by Britt Ringel
Lochlain swallowed again. “How many names are there?”
Brooke unpaused the game and let the list run its course. “Four thousand, two hundred and nine.”
“How much time does the planet have left?” he asked anxiously. On the status screen, Lochlain had not noticed a single ship other than their own in orbit. Furthermore, none of the ships still in the system were inbound.
Brooke cleared the screen and backtracked to the general status layout. She tapped Tsai’s icon and entered into dialogue with the lead scientist. She found her answer a few moments later. “The people on this planet have six hours.”
Lochlain shook his head. “We can’t fit four thousand people on the ship.” His voice became indignant. “Who the hell made this game?”
Brooke turned the holo-table off. “I’m not sure I like this anymore.”
* * *
The next afternoon, Lochlain pulled his formal suit from the closet in his quarters. He gave it a cautious sniff.
“Aren’t you getting tired of wearing that thing?” Brooke asked from the loveseat with an amused smile.
“I sure am,” he answered while quickly stripping off his shipsuit.
Brooke did not avert her eyes. “Then why don’t you buy a second one on the station?”
“Great idea,” he responded while pulling on his pants. “Got any credits for one?”
“Are we that broke?”
Lochlain slipped his arms into the sleeves of the synthetic shirt. He began buttoning the front as he nodded. “We are if we want to be able to pay for later tonight.” After the crew had returned to Zanshin the previous night, he had invited everyone to dinner the following evening. It was a custom he enjoyed, a crew eating together on whatever orbital was the last stop of a cargo run. Lochlain’s first freighter captain had started the ritual and the camaraderie the meals inspired among the crew had clear value. He was determined to maintain the tradition.
Brooke twisted to lift her legs onto the couch. She leaned her arms on the backrest and stared out the viewport. The Handy-sized freighter moored next to Zanshin dominated the view. Unfamiliar with the ship’s class, she studied its sleek lines and features. “Do you really think your contact will be able to give us a job?” she asked, all the while wondering how many containers their neighbor could hold.
Lochlain placed his only tie around his neck. “I do but you’re not going to like the destination.”
Brooke looked away from the viewport to peer at him. “Here we go,” she said, clearly irritated. “You want to take Zanshin to Carinae.”
“It’s the only option, Mercer.” He quickly tied his tie. “It’s the only way to make the credits we need for a fresh start. We have just two more star systems before we have to recharge the fuel cells.” He made a final adjustment to straighten the knot. “We have zero credits saved for it. The squib wiped us out.”
Brooke chewed the inside of her cheek.
“If we run to Carinae,” Lochlain pressed, “we can fill up the hardpoints with the best cargo and not only pay for a recharge but also have more than enough money for a maintenance fund. You could actually hire specialists to solve some of Zanshin’s bigger problems.”
“Like the chronometer issue?” Brooke suggested. “I’m not a sys-ops gal. I’m spending three hours reading about how to run an analysis and then another hour actually performing it only to find each time that it isn’t the source of the problem.”
“No,” Lochlain replied, “that needs to get fixed ASAP, before the run. If we’re going to Carinae, we need Zanshin’s timekeeping to be exact.” He reached into the closet for his jacket. “It’s going to be hard enough finding that tunnel exit without us knowing precisely how long we’ve been in t-space.”
“You sail us inside that hyper-condensed, irradiated tunnel and Zanshin will need that maintenance fund,” Brooke predicted forebodingly. “The nebula’s going to zap so many of our systems that timekeeping might be the least of our concerns. Not to mention getting past the inspection teams inside Carinae. I’ve heard that so few freighters make the run from Vulsia that nearly every one of them gets inspected.”
“Yeah, but the captains that make it through earn credits hand over fist.” He stepped to the couch and looked down at Brooke’s feet on the cushions. She tracked his eyes and then grunted slightly while lifting her feet off the loveseat and onto the deck.
Lochlain sat beside her and took her hands in his. “This is the only way, Mercer. Think past the next fuel cell charge and a slush fund for maintenance. We need a reserve of credits that’ll allow us to put some distance between us and Appiation.”
“Plus seed money to use when we try to make new contacts wherever we end up,” Brooke added.
Lochlain looked at her in surprise. “Exactly. You’ve been thinking about this too. It’s not like I can just flash a smuggler’s membership card to prospective clients. Outside the CCZ, we’re unknowns.”
“I know,” she sighed as she inspected her thumbnail. It was red around the cuticle. “I’ve been worrying about all this nonstop. Maybe that’s why I dove into that stupid game the way I have. It’s my escape mechanism.”
Lochlain forced himself not to smile. “Have you played since last night?”
“Shut up,” she snapped with a guilty grin. “Of course I have. There has to be a way to save all of them, some little trick that we missed because we got caught up in the sheer numbers.”
“You do love a puzzle to solve.”
They sat quietly for several moments before Brooke gave him a determined nod. “So, destination: Carinae,” she muttered. She nodded again, as if to convince herself, then pushed off the couch and made way for the door. “Well, if we’re going to irradiate my ship, then I’m going to do my best to prepare her for it.”
Lochlain watched her exit. The silence inside the room returned and was deafening without her. He took his datapad from the coffee table and flashed Naslund a comm request.
The engineer answered on the first ping. “Are you ready, Captain?”
“Yeah, can you meet me at the airlock in five minutes?”
Lochlain imagined the man bouncing in anticipation given his next reply. “You bet! See you there! Uh, are you sure we don’t need to take some guns with us?”
“Janell is a friend, Casper,” Lochlain reminded him for at least the third time. The most dangerous part of the appointment would be the time spent walking to Verdin’s store on the anarchic station. Toting around a submachine gun seemed like overkill. If he owned a pistol, however, he might have carried it.
Lochlain moved off the couch and entered the bathroom. He checked his appearance in the mirror and then left the quiet of his quarters. The vibe from the rest of Zanshin was not much different. The ship seemed to have almost a preternatural calm. Truesworth and Lingenfelter were off the ship again, shopping for provisions for a ten-day trip. Lochlain had entrusted the Brevic with a spending limit on the freighter’s account when he realized Truesworth’s knowledge of small-ship provisioning rivaled his own.
By the time Lochlain reached the bow of Zanshin, Naslund was waiting for him. The young man was wearing a designer suit from Kett, probably valued as high as Naslund’s share of the last smuggling run. He rocked lightly in his patent leather shoes. “Ready, Captain?”
The engineer’s enthusiasm had not diminished in the slightest since his interview back in Ancera. Furthermore, Brooke insisted that the recent graduate’s abilities would have garnered him placement with any top-rate freight company. If not for his familial predicament, Lochlain knew the man would never have been on his ship. Counting Lingenfelter’s destitute and quite possibly criminal past, Truesworth’s dubious heritage and Naslund’s estrangement, Zanshin had acquired an eclectic staff. Lochlain was both grateful for his luck and growing protective of his crew. He had often dreamed of captaining a freighter. He realized now that even with the economic headwinds, the pride in his command, both the ship and its people, vastly exceeded his
dreams.
“Are you going to introduce me to her, Captain?” Naslund chittered excitedly. “How do I play it? Should I try to act tough or be friendly or what? I have to confess that I’m really not much of a fighter but I’m willing to learn. Mercer has already put me on an exercise program to add some bulk. She said once I’ve completed it, she’ll teach me some self-defense moves.” His eyes widened and his voice elevated. “Oh! Elease was talking about how that monster on the surface tried to hit you and you blocked most of his punch.” He brought his right hand up in a crude attempt at a rising block. “You’ve got to teach me that one, Captain.”
“The best self-defense is open eyes and a closed mouth, Casper,” Lochlain noted, smiling at the irony. He still wore the bruise from that particular blow. “When you meet Janell, just be yourself. Neither one of us will ever be the toughest person in the room.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “But we sure as hell can be the most likeable.”
Chapter 29
On approach to the Vulsia orbital, Lochlain had specifically requested the slip with the lowest docking fees and as the pair stepped through the docking tube and onto the station he thought he still overpaid. The watchman’s post consisted of a folding chair behind a polymer crate. They marched past the makeshift desk and down a bright corridor. What Vulsian station security lacked in manpower, they more than made up for in lighting. The short intervals between ceiling lights and their blinding intensity made Lochlain want to shield his eyes. He knew that in the seediest parts of the station, there was something of a competition between the criminal element and law enforcement. One side shattered the lighting panels; the other ordered their repair oftentimes just hours after their destruction. It was an age-old struggle: crime thrives in the dark.
The trip into the heart of the station took nearly thirty minutes. The orbital’s unquenchable thirst for expansion resulted in a maze of ever-growing passageways, sub-corridors and dead ends. Twice Lochlain missed a turn and belatedly realized his error. In his confusion, he almost entered a darkened corridor before his instincts kicked in. The detour had all the hallmarks of a mugger’s paradise.
Naslund, entranced by his first, real look at the squalor common to much of the galaxy, seemed unaware of Lochlain’s troubles. Instead, he kept whisper-close to his keeper and merely gaped at the filthy, overcrowded conditions in the station. The poverty he witnessed in the alcoves and shops made him realize just how far from home he was. He had not seen a single security officer during the entire trip.
Lochlain skimmed the orbital directory on his datapad’s screen. If it was to be believed, they were nearing Janell Verdin’s store. “I think we’re here,” he said to Naslund. The young man had been uncharacteristically quiet over the last half hour.
They turned a final corner and Lochlain recognized Verdin’s concourse. It had changed significantly since his last visit. He pointed to a flashing sign that read “Fine Tooling and Machining.”
“What’s she sell?” Naslund asked as his head swiveled left and right to take in the sights.
“She can make almost any small or medium-sized part for a ship.”
“What do you mean?”
Lochlain skirted around an unidentifiable puddle on the stained deck. “What if Zanshin blows a power coupler, how do you fix it?”
“If we don’t have one in storage,” Naslund started, “we’d check the ship maintenance pages for the part number and then buy the best deal on the station.”
“And what if we’re on the frontier and nobody has the part?”
“We’d order it and have it delivered,” Naslund replied as if the answer were obvious.
“And if the wait was three months?” Lochlain asked with a smile.
Naslund cocked his head to one side. “Uh, I guess you’d either have to wait for it to arrive or try to find a way around the coupling.”
Lochlain nodded. “Precisely. Janell’s people can cobble together something that would allow that.”
“I see,” Naslund answered, his eyebrows furrowing close. “You can make a living doing that in Vulsia?”
An amused expression crossed over Lochlain. “Not a good one and Janell lives well.”
They reached the store’s entrance. The sturdy doors had always been present but the security arch was new. Two large men flanked the electronic interrogator. Lochlain and Naslund stepped through the arch and Lochlain idly wondered if its sensors would have detected the all-polymer submachine guns in his closet, had he been carrying one. He walked directly to the back of the small store with Naslund trailing and one security guard turned to watch.
The cashier was browsing on a datapad with his feet up on the counter. The man’s eyes moved to Lochlain and a wave of irritation washed over him. “You can search our network page and place an order from there,” he said, pointing to a nearby table.
“Is Janell in?” Lochlain asked. The question earned him the undivided attention of both security guards.
“Planetside,” the cashier answered gruffly. “She’s got the good sense not to step foot in this dump. Who wants to know?”
“Can you contact her?”
“Who. Wants. To. Know?” the cashier repeated pointedly.
Lochlain glanced at Naslund before saying, “Tell her Pretty Boy wants to know why her gun is leaking.”
The cashier rolled his eyes but huffed himself out of his decrepit chair. He parted a curtain to disappear into the back while grumbling about his job. A minute later, the man called from the back room, “She wants to talk to Pretty Boy.”
Lochlain motioned for Naslund to follow. The room beyond the curtain was much nicer than the front of the store. Not only was it clean but the furnishings looked almost new. Hanging behind three immaculate tooling machines, a large wall screen displayed the smiling image of Janell Verdin.
Despite surpassing forty years old, Verdin still looked as if she were made of duralloy armor. Taught skin pulled over the sharp features of her face in a manner accomplished only through intense fitness. Her hair was mostly short and a mousey brown except for the shock of green that colored her long bangs. The teeth behind her upturned lips were pristine white. Lochlain knew they would forever maintain their brilliance as they were synthetic replacements for the ones she had lost a lifetime ago. Her purple eyes, artificially tinted before Lochlain had met her, shone with a gleeful light that softened the rock-hard image she otherwise presented.
“Reece Lochlain, as I live and breathe,” the woman stated with obvious delight. “Don’t tell me, you escaped and are on the lam.”
Lochlain spread his arms wide. “They let me walk in return for my invaluable service to the corporation, Janell.”
“Uh-huh. So what are you up to now?”
He dipped his head. “Pretty much the same.”
His response elicited a sly grin from Verdin. Her smile blazed behind parted lips. “Got some time?”
Lochlain felt a subtle elbow bump into his side.
The motion did not go unnoticed by Verdin. “Who’s the puppy?” she asked with a trace of amusement.
“One of my best engineers—”
“Save it,” she said, cutting him off with a wave. “You can introduce me in person. Let’s meet up.” She looked down at her lap, causing the green bangs to tumble over her eyes and consulted a datapad before asking, “Would you believe Schooners is still open?”
“Is it safe?” Lochlain frowned. “This station has taken on a decidedly unfriendly atmosphere.”
“Yeah, it sucks,” Verdin agreed. “The Feds really need to boost their LEOs up there and that’s coming from me. Schooners is all right though. A few years ago some wannabe gang tried to force their will over the place but quickly found out how important oxygen is.” Her smile was as lethal as it was bright. “The pub’s been peaceful ever since.”
“What’s a good time for you?” Lochlain asked.
“Give me an hour to do my hair and put on my prettiest dress,” she wisecracked.
&n
bsp; “We’ll be there, Janell,” he promised. “It’s nice to see a friend for a change.”
“Shut up, loser.” Verdin terminated the connection.
Lochlain turned to Naslund and remarked, “We’ll never be the toughest person in the room.” The pair strolled back through the security arch and onto the concourse.
“How do you know her?” Naslund asked.
“She was the cargo master on a ship I served in. She also played the role of consummate ass-kicker.” Lochlain consulted the orbital directory again. Schooners was two levels up. “Fair warning, she also has a cybernetic hand and if you don’t want to see it up close, I’d recommend not staring at it.”
“Okay,” Naslund offered docilely. He leaned in close to Lochlain and whispered near his ear, “Is she a smuggler like we are?”
Lochlain felt himself smile at his words. “That depends on your definitions. Technically she’s a fence.” He turned to Naslund and added, “Look. Don’t get caught up in the semantics. Your only job this afternoon is to make sure Janell Verdin likes you. You laugh at her jokes but not so much that it makes you look like a sycophant. You give her the respect she deserves and if she pushes you, you remember how much you like oxygen. Got it?”
The engineer nodded slowly. “Is she really that dangerous?”
“She’s not going to space you with me around,” Lochlain soothed. “Not that I could stop her but she hates seeing me get hysterical.” He inhaled audibly in consideration. “Now, if you were doing this by yourself? It’s maybe even odds that you push the wrong button and she decides that it’s easier to jettison some no-name rather than take the hit in credibility by letting an insult go unanswered.” He oriented himself with the directory’s instructions and they began to march away from the storefront. Naslund followed along like a baby duckling.
They stepped around the debris of a vandalized storefront near the closest elevators. “That’s why it’s going to be so dangerous down the road,” Lochlain said as he treaded over more rubbish. “I’m going to have to establish a whole, new set of contacts in a distant region and not knowing who you’re talking to can make you dead in a hurry in our line of work.”