“Fuck you, bitch!” he said, trying to fill it with all the bluster he wished he had.
She smiled and pushed his face away. “At least you’re in a talkative move. Let’s start with Monty. Who is he?”
He feigned confusion. “Monty?”
She smiled at him and nodded. The blow to his temple came from the other side this time, and Leo’s left was even worse than his right. He shook his head slowly until the stars faded. The captain had pulled up a chair opposite him. “Let’s start again. Maya tells me that when you all left the bar, you shouted to tell Monty that you had been kidnapped. So, my question is, who is Monty?”
He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of someone he could know that might be looking for him, someone who was not actually Montgomery Wheaton. “My uncle,” he said at last.
“Your uncle?” she replied. “I don’t think so. Malcolm didn’t have any family.” She looked up to Leo and nodded again.
Michael cringed, bracing his neck, but this time the blow came low and hard to his ribs on the right. It took his breath away, and he gasped for a few moments, each intake another stab where Leo’s fist had struck.
“So, uncle?” she asked.
“Well, he’s only sort of an uncle,” he answered, amazed at how raspy his voice had become. “It’s a long story.”
She shook her head. “Long story, eh? Well, when we get you back to the ship, Mr. Bishop and I are going to put you in a very small room, and you’re going to tell us all of your stories, long and short.”
“Do you want to move him now?” Leo asked from behind him.
“No,” she replied. “I want to wait until the dock has settled down a bit more, but it won’t be long. First the cargo, then him.” She peered at him a moment. “So for now, how about you tell me where your uncle is.”
“The last time I saw him was Latera.”
“On the Heavy Heinrich?”
He nodded. That much at least was true.
“But the Heavy Heinrich isn’t here. Why were you using the terminal?”
“I was sending him a message.” Again, it was true enough.
“What? I’m sorry I left? Please come save me?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“And what were you planning to do for the six or seven weeks it was going to take before he could make his way back here? Hang out in that bar drinking soda?”
He frowned. “I, um… I hadn’t thought it out that far yet.” That, he realized painfully, was entirely true. He had only gotten as far as hoping Lt. Commander Wheaton would actually call him back. It had not been, as Malcolm would have said, a shining example of good thinking. He should have known better, but he had been stupid. From the moment he had walked away from Karen to the moment he got off the Jaguar, it had been one stupid decision after another.
He looked up at his captor and saw her grinning. “I would have expected more from Malcolm’s boy, but I guess you’re not up to his standards. Too bad for you.”
He sat there, knowing he was likely doomed and was tempted to simply give up. But then, Malcolm had a saying about that, didn’t he? Oh yeah… fuck them. Fuck them hard.
So he looked up at his gloating captor. “Well, once Uncle Monty tells the Navy that Elsa Watkins is alive and well on the Blue Jaguar, I’m sure he’ll be back with friends.”
She stood and took a furious step towards him. “What did you say?”
He grinned up at her and taunted her with his words. “Wel-come back, El-sa.”
Her face went red, and she hauled her right fist back.
Michael did not remember much after that.
Chapter 25
“They say the cavalry often arrives five minutes too late. In my experience, five minutes is optimistic.” — Malcolm Fletcher
GABRIELLE COULD SEE THE FAILURE written on Commander Collins’ face when he came into the lounge. They were about a quarter way around the ring from the Blue Jaguar. She had wanted to wait on the docks where she could watch the Jaguar’s airlock, but Father had agreed with Collins that they should wait somewhere with privacy.
It was just as well. She would not have liked to have gotten the news in public.
“He was not on board,” he said, making it official.
She felt her lip quiver. “Any sign of him?” she asked.
He shook his head. “But I will say this, that ship is going on my list.”
“What do you mean by that?” Father asked.
“Whether or not they ever had Michael, that ship is up to no good. They’re either outright pirates, or at least privateers, but if it’s the latter, they’re not one of mine.”
“One of your what?” Father pressed.
Collins waved it off. “It doesn’t matter now. If they don’t have him, then I have to confront the likelihood that my analysis on Latera was wrong. Michael could have gone another direction or on another ship.”
Gabrielle shook her head and forced her breathing to steady. “No, it made too much sense. Maybe he got off at one of their earlier stops.”
“Then it would have been very easy for them to simply say so. Yes, we had him, but he left. See how well we’re cooperating. No need to inspect our suspicious ship.” He sighed. “It’s far more plausible that they never heard of him in the first place.”
“Or…” Father trailed off.
“Or what?”
“Or they still have him.”
Collins shifted his jaw. “It’s not likely, but I confess it is possible. I wanted to search their cargo. I thought maybe they could have a functioning life pod tucked away in one of the containers, but I didn’t have the authority, and station security wouldn’t back me.”
“Well, you’re Navy,” Father suggested. “There’s a significant fleet presence here. Maybe you don’t need station security.”
Collins nodded. “Maybe. Nothing I saw in there was technically illegal, but it was damn suspicious. I might be able convince someone to do an intercept, but that’s getting awfully risky. If they do have him and manage to get away from the station, then I’d hate to think of what they might be tempted to do in open space.”
Gabrielle shuddered at the image. “But you could do it?”
He stared at the table a moment before realizing that an uncertain head bob had slowly morphed into a growing nod. “I have some calls to make.”
Father looked over to her. “Then I guess we wait here.”
She shook her head. “You wait. I have to get out of here. I’ll search the docks myself if I have to.”
Elsa sat in the warehouse’s security office again. Its nominal occupant had been sent to keep watch outside in the station corridors. “Ship status?” she asked into the scrambled communicator.
“Fully fueled, all but six aboard,” Nieru answered.
“Six?”
“Two cargo grapplers are outside supervising the station’s loaders. Then there’s you three, and the um... your guest.”
She nodded to herself. “Good. How about the cargo?”
“Twelve more to go in the current array, then eight more on the docks.”
“And the special cargo?”
Nieru paused. “I’m not sure what you mean, ma’am.”
“Twelve of the specials have already been loaded, my Lady,” Bishop said, coming onto the line. “Four more are still in the array, with six more specials still on dock.”
“Good,” she said. “How much longer to get them all?”
“Another hour, tops,” Bishop replied.
“I concur,” the XO added. “When can we expect you on board?”
She glanced around at the security monitors. They did not show the Blue Jaguar’s dock, but things appeared quiet around the warehouse. The security surge she had seen before had dissipated. “What’s it like out on the dock? Do we have any more visitors?”
“No, my Lady,” Bishop replied. “It’s been quiet for the last hour.”
“Good. I see there’s an opening in
the station’s launch schedule in a little under two hours. Nieru, do you think we can make that?”
She could hear the XO checking with the bridge crew in the background. “Yes,” he said at last. “It’ll be tight, but if the cargo keeps its pace, the ship will be ready. What about you? Station regs require the personnel tube to unhook one hour before we pull out. Can you make it in time?”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. We’ll be moving in about fifteen minutes, as soon as our guest cleans up.”
“Cleans up, my Lady?”
“Don’t worry, Bishop. There’s plenty of work left for you. Nieru, pin down that launch window. If they give you any flack, tell them that Stationmaster Richards said you could pencil it in pending the cargo schedule.” It was a lie, of course, but it was late evening according to the local station’s clock. While plenty of workers were spread around the clock, the main administration staff was already climbing into bed. Given Glenn Richards’ reputed temper, no night watch controller was going to wake him to confirm such a request.
“Aye, ma’am.”
“Bishop, be waiting for me in the ship-side airlock. We’re not taking any chances this time.”
“Understood, my Lady. I’ll see you shortly.”
She hung up and headed back into the offices. Maya had already found a wheelchair. It was time to mount up.
“But Admiral,” Collins pleaded, “I know there’s something wrong with that ship.”
“I don’t doubt you, Commander. No legitimate merchant has a brig that secure, but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t have evidence of a crime, naval or civilian. So if they’re as dirty as you think, it’s that much more reason to let them go and keep a closer eye on them. If they’re one of Yoshido’s civilian-facing ships, then we can use it to track down the rest of them, maybe even get a location on some of their closer staging areas.”
“But the boy—”
“Isn’t on that ship. You’re one of my best bloodhounds, Collins, and if you couldn’t find him, it means he wasn’t there.”
Collins grumbled agreement. The theory of a lifepod in the cargo containers was far-fetched, but the look in Mr. Bishop’s eyes was telling. Something was being hidden. He simply did not know what.
“Admiral, you know I’m not one to ask for favors...”
The line was quiet for a moment. “You’re that sure?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t point to any analysis or evidence. It’s all in my gut. You know what that’s like.”
He could hear the Admiral sigh. “All right, I’ll see what I can do, but don’t expect much. I’m NI, not Fleet Command, but at the very least I’ll post an intelligence alert to the local defense patrols.”
“An alert?”
“I don’t know... volatile situation under development, stand by for possible intercept, something like that. You know as well as I do that a hunch won’t get me through proper channels, but the officers on those ships will pay attention to what I say. There should be someone close enough to do an intercept if need be.”
“That’s what I was hoping, sir.”
“All right, now you try to track down Major Nellis on your end.”
“Old Nancy?”
“Yeah, her battalion is rotating through the civilian station for shore leave. If you end up needing boots on the deck, she’s your best bet. Tell her I’m calling in my marker.”
“Thank you, Admiral.”
There was another sigh. “Just be right, Commander. Be right, and all of this will look good in the morning. Otherwise...”
“I know, sir.”
“Then get to it.”
Collins pulled up the station registry. Major Nancy P. Nellis, XO 208th CM Batallion, personal link active. It buzzed three times before she answered. Music and chatter filled the background.
“Nancy, it’s me, Sam.”
“Well hell, Sam. You finally caught me on leave. You want to meet up?”
He swallowed hard. “Sorry, Nancy. I’m calling on behalf of the Admiral.”
“No shit?”
“No shit. He said he’s calling in his marker.”
The background noise dropped off sharply. “All right, Sam. What do you need?”
Michael woke as the wheelchair turned a corner. He was not sure where he was, but he hurt all over. The lights overhead were distant but bright, and a blanket covered his arms and legs. He tried to move a little but found that his ankles and left wrist were chained to the rails of the wheelchair.
Elsa Watkins walked in front of him. Someone else was pushing his wheelchair, probably Leo Perez from the length of his stride. He could not see Maya, but she had to be around somewhere. The deck below them was metallic and heavily scratched, with frequent strips of rubber grips. In his foggy brain, he knew this kind of decking.
He was on a dock, a station dock.
He rolled his head to his right and saw rows of shipping containers. At the next bump, he rolled it back to the left. He was rolling alongside the cargo airlocks. The stenciled numbers read twenty-two. They were back at the Blue Jaguar’s dock.
Without thinking he tried to stand up but never got past moving his one free arm. A strong hand came down on that shoulder. “Take it easy there, boy. Almost home.”
He nodded his compliance. Somewhere in his head, he knew that getting on the Jaguar was a slow death sentence, but as the airlock drew near, he did not see he had much choice.
“Wait,” a voice called. It was vaguely familiar, but he did not even try to place it. “Who’s that there?”
“Just a drunken crewmate,” came the answer. It was Elsa.
“I’d like to see him if you don’t mind.”
“I think not. Privacy in our worst moments… you understand?”
“I want to make sure it’s not my friend Michael.”
Michael perked up at that.
“What? This Fletcher thing again? How many flunkies is the Navy going to send down here for him? Ask your security. We don’t have him. We never heard of him. So kindly go away and let me tend to my crewman. He’s had a hard enough time after brawling with your marines.”
At this point, Michael turned his head, craning his neck to see who it was, but he could not quite get a good look, at least not through his right eye.
But it showed enough of his face for it to be seen. “Shit, that is Michael!”
Now he leaned forward, twisting away from Leo’s grasp. The tall man in uniform looked very familiar indeed: Lt. Commander Montgomery Wheaton. “You got my call!”
Wheaton stepped forward, flanked by two guards in the gray of station security. “What happened to you?”
Elsa cut across his path. “Look, bud, I don’t know who you think my crewman is, but he’s my man, and I’m taking him home.”
“But I don’t want to go!” Michael cried. “They’re kidnapping me!”
“It’s not kidnapping,” Leo said from behind him. “He got into a brawl up on ring seven. Captain Lewis here agreed to pay the damages, so station administration released him to the captain’s authority. Can you help us get him through the lock so we can all go home? I’m already an hour into overtime.”
Michael shook his head, which seemed to make the entire deck spin. “No, these guys aren’t… they’re not real security.”
Maya stepped into view, laughing. “He’s funny, I’ll grant him that, but I’m getting tired of this.”
Michael looked to Wheaton and then to the guards. “Come on guys, you don’t recognize them, right?”
The guard on the left shrugged and looked to the other. He frowned but did not say anything.
Maya kept chuckling. “Hell, I don’t know you guys either.” She stepped forward towards them with a hand out. “I’m Susan McKenzie, stationed up on seven. That’s my partner Billy Borden — B.B. we call him.”
The guard on the left took her hand. “Walter Quinn. I just got transferred in, but Victor here’s been on station for what, two years, Vic?”
T
he other guard nodded slowly. “Yeah, two years. Up on seven you say?”
Michael wanted to shake his head again but thought better of it. “Jesus Christ, people, they’re smugglers! Pirates!” He waved at the container next to him. “They’re picking up a shipment from Father Chessman. Look in there if you don’t believe me.”
Everyone laughed, all but Wheaton.
“What so funny?” Michael asked.
Elsa looked back at him. “Chessman is a myth, a story we tell fish like you to scare them.”
“God yes,” Victor said, still chuckling. “I remember those stories. He’s up with there with monsters in the tachyon field. No one believes in that nonsense.”
“I do.”
All eyes turned to Wheaton. “What?” Elsa asked.
“And even if I didn’t, I believe the boy,” he said. “So we’re going to take a look in these containers.”
“By whose authority?” Elsa demanded. “I’ve got the articles on my side.”
“By my authority,” he answered, walking towards the far end of the container. “And I’ve got the Navy on my side.”
“And when I call for your court martial, what name should I give them?”
He stopped mid-stride and turned to face her, pointing to the tag on his chest. “It’s right here. Lt. Commander Montgomery G. Wheaton. And no bitchy little civilian captain is going to intimidate old Monty.”
“Monty?”
“Yeah, Monty!” he replied, walking off.
Elsa closed her eyes and dropped her head. “Shit.” She turned to Maya, still standing by the other two guards, and nodded.
Michael saw Maya’s gun coming out too late to do anything but shout, “No!” Then too many things happened at once. Victor went down first, a bullet erupting out of his chest. Michael went flying forward as Leo pushed the wheelchair over and started firing at Walter Quinn. Elsa ran for the airlock ramp, and Wheaton dove for cover behind the nearest shipping container.
Michael struggled to crawl on the floor, but he was firmly attached to the wheelchair. Even lying on his side, he could barely move, twisted around with only his right hand free. He could see Victor lying nearby, his gun still in his holster, so he struggled towards it. Maya was firing towards Wheaton who was shouting something about marines. He heard shots continuing to fire behind him, but he ignored them.
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