Echoes of Starlight

by Eric Michael Craig

  Up until last night, he hadn’t accepted that they’d take his Shipmaster license away for good. He’d held on to the hope that somehow through it all, doing the right thing would have been more important than doing things right.

  But that’s not how it worked. Not in the real world.

  I don’t even know how long they’ll let me stay here, he realized. I’m no longer an officer in CSL service so they might throw me out today. Maybe they’ll let me pay a night or two out of my pocket and I can hang in here long enough to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.

  He had some cred put back, enough for a year if he lived smart, and the threshold disbursements would keep him from ever falling through the cracks, even if he wasn’t smart.

  He laid with his eyes closed on the edge of dozing off as images of places he could go to hide from the crash landing of his life drifted through his mind. In the last three years, he’d been to most of the colony worlds, so he knew about what places would be most likely to fit his needs. The only thing he knew for sure was if he couldn’t fly, he’d want to be as far from the hub worlds as possible.

  No place leaped out at him as being far enough away where he wouldn’t end up being a rock farmer.

  Another wave of grief washed over him as he raged against his own inner demons. By sheer force of will, he pulled his head back out of the fogbank that threatened to swallow him.

  Rolling onto his side, he eased to a vertical position. This time the spins settled a little quicker than before, and he managed to get all the way to a standing position. He couldn’t hear the voices in the other room, so they must be gone. He staggered over to the bedroom console and tapped the screen.

  The chrono said it was 1310.

  That can’t be right. He found his thinpad and confirmed the time. He hadn’t slept past 0600 in years. In fact he didn’t remember ever seeing the high side of morning from his bed.

  Well, except when he had a warm body in bed with him.

  Looking around the room for his clothes, he saw them folded on a chair beside the door. Whoever got me into bed was neat. Probably Nuko.

  He smiled for a brief moment, but then the bricks of reality rained down on him again. She and Rene were going to have to post to other ships. They would be going their separate ways and he would be looking for work. On the ground somewhere.

  I just have to get through the day, he thought. None of it matters, at this point.

  “I don’t have to figure this all out today,” he said to himself.

  “Good afternoon Captain Walker,” the console’s AI said, detecting his presence from his voice. “You have a message.”

  “Who’s it from?” he asked, annoyed that the computer sounded so cheerful.

  “Sender identity is blocked. It was received from a public data exchange,” it said.

  Blocked? Who blocks their ID?

  Debt collectors and legal advisors, he realized. The first one he could ignore, at least until he had his feet back on the deck. The second one could be a problem.

  Sitting down on the edge of the bed again, he sighed. “Play it.”

  “It is text only. Shall I read it to you?”

  “Sure go ahead,” he said, looking over at his clothes and deciding he might want to scrub before he got dressed. A hot shower would help get his brain online too.

  The console screen lit up, but the computer read the message aloud. “Priority delivery. Captain Walker please report to 141-260 Promenade-Two, Cochrane Station-One, at 1600 hours today. End.”

  “That’s all there is?” he asked, scratching his head while he leaned forward and read it again. “And there was no sender listed?”

  “Negative,” it said.

  “What is at that address?”

  “Transportation Division, Smythe Biomedical Technologies.”

  “Frak that can’t be good,” he groaned. “I bet CSL chucked me under the lander.”

  “Unable to formulate response,” the AA said.

  “I don’t suppose there’s anything regarding my inquiry?” he asked.

  “Negative.”

  “How about from Nuko and Rene?” he asked. “They were here this morning weren’t they?”

  “Yes,” it said.

  “Did they say where they were going?”

  “Negative,” it said. “The four other occupants of your suite left several minutes ago and left no message for you.”

  Not even a goodbye. Probably better that way.

  He looked at his folded clothes. A basic duty uniform. Getting up he grabbed it off the chair and walked over to the recycler bin and dropped it down the chute.

  Yah, better that way.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Promenade Two was the upper deck of CS-1 and had huge bands of clear plasglass that arched high overhead and gave a view of the entire old Galileo station and the faint wispy band that was the opposite side of the huge ring. The view was stunning even for someone that had spent a large portion of his adult life traveling through space.

  The only downside to living on the Upper Promenade in Ethan’s mind was it was also where the creds lived. Huge grotesque piles of wealth lay hidden in the Earthlike parks and towers that rose up to, and even in some cases through, the crystal vault that held the world inside.

  He didn’t want to be here, but he knew he had to face the idea that the system wasn’t through chewing on him. He had nothing left to bleed. He hoped that if he could just get past this moment and its probable outcome, he could just walk away.

  Maybe rock farming is a better future for me.

  At least then, he might forget he once rode the stars.

  Stepping off the slidewalk in front of his destination, he stared up at the building. It rose a dozen decks toward the sky above. Standing at the base of the tower, he couldn’t tell for sure if it was one of the spires that penetrated through the enclosure but it seemed likely, since there were several ships docked to what looked like a private stanchion directly over his head.

  Without thinking he sorted the vessels into classes, personal cruisers, private shuttles, and a few freighters. His heart almost ground to a halt when he saw a Percheron Class hauler like the Olympus Dawn docked close to the upper end of the piling.

  Pulling his eyes down, he looked at the deck under his feet and shook his head. “That’s my past,” he said. “And this is my future.”

  Taking a deep breath, he let it out. “Let’s get this over with.” As he stepped toward the front of the building, a scanning beam swept over him and he paused. The door opened, and a voice came over the audio system. “Welcome to Smythe Transportation Center, Captain Walker. Please come in and someone will be right with you.”

  I’m not a captain anymore, he thought. I’ve got to keep reminding myself of that.

  The inside of the building looked bigger than it had on the outside. He paused to process the view up through the center of the tower and it took him a second to realize that the illusion came from reflective partitions positioned so that they seemed to disappear when you looked directly at them.

  A man appeared in front of one wall and he shook his head. He hadn’t literally appeared, but rather had come around a corner that wasn’t visible. As the man walked across the distance in his direction, Ethan realized that he was massive. Even more imposing than Pruitt, if that was possible.

  He wore an expensive business suit that looked like it strained its structural integrity just to keep his physique contained. “Captain Walker?” the man said. “I’m Jefferson Cordwain. I’ve been asked to attend to your needs until the meeting starts.”

  Jefferson Cordwain. Good name for a legal advisor. I am obviously so foobed here, he thought shaking the man’s hand. “Actually, it’s not captain anymore,” he added.

  Cordwain raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I wasn’t aware of a change in your status, but regardless, if you’ll follow me please.”

  “Why am I here?” Ethan asked as he followed the man down a more n
ormal looking hallway.

  “I’m not authorized to discuss that,” he said.

  They’d stopped at a door and a biometric scanner swept the man’s outstretched hand. “If you’ll wait here, I’ll let the boss know you’re ready. There is coffee on the table for you, and if you need anything else, the AA will let me know.”

  “Real coffee?” he asked, forgetting for a moment that it felt like his life was about to spin out of control again. “Not pseudojo?”

  “I believe she had them prepare Escobosa Bold for you, although it might be Boa Vista Black,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’ll let her know you’re waiting.”

  A coffee urn sat on a sideboard and other than that and a table with eight chairs around it, there was nothing else in the room. Everything was white on white with a side of white. It felt a bit like he imagined a conference room in a very expensive hospital to be. Sterile and lifeless, but with an edge of luxury.

  He had no idea how long he waited, but he’d just poured his second cup of coffee and returned to the table when the door opened.

  Shaking his head in disbelief and anger, he stood up the instant she walked in.

  Keira Caldwell.

  “I don’t have anything to say to you,” he said, stepping back from the table. “Nothing personal but, well, yeah it’s personal. Thanks for the coffee, but I’ll be leaving now.”

  “Ethan, please. Wait,” she pleaded, stepping around in front of him as he angled for the door.

  He paused and cut back around the opposite direction and accelerated for the exit.

  “I got your Shipmaster certification back,” she said as his hand hit the door plate and it slid open. Cordwain leaned against the wall on the opposite side of the hall, surveying his fingernails. He looked up and shook his head.

  Ethan skidded to a stop, grabbing the door jamb to swing back in Kaycee’s direction. “You did what?”

  “Ethan please, come back in and sit down. Finish your coffee and let’s talk,” she said, nodding at the chair at the end of the table and sliding his cup toward it. “If I haven’t convinced you to hear me out by the time you’ve finished it, you’re free to go.”

  He stepped back inside the room and set his feet. The door slid closed behind him. He crossed his arms, he glared. “Let’s start with what you just said. You got my licenses back?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding as she turned and poured herself a cup.

  He still hadn’t moved when she turned back around. “Please sit down and I’ll explain,” she said. “There are a few things I haven’t been entirely honest about, and when I realized how things were playing out, I had to make it right.”

  “Just get to the part where you explain how you got the tribunal to lift the suspension,” he said, sitting down and picking up his coffee. “And you better talk fast because this is a small cup.

  “I went to the public hearing and spoke on your behalf,” she said. “I’m pretty persuasive when I want to be. And it helps that CSL earns a fair portion of its revenue from Smythe.”

  “So you got Smythe to use their influence to swing the decision?”

  “You could say that,” she said, pulling a thinpad out of her pocket and tossing it onto the table in front of him.

  He looked at it but didn’t touch it. “What’s that?”

  “My ID. Look at it.”

  He set the cup down. Half empty. Dragging the thinpad in front of him, he glanced at it and shrugged.

  “Read it.” she said.

  Smythe-Caldwell, Keira Jayne, MD. PhD. STIF.

  “Smythe-Caldwell?” he asked.

  She grinned. “My legal name has one of those snob hyphens in it, so I choose to forget the Smythe when I introduce myself.”

  He nodded realizing he’d been right all along. They didn’t breathe the same air.

  “Ever hear of Charles Alexander Smythe?”

  “The first Chancellor of the Coalition? He started this company didn’t he?”

  “Yah. His son married my mother. It just makes my life easier if I use her name most of the time,” she said. “Unless of course I need to pull in a favor, and then it’s all in the name.”

  “So you leaned on them and got them to change direction on pulling my ticket,” he said. He picked his cup up and took another big sip. “Thanks, but with a black mark like I’ve got even with a license, nobody will hire me. CSL sold my ship out from under me and a corporate cargo company won’t even look in my direction. I’ve got no ship, and no prospects.”

  “Yah, about that,” she pulled the thinpad back across the table in her direction and thumbed the screen forward. “Turns out I own a ship and I’m looking for a captain.”

  “You own a ship?” he said.

  “I do now.” she said, nodding. “I just bought one.”

  “I’m not a yacht driver,” he said, shaking his head and taking another sip of coffee. He glanced into the cup. One more sip and he was done.

  “I know,” she said.” She pushed the thinpad back to him. The title and registration for a ship was on the screen.

  He scanned over the documents and stopped when he got to the registration numbers, blinking several times before he shook his head. “What the frak is going on here?”

  “I bought the Olympus Dawn.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ethan swallowed the last of his coffee and pushed back from the table. Shaking his head, he frowned. “Sorry, something is twisty here.”

  “No, it’s clean,” she said. “I closed on it yesterday before your hearing.”

  “I’m sure you did, but I’m even more sure there is something stinking in the boiler room.” He stood up.

  “I wanted to make sure I saved your ship for you,” she said.

  Her eyes looked like she was serious, but it was too far from believable to be true. “Why did you do that?” he asked, leaning forward and picking up the thinpad again to scan it.

  “Because I thought it might be a good investment?” she said, shrugging. “I don’t want to own the ship itself, since I know nothing about freelance shipping. I just plan to turn the title over to the captain. Once you say yes.”

  “I appreciate what you’re offering, but I know how much the Dawn had to cost you. You don’t make that kind of ‘investment’ without wanting something for it. As much cred as you had to swing to do it, those are going to be some damned hefty strings.”

  He couldn’t believe he was about to walk out on the one thing he wanted more than anything. But he was pretty sure that was exactly what he was going to do. “Thanks for the coffee and for getting my Shipmaster certs cleaned for me.”

  “Don’t you want to know what I want in exchange for it? Before you leave?”

  He hauled in a heavy breath, holding it for several seconds before he let it leak back out. He set his hands flat on the table and tensed to push himself away, but he just couldn’t do it.

  Frak. He had to know.

  “Fine. Tell me,” he said, looking down and the empty cup. “You’re on borrowed time so talk quick.”

  “All I want is the right to pick some of the jobs you take. Only once in a while.” She looked up at him, and her face said there was something else she wanted to add to that statement.

  The caveat of doom.

  “Pick some jobs?” he asked. “I won’t carry illegal cargo, so if that’s what you’re thinking we’re done.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” she said, her face showing genuine shock at the suggestion.

  “Then what kind of jobs?”

  “You know I lost almost my whole family on Starlight, and I can’t let that go without looking into it more thoroughly,” she said. “The jobs I am talking about would be things that might shine some light into the corners of what happened.”

  “You need a science vessel for that,” he said. “The Olympus Dawn is a cargo ship.”

  “I know that. But they’ve quarantined the whole system, so we couldn’t get close enough to do a study,
anyway.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “Have you read any of the reports from the Magellan yet?”

  “I’ve tried not to. It burns a bit looking at what happened,” he said. “And I didn’t think they’d released anything yet.”

  “Not officially,” she said. “Elias is still out there, and he’s pushed me a little of the inside scan. They’re saying it was a virus.”

  “That sounds plausible,” Walker said. He eased himself back into his chair. He wasn’t sure he would keep his seat, but her proposal intrigued him enough to listen a while longer.

  “No it doesn’t,” she said. “You were clean when you came back. We all were.”

  “Just because we didn’t step in the alien goo, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

  “Then explain the power drain that took out Marti’s automech,” she challenged. “Every bit of the hardware in the entire colony was wiped clean and sucked to the bone.”

  “That is odd,” he acknowledged.

  “Unfortunately, that isn’t the thing that bothers me the most.” She leaned forward and set her elbows on the table. “If it was a virus, explain to me why trained medical staff would lock those kids in a room with an open air vent?”

  He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “And then they set up an explosive trap to protect them. You don’t use a bomb to stop a virus.”

  “Exactly my thought,” she said.

  “Let’s say I agree that things stink like a blown recycler line,” he said. “What do you expect to do with a freighter? If they’ve locked down K-186, we won’t be able to stick our nose in there.”

  “Right now, I don’t have any ideas,” she said. “What I do know is that indie crews talk to each other, and if something is blowing sidewise, they’d be the ones to know.”

  “You bought the Olympus Dawn so I could chase rumors for you?”

  She nodded. “So we can.”

  “We?”

  “Yah you need a ship medic,” she said. “I think I might be qualified.”

  And there’s the caveat, he thought.

  “You are frakking with me, yes?” He laughed at the absurdity of the idea. “You’re the heir to one of the ten wealthiest families in the entire Coalition, and you expect me to believe you want to roster in on a freighter crew.”