and reached for the ladder.
By the time Lochlain climbed through the cutout in the hangar’s deck, the second technician was already stowing equipment. The actions looked a little rushed to Lochlain’s eye. Bay saw his approach and pronounced, “The new identity is embedded into your ship and the Federation merchant rolls. This will conclude our business relationship, Mr. Lochlain.”
“What proof do I have that Zanshin accepted the updates?” Lochlain asked bluntly. The time for courtesy had passed with the electrical aftertaste inside Engineering.
“Besides Mr. Hanner’s impeccable reputation?” Bay answered with a sharp edge. “Well, you can search your ship’s own records for any trace of her past iden
tity if you wish. If you discover something we missed, you know how to contact us.” His mouth turned upward as he foretold, “Of course, it will not be necessary.”
Jones was struggling up the ladder through the opening in the deck. Three coils of cable were looped over his shoulders. He wormed his way onto the hangar deck and stood quickly. The man looked anxious to find the refuge of his shuttle.
Bay stepped off the ramp as Jones jogged up it. It began to close. “Final payment is now due, Mr. Lochlain,” the man prompted.
Lochlain took out his datapad again. With the unusual events, he had forgotten entirely about payment. He accessed his financial records while saying, “The process ended rather abruptly, Mr. Bay. I trust everything went smoothly.” Brooke took her place next to Lochlain.
“There was a surge at the end that required the immediate termination of the connection. The equipment inside our shuttle is worth several millions and the data it accesses is even more valuable.”
“But the surge didn’t impact the validity of our new identity, correct?” Brooke pressed.
Bay nodded his assent. He took off his glasses and began to clean them. “Of course not. We had completed the ID swap and were conducting a final, routine search for outstanding identity tags in your ship’s data storage.” He brought the glasses near his lips and blew gently before perching them back on his nose. “We disabled the connection promptly and the result was a minor electronic burst. Neither of our vessels incurred any ill effects.”
“That explains…” Lochlain trailed off, unwilling to inform Bay that Orbital Control had detected evidence of the disturbance. “That explains it. Well, you’ve been paid.”
Bay consulted his own datapad and agreed, “Yes we have. It was a pleasure doing business with you.” Without further word, he walked to the side of the shuttle and entered through its open portal.
Lochlain and Brooke retreated behind the safety lines painted onto the deck and erected the containment field. Atmosphere was removed from the main portion of the hangar and the doors were cycled open. Bay’s shuttle lifted gracefully off the deck and left the “new” Zanshin.
Brooke checked the time. “Sixteen-hundred,” she noted with satisfaction. “I need to reattach the main console inspection panels and then I’ll go get our shuttle.” She moved away from Lochlain’s side and began to climb down the ladder.
Lochlain closed the bay doors and replenished the compartment with a breathable atmosphere. He discontinued the containment field and set the hangar controls to accept a handshake from its consort shuttle. As he worked silently, he deliberated whether to tell Brooke about the call from Orbital Control. Hanner’s men had obviously not been the source of the burst, making it unlikely that they had embedded some kind of malicious code into his ship. The issue seemed closed and telling Brooke would do little more than cause her to worry. He was halfway down the ladder when his blood ran cold with a question: What if she had caused the microburst communication?
Chapter 18
After Brooke returned Zanshin’s shuttle, she retired to her typically unused quarters in the forward spine to prepare for dinner. Lochlain could scarcely contain his grin when he met her at the airlock to walk to the restaurant.
She wore form-fitting dark blue leggings with zippered pockets running down her thighs. Her top was the barest shade lighter than the sleek pants with sleeves that covered her arms. Over the shirt was a loose-fitting brown vest. Black cargo boots completed her apparel. She flashed Lochlain a smile as she approached him, aware of the significance of her attire. It was the same outfit she had worn her first day aboard On Margin.
Lochlain and Brooke stepped into The Lighthouse shortly before 18:00. The orbital restaurant rose several stories in a small footprint with an ornate, winding staircase providing access to its multiple levels. The vibe of the place was decidedly upscale and made Lochlain wish for his formal wear instead of his current green shipsuit.
As the hostess escorted them to a table near the entrance, Lochlain leaned close to Brooke’s ear and whispered, not for the first time, “You truly do look amazing.” He pulled out her chair and continued, “Any woman can wear a thousand credit dress and look spectacular but not many can do it in freightermen’s clothing.”
Brooke blushed at the compliment. She sat down without a word and watched the hostess return to the front of the restaurant. Finally she said, “I like this ensemble because it makes my Mark Six easy to conceal.” She ran a hand down the front of her loosely hanging vest.
They ordered drinks but decided to hold off on food until after completing the interviews. As they waited for the first applicant, Lochlain rapped his fingers impatiently on the table. “I think we’re going to end up sailing to Carinae,” he predicted candidly.
Brooke looked up from the restaurant’s menu on her datapad and growled, “That’s absolutely crazy. You can’t take Zanshin into the Izari Nebula in the condition she’s in.” She fixed him in place with a stern gaze. “Not only would navigation be nearly impossible but the shielding won’t keep up with the radiation in t-space. It’ll fry our systems and we won’t be able to exit the tunnel.” She kept her dark eyes focused squarely on him to ensure she had driven her points home.
Lochlain shrugged. “I don’t want to go either but after Vulsia there aren’t many options unless we backtrack to Ancera and that’s just wasting the fuel cells.”
Brooke snarled in protest, “Reece—”
“Excuse me,” a pleasant voice interrupted, “are you two Captain Lochlain and Chief Engineer Brooke?”
Brooke dropped her rebuke but gave Lochlain a final, scolding glower before looking up.
The person before them looked barely into his twenties. Spotty, patchwork facial hair around his mouth and chin served only to highlight his youth. Despite the innocence of his age, he wore clothes more suited to a powerful executive. Lochlain recognized the brand of his coat and took a casual glance at the man’s shoes. This young man spent considerable credits on his attire. He seemed more like a mark than a ship hand.
“Yes,” Lochlain answered with a smile. “I’m Reece Lochlain and this is Mercer Brooke.” He offered his hand to the interviewee.
“Casper Naslund,” the young man stated with pointed emphasis as he shook each of their hands.
“Excuse me, Casper,” Brooke asked while he took a seat, “have you finished engineering school?”
Naslund nodded enthusiastically. “Both tech and upper from the University of Nimiset in Cardiff. I have a complete license for anything smaller than 500,000 tonnes and an apprentice’s certification on the bigger stuff.” He smiled confidently as he added, “My cert cruise was with Joyshow.”
Lochlain whistled approvingly. Joyshow Freight was one of the biggest shipping companies in the coreward sector. “Isn’t it nearly impossible to get trainee slots with them?”
“Well,” Naslund said with a sly smile, “my father gives them a lot of business.”
Brooke’s eyes widened at the comment. “Wait. Your last name is Naslund. As in Naslund-Holm Agronomy?”
“Guilty,” he confessed.
Despite the light tone in Naslund’s voice, Lochlain thought he detected an undercurrent of resentment. He took a sip from his beer before asking, “With your father’s influence, why aren’t you working at your pick of any major freighter company?”
Naslund seemed ready, almost eager, for the question. “Because I don’t want to end up just like my dad.” His voice turned fully sour. “He has it all planned out, down to him starting his own shipping line with me as its CEO.”
“Is that so bad?” Brooke asked.
The young man’s eyes darted toward her and he hung his head. “I’ve lived my whole life how he wants it to be. The best schools, the most enriching programs… he even picked which sports I could play. I attend only the social functions he schedules.” He hesitated uncomfortably before adding, “I meet only the girls he approves. He’s actually hired three chaperones to follow
me and if I show any interest in something he doesn’t condone, he always blocks it from me. He once paid for a friend’s full tuition provided she attended university away from Ancera.” During his diatribe, his face had turned into a deep, red scowl.
“Is a chaperone with you tonight?” Brooke asked uneasily. She resisted the urge to look around.
“No.” Naslund pushed back the cuff of his suit coat and looked at a chronometer embedded into his wrist. The high-value hardware cost more than Lochlain’s last five datapads combined. “I’m attending an art exhibition in an hour where Dad will force Regina Ostby of Ostby Propulsion on me again. I agreed to attend because I knew it would give me some free time before his spies latched onto me.” The man looked between Lochlain and Brooke. “I’m truly trapped.”
“Maybe so,” Brooke admitted, “but you still have the pick of nearly any freighter that sails, uh, outside of normal shipping practices.”
Lochlain shook his head and explained the young man’s predicament. “Probably not, Mercer. What ship captain is crazy enough to risk the wrath of someone as controlling and powerful as his father?” He offered a sympathetic glance to Naslund after hearing his own, harsh words. “Sorry.”
The man wilted slightly but said to Brooke, “He’s right.” He looked around before leaning toward the middle of the table and whispered conspiratorially, “My contact, a man named Peter Eldin, said there’s nobody he knows that would take me.” He glanced around again nervously.
Lochlain stifled a smirk. Naslund’s paranoid scanning and his breach of protocol in revealing his “contact” were rookie mistakes. Lochlain knew of Eldin, the little worm had peripheral dealings with Isett. He wondered how much Eldin had charged Naslund for this meeting.