by Zen DiPietro
Cabot sincerely hoped it didn’t come to that.
Omar arrived with Ditnya, who looked curious but composed.
“Did Omar fill you in?” Peregrine asked.
“He did,” Ditnya answered.
Peregrine stood and gestured to the pilot’s seat. “I leave it to you, then, to terrify them into believing that continuing to approach us will result in their hideous deaths.”
Ditnya fixed Peregrine with an appraising look. “You’re not like other officers. I like that.”
Peregrine’s face showed no reaction, but Cabot really, really wished he knew what she thought of that.
Ditnya opened a channel with a video link. “Attention unidentified vessel. This is Ditnya Caine. The Ditnya Caine. You are on an intercept course with my ship, and while I don’t know what your intentions are, I doubt you’re coming to offer helpful hints about sights to see in this part of space. You have fifteen seconds to reverse course or I will personally guarantee a slow, painful death for every person on that ship. Your time starts now.”
She closed the channel.
Cabot counted down in his head. Fifteen, fourteen…ten…eight…
“They’ve reversed course,” Ditnya reported. She turned to look at Peregrine. “Would you like your chair back or shall I take a turn at piloting? I’m sure you could use some extra sleep.”
“That’s quite all right,” Peregrine said flatly. “No need for you to worry about ship operations.”
“Ah. How kind.” Ditnya rose like a queen and left without another word.
“Shall I take over?” Cabot asked. “My shift was due to start in a half hour anyway, and I’m already here.”
Peregrine nodded. “Sure. But let me know the instant you see another ship on sensors.”
“Hopefully I won’t. But if I do, I’ll let you know right away,” he promised.
“Good. And thanks for suggesting we use Ditnya. I wouldn’t have thought her presence would matter to pirates.”
“Everyone knows Ditnya Caine,” Cabot said. “No one wants to take a chance on earning retribution from her. Her reach is long. No doubt it will extend even beyond the grave.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll see you later.”
Once she was gone, Omar leaned against the bulkhead. “Whew. That was brief, but intense.”
Cabot sat in the pilot’s chair. “Yep. I sure miss my shop.”
Omar stepped closer and patted him on the shoulder. “Won’t be too much longer. But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re with us. It’s been fun working with you again.”
“The last ten minutes or so notwithstanding,” Cabot observed.
Omar grinned. “No, that too. Now that it’s over, I can reflect on how exciting it was.”
He left too, and Cabot had little doubt that he’d follow Peregrine’s footsteps all the way to her quarters.
That left Cabot alone with the wide expanse of space that yawned out ahead.
He was glad for some quiet time.
FOR THE REST of the journey, Cabot spent as much time as he could doing research. He’d been digging here and there before, but he’d caught onto a thread of something that made his nose itch.
He just felt like he had hold of something, if he could only find whatever it was connected to. It was more instinct than anything else, but the thread had the key characteristics he looked for when trying to connect one thing to another for business purposes.
Since the people driving the slave trade treated it as a business, it only made sense that there must be some loose ends here and there, left by lazy or inept flunkies.
The trouble was that the galaxy was filled with flunkies, and since they were nobodies, Cabot had great difficulty narrowing down the places to look.
He’d started out by pulling as much data as he could find about groups that provided aid to Atalan refugees, whether it be food or transportation or whatever. He wanted to see where goods and services were changing hands. Who sold the food the organizations used, who flew the ships. He created a map of money flow related to relief efforts and those who ran at a profit, like some suppliers of goods and transportation did, and those who simply donated or sold things at cost.
Over that map, he added all the criminal information he could find related to the slave trade. Then he looked for convergences.
There were several, but as he investigated them one by one, they felt like mere coincidences. Until he hit on the one intersect that made his nose itch.
The organization called One Universe did a great deal of relief work. They even worked with the PAC to administer refugee colonies.
But as his mother always said, every bushel of apples has a bad one.
For some people, a job was a job, and they didn’t care about the end product, be it good or bad.
Jonny Washpoh worked for One Universe as a cargo hauler. He took supplies to whatever location needed them. He was nobody. His ship was small and unsuited for most commercial work. But it was good enough to collect donated materials from various sources and take them to where they could be useful.
Interesting fact about Jonny Washpoh: he shared an unusual last name with a ripper Cabot had once met in some back-of-the-galaxy hole a couple decades before.
He’d be the first to admit that it was a tenuous connection at best, but his nose was telling him there was something to this.
He never ignored his nose.
Organizations like One Universe ran background checks on all their employees, of course, and Cabot couldn’t find any major infractions for Jonny. He had a habit of letting his required ship maintenance get overdue, but that was about it.
When Cabot dug into Zerellian birth records, he found that Jonny was indeed related to Bruce Washpoh, better known as Bristle. No one knew the meaning of the nickname.
Bristle was as down and dirty a ripper as Cabot had ever known, and he’d made sure not to know the man as anything more than a passing acquaintance.
Bristle would definitely be involved in the slave trade. He didn’t have anything on his PAC record that indicated it, but that didn’t mean much.
Space was vast and provided plenty of hidden places to do bad things.
Cabot blew out a long sigh. He’d just about exhausted the information available to him, and it was far from convincing for anyone that was reluctant to see the link. It wouldn’t be easy to convince PAC command that they should track down this lead.
He’d have to use all his powers of persuasion.
CABOT SHOULD HAVE KNOWN they wouldn’t be able to simply show up at Jamestown and board.
Instead, they’d been ordered to maintain specific coordinates just beyond the station, while smaller vessels launched toward them.
“Relax,” Peregrine advised them all at the airlock, where they’d been instructed to assemble. “This will be nothing like that outpost. Everything will be by the book.”
“Since I didn’t write that book, I find myself underwhelmed by that,” Ditnya said. “Even so, I’m glad not to be at an outpost.”
She had to have concerns about being confronted by officers from Jamestown. They were envoys of PAC command itself. For someone used to calling the shots, she had to be nervous about how all this would go. She had no power here.
Cabot saw no hint of any of that on her face or in her posture. She seemed entirely at her ease, a professional demeanor firmly in place.
He felt a rush of respect.
“I came across something,” he said. “I’ve been trying to corroborate it and haven’t been able to, but I’m pretty sure I’ve found a link to an important player in the slave trade.”
“Tell us,” Ditnya commanded.
He shook his head. “Not until we see Fallon. She’s the one I trust with this information.”
Ditnya sniffed. “What makes you think you could uncover a link when the mighty PAC has not?”
“Because it’s not documented. It’s a guilt by association sort of thing.”
&nbs
p; “Sounds like a weak argument,” Ditnya said.
“It’s not a great one,” he admitted. “But my business sense tells me I’m on to something. I just don’t have the tools to find out what. Fallon and her colleagues do.”
Ditnya adjusted the thin scarf around her neck. “If it yields results, then great. All I care about is doing what must be done to get rid of the slave trade and getting back to Dauntless.”
Cabot looked to Peregrine to see what she thought of the conversation, but she was expressionless.
When the officers arrived, they bowed and called all the mercenaries “sir” or “ma’am.” One officer remained with them at the airlock while others went to search the ship for whatever they feared it might be carrying.
Considering the passengers, Cabot really didn’t blame them. Nagali had smuggled a tiny sphere of Brivinium back to its home planet, after all. Under her own skin, no less.
Though they’d already been searched on the outpost, they were scanned and inspected here as well, but no one put their hands on them.
Beside him, Nagali stood tensely. He put his arm around her waist, but it wasn’t about comforting her. He just wanted to make sure she didn’t mouth off to the officers.
Whatever the officers were scanning and looking for, they didn’t find it. Cabot felt a sense of relief. Even he couldn’t be sure Nagali or Ditnya hadn’t brought along something they shouldn’t have.
He kept dangerous and unpredictable company.
The lead officer nodded to Peregrine. “You can now dock with the station. Mathis will accompany you. The rest of us will remain here. When we get to the other side, a large contingent of security officers will greet us.”
After Peregrine and Mathis had gone, the lead officer stood with three others, watching them.
“This will go as easily as you want it to,” she said. “I suggest you to comply with any requests, and you will be treated as distinguished guests.”
“I imagine our visit has caused a good deal of excitement,” Ditnya said, adjusting her scarf again.
The officer smiled faintly. “That’s an accurate statement.”
“How did you get assigned to this duty?” Ditnya asked. “I have to imagine a lot of people wanted it for the bragging rights.”
The woman’s smile broadened. “I was in the right place at the right time. And I’m just stupid enough to take a risk, hoping that whatever happens here won’t end up ruining my career.”
“Relax, commander,” Ditnya said in a friendly tone. “I have work to do, and won’t have time to ruin any careers today.”
Ditnya raised her hands to show her intention to reach into her pocket and the commander nodded.
“Here.” Ditnya handed her a datachip. “It’s just a business card, but you can tell people you confiscated it from me because you’re supremely dedicated.”
The commander rolled the datachip over her palm, trying to decide whether to accept it. With a slight shrug, she slid it into her pocket. “Why not?”
Ditnya smiled.
In short order, they docked and the airlock opened.
Cabot took a deep breath and marked the moment in his life. He was about to step onto Jamestown.
Then he was there. The docking bay didn’t seem different from those on Dragonfire. A little newer, maybe. Jamestown made him feel more at home than he’d felt in weeks.
How unexpected.
The contingent of grim-faced officers took some of the shine off the moment.
“By order of Admiral Krazinski, each of you will have a personal escort for the duration of your stay,” the commander who had stood with them said.
“Except for you, Ms. Caine. You’ll have three.”
Ditnya chuckled. “How kind of you to expend so much effort on my behalf.”
They all knew it had nothing to do with kindness, and that these “escorts” would more properly be called guards.
“We’ll show you to quarters where you can rest, if you wish. You can also order food to be delivered. Your quarters should be equipped with everything you need, but if there’s something else you require, let an escort know and it will be provided. You’re welcome to visit one another, but will not have access to the station. In the morning, you will receive a tour of it.”
Cabot was satisfied with that. Ditnya was no longer his problem. She was the problem of the PAC. All he needed was the go-ahead to return to Dragonfire. No doubt Omar and Nagali would hire a transport to take them back to Dauntless.
He was ready for some normalcy.
CABOT AWOKE to the feeling he wasn’t alone.
“Lights,” he commanded.
Immediately, full lights blinded him. Ugh. His eyes didn’t adjust so quickly. He did catch a glimpse of a Nagali-shaped irritation sitting on the side of his bed, though.
“Half lights,” he corrected.
Illumination adjusted, which was a welcome relief to his eyes.
“Why are you here?” He tried to be as dignified as he could, in his pajamas, with sleep crusting the corners of his eyes.
“I got lonely,” Nagali said. “This whole station, and no one I know. I felt out of place.”
He sat up. What she said felt surprisingly honest. More honest than he was used to from her.
“Why come here? Why not see Omar?”
She bit her lip at the spot just outside her furthest right incisor. It was one of her tells. She felt genuinely unsure of herself. “I don’t know. I wanted to see you.”
He decided to skip over how she’d gotten in. No doubt she’d convinced their “escorts” that she’d been invited over. Whatever. He didn’t care about that.
“Why?”
She inhaled a deep breath, then heaved it out, as if mere oxygen could give her strength.
Cabot was intrigued.
“Is it okay if I just…sleep here?” she asked. Instead of her usual smirk or haughtiness, she looked truly vulnerable.
“I won’t make trouble,” she added, eyes pleading.
He shouldn’t agree. She’d fooled him more than once. But her eyes. They pulled at him.
“Yes. If you just sleep, you can stay.” He thought about warning her against anything else, but didn’t. She seemed genuine enough that he quashed his instinct.
“Thanks.” Her eyes conveyed relief, and she went around the bed, slid under the covers, and went still.
Just like that.
“Good night,” he whispered.
But she was already asleep.
WHEN CABOT WOKE, Nagali was gone. He’d expected her to stick around until breakfast or use some other excuse to be near him. But instead, she’d left without a word.
What did it mean?
He felt like the galaxy as he knew it was slipping beneath his feet, depositing him into some place that looked like what he knew, but was something entirely different.
He felt groggy and a little cranky as he went through his morning routine of showering, shaving, dressing, and pulling his hair back into its low ponytail.
Was he getting too old for a ponytail? Maybe he should cut it short and grow into a proper old man. He couldn’t quite picture himself with short hair, though, so he sighed and accessed the breakfast menu.
Wow.
Life on Jamestown offered a wide variety. The menu included offerings from every PAC planet.
He was tempted to order an elaborate meal, since his screen indicated his meal was offered at the compliments of the PAC government.
In other words, it was free.
He saw no point in stuffing himself uncomfortably though, or letting good food go to waste. He ordered his usual Alturian blue mountain tea, toast, and a poached egg.
On second thought, he added some porridge. Just because he could.
When his escort delivered the food, no doubt having checked it for weapons and explosives beforehand, Cabot appreciated the perfect brownness of the toast and the ideal texture of the egg.
Jamestown didn’t fool around when it ca
me to food services.
He imagined Ditnya in her quarters two doors down, trying hard to find fault with her meal. The thought made him smile. Probably more than it ought to.
As he finished his breakfast, the door chime sounded. Was he being summoned for the admiral?
But when he went to the door, a familiar face greeted him.
“Wren,” he said. “What a delightful surprise.”
Her uncertain expression brightened. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been approved to visit, so can I come in?”
“Of course.” He moved aside to give her plenty of room.
When the doors closed behind her, she asked, “Are you okay? Getting everything you need?”
“So far so good,” he said, cautiously.
She nodded. “I thought everything would be okay. I just wanted to make sure. You know, see it with my own eyes.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
He gestured to the couch and she made herself comfortable.
“What brings you to Jamestown?” he asked. “Checking up on the repairs you helped make?”
“Oh, you hadn’t heard? I’ve accepted a permanent position here. I’m now working on some state-of-the-art ships, in addition to all the others that dock here.”
He searched his memory. He knew she’d been helping restore and upgrade the station after the damage it took. He didn’t remember noting that she’d made the move permanent, though.
“I’ve been preoccupied with other things the past few months,” he said. “My apologies.”
“No need for apologies,” Wren insisted. “I didn’t know it would be a permanent move, either. But a fresh start seemed like the right thing for me, you know?”
He didn’t, really. The life of a mechanic, and whatever drove Wren, was foreign to him. He really couldn’t fathom what motivated her.
But he agreed, “Of course,” because there was nothing else to say, and it was what she wanted to hear.
He genuinely liked Wren. She wasn’t an officer, and she wasn’t even enlisted. She was an opinionated Sarkavian with pale pink hair and a mind for anything with moving parts. Her status as a contractor made her an unusual choice for Jamestown to bring on as part of the crew complement, but rank and title aside, Wren was the best mechanic he’d ever known.