by M H Questus
“Sir!?” Morcos’s eyes were wide.
St. Clair cracked a smile. “Sorry, sorry. They’re just getting the judge’s signature now. You’ll be out and back in your ship before the hour’s over.”
Morcos sighed in relief, slumping onto the bunk again. “Cruel joke, sir.”
“Think of it as compensation for thinking that I was responsible for the destruction of the Judicator, Marshal.” St. Clair nodded to her. “I also have news about the drydocks. They say that you’ll be cleared to leave Scorpii tomorrow.”
“Excellent news, sir.” Morcos sighed again. “It’s a nice place, but I’m ready to be moving onwards.”
St. Clair nodded sympathetically. “I can imagine.” He turned to go, and then paused.
“Any idea what you’re going to do with that smuggler? The constables stuck her back in the brig before they arrested you, mostly because they didn’t know what else to do.”
“I have a few ideas, sir.” Morcos shrugged. “We’ll see how they pan out.”
“Okay, Marshal. I trust you.” St. Clair walked out of the constabulary, and Morcos winced as she settled her aching body back on the bunk to await her release.
“Well, Ms. Marshal.” Zousizhe gave Morcos a sad smile as she entered the brig.
“Hello again, smuggler-lady.” Morcos, still limping, crossed the distance to the one remaining occupied cell. “I half expected that you’d have broken out by now.”
“To what purpose, Caitlyn?” Zousizhe sighed. “My ship has mere days before it’s seized by the banks. There’s no way I can afford to get it repaired, much less repaired and back out in space, to finish my next payment. I suppose I could leave and just sit in it for a few more hours, but that seems almost more depressing than being in here.”
Morcos leaned up against the glass wall. “About that. You know, I discovered a funny thing the other day.” She winced as her shoulder touched the glass, and she shifted slightly to a more comfortable position. “Well, I say I discovered, but it was really Kobayashi. I think he’s taken a liking to you, for whatever reason.”
Zousizhe scoffed. “Boys. Okay, what did he find?”
“It turns out that there’s a law in the books saying that during the time a prisoner is being transported to or from an actual hearing, their possessions are protected from seizure. To keep over-zealous relatives, banks, or the like from claiming property before any chance to prove guilt has occurred, as I’m sure you know.”
Zousizhe sighed. “Yeah. I know. But how does that help? You could keep me in here until you leave, but as soon as I get out, they’re just going to seize the ship then.”
Morcos nodded. “True. But it turns out that since I arrested you on or around Scorpii, I need to hand you over to the authorities on Scorpii itself. It simply won’t do to take you from here to drop you off at a smaller station somewhere else.”
“Well, that makes sense.” Zousizhe narrowed her eyes, confused. “Why would you take me somewhere else?”
“Oh, I’m just saying.” Morcos shrugged with a half-smile on her face. “So, for example, if I were to leave Scorpii tomorrow, and then wouldn’t be back for, say… a year or so, you wouldn’t actually be able to be transferred to authorities for that entire time. Which means—”
Zousizhe’s eyes went wide. “Which means that for the entire time I’m here, they can’t make me pay the loan for my ship! Which means that there would be plenty of time to get the old thing fixed, maybe even save up some scratch to pay off the payments when I get back!”
“Certainly not impossible, if you could find some legal employment while under arrest and stuck on my ship,” Morcos said.
Zousizhe smiled. “So, the only cost for doing this is being stuck on a ship with you for a year.”
“A steep price, I realize.” Morcos nodded somberly.
“Huh. Would I have to stay in here?” Zousizhe gestured around her small cell.
“Oh, no. I could have a deputy escort you to your ship to grab a few articles of clothing, pack a bag, keep you under arrest the whole time, and then return you here. After you’re back and we’re off the station, I suppose I could choose to restrict you to one of the vacant quarters instead of using a cell designed to restrain dangerous and high flight risk prisoners.” Morcos smiled and cast a glance at Zousizhe. “You’re not a high flight risk, are you smuggler-lady?”
Zousizhe laughed. “With an offer like that on the table and my ship stuck here? No.”
“I’ll be honest with you, Stacy. I don’t know Delta very well.” Morcos sighed. “In the past four days I’ve been shot by one of my own deputies, attacked over a dozen times, punched, kicked, throttled, burned, and betrayed. Twice.”
“Exciting first week of work?”
Morcos smiled. “I don’t think it will even be unusual. You sure you want on this ride? Still wouldn’t rather be a nice, safe cargo-hauler for a megacorporation for a few decades, have a dozen kids with some fat guy who treats you like a queen, and retire to someplace that has endless blue skies and soft grassy fields?”
Zousizhe thought for a moment, her head bowed.
“Nah.” She laughed. “I’d rather have the shot-at, stabbed, burned, and betrayed one. Sounds more fun.”
“Hey Krissy,” Morcos said softly as she sat.
Marshal Smith was still sleeping, her condition unchanged from Morcos’s last visit.
“We got him.” Morcos rotated her shoulders, the tension still tying her muscles into knots. “Turns out you have awful taste in men.”
Smith, if she had thoughts on the matter, didn’t share them.
“They tell me you’re going to pull through this,” Morcos said, gazing down at Smith. The white sheets carefully tucked in around her, the arms and tubes still monitoring her condition. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to stick around until then. But you understand.”
Morcos placed one hand on Smith’s cheek. It was soft and cool to the touch.
“Nice of you to give me a head start. But don’t wait too long or you’re never going to catch up, you hear me?”
She leaned over and gently pressed her lips to Smith’s forehead.
Morcos returned to her quarters for the first time in what felt like a month. She stripped off her sweat-soaked and torn clothes, noting with some concern a small laser hole that had burned through the top of her hat without her noticing, missing her head by the merest of margins. She requisitioned a new cap and another set of pants to replace those ruined by the near-miss that had caught her along her left leg.
She crawled into bed, groaning aloud as she did so, every muscle taking a turn to complain at how she had treated them over the last four days. She closed her eyes, and fell fast into a deep, dreamless asleep.
The next day Morcos awoke late. Her leg was still throbbing, her neck and back still sore and covered with bruises, but she still smiled as she opened her eyes.
Her datapad silently blinked, indicating that she had received a message as she was sleeping. She activated the recording, and St. Clair’s gruff but friendly face filled the datapad’s screen.
“I’ve cleared your plan with the Service,” he began, nodding in the recording. “The smuggler’s ship will be free for as long as Zousizhe is on your vessel. I can’t say I fully approve, but your methods have been nothing short of spectacular so far. I just hope your luck continues to hold.
“I also wanted to let you know that I managed to get messages out to all the marshals about our leak of information and changed their patrol paths. It seems we got word around in time. There are no recorded casualties as of yet. So good work on that front too.” St. Clair smiled briefly, relief clear on his face.
“I’m sorry to add that I won’t be attending your departure today. Last time didn’t go so well, so this time we’re just going to say ‘screw the ceremony’, and I’ll wish you a good voyage and best of luck from here. Remember that you represent, not just the Marshal Service, but the entirety of the Interplanetary Government
to most of the people you will meet. There are plenty of colonies, countless people, and not all of them are going to be happy to see you.
On that note, two quick points before you leave: We’ve had no sign of Rackham since your last sighting him a few days back. Safe to assume that he’s still out there, and probably not very happy with your work here. You’ve made a powerful enemy, Marshal. Watch your back.”
St. Clair checked one of his datapads quickly, then coughed gently. “The other matter is better news. Marshal Smith woke up briefly last night. Might take her a few more weeks before she’s on her feet, but it’s going to take me at least that long to scrounge up a ship and crew for her anyway. She asked me to convey the message ‘I’m coming for you, Caitlyn. And you better believe that I’m going to catch you’.”
St. Clair turned to face directly into the video camera on the datapad, and smiled warmly. “Good luck, Marshal. Bring law to the lawless, light to the darkness. And come home safe.”
He saluted, and the message ended.
Morcos got dressed slowly, wincing frequently as bruises reasserted their presence.
Still, she was smiling as she walked onto the bridge. Kobayashi, Di Mercurio, Haley, Chatterji, and Zousizhe were all present. The deputies all saluted, beaming happily, while the smuggler, slouching in her seat with one leg thrown over the weapon’s control console, examined her fingernails in detail.
Morcos saluted her deputies, wondering why they were all beaming at her so happily. She smiled, somewhat nervously, back.
“As you were, people. Let’s go out there and—”
Morcos sat down and then immediately stood bolt upright, her eyes wide and mouth open. “Oh!”
A burst of laughter erupted from the five people on the bridge, even Zousizhe chuckling happily.
“You like it?” Zousizhe asked, glancing sideways at Morcos.
Morcos sat back down with a happy sigh. The previous captain’s chair, as comfortable as sitting on a lightning bolt, had been replaced. The cushions wrapped themselves around her comfortably, and she settled into it with a small squirm.
“This has got to be one of the most comfortable chairs I have ever had the pleasure to sit in,” she said, leaning back slightly.
“Zousizhe had them delivered last night while you were asleep.” Kobayashi nodded towards the smuggler, who shrugged.
“I sat in the old one and immediately understood why you marshals are always in such a bad mood,” Zousizhe said with a smile. “Heck, those old chairs would almost make me act uptight and stuffy.”
Morcos said nothing, happily settling into the seat.
After a long moment, she smiled at her crew. “Chatterji, get us permission to depart.”
“Aye, Marshal.”
“Di Mercurio, get us out of here. There’s work to be done.”
The End
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