by Eric Thomson
Once out of the tube, Zack returned everything to its normal state and headed to the wardroom for a nightcap. As he walked in, he saw the third officer glance at him with surprise written all over her florid face.
“Evening, sir.” Zack nodded in her direction as he walked over to the small wet bar and poured himself a drink. He could feel Sonoda's piggish little eyes burn holes in his back.
Decker was glad he had no cuts or bruises that would arouse questions. Better he keeps this incident quiet and take care of Alers on his own terms. The bastard needed correcting before he got out of hand. Zack could ignore the seemingly accidental bumps, the malicious insolence in his manner, or even the minor pranks. He'd done shit like that to officers he disliked too when he was young and stupid. But this?
He turned around and swept the wardroom with a neutral gaze, sipping his whiskey. Sonoda was scowling into her herbal tea, looking like she'd just found a nest of rats in her engine room. The blazing dragon tattoo on the side of her head seemed to pulsate with a kind of inner pressure. In the opposite corner, the lupine first officer glanced up at him from her reader and let a small smile show on her lips as their eyes met. Zack felt an electric current run down his spine. Then she returned her attention to her technical manual.
Zack finished his glass and left the wardroom. He needed a shower and sleep, in that order. The day had started very early, and it was now almost six bells in the evening watch, close to twenty-three hundred hours.
Decker moved silently over the bare deck, as befitted a former Pathfinder, eyes and ears always alert. When he reached one of the gangways that led down to the crew quarters, he caught Alers' raspy voice coming from an equipment alcove behind the stairs. Zack stopped, glanced down the passageway in either direction, to make sure no one else was near, and crept closer.
“Fucking bastard, that Decker,” Alers growled. “Come here and dump on us with his arrogant Marine bullshit. He's only been on board a few weeks and already he lords it over us. Sucking up to the captain too. Why the hell do they let people like that on this ship?” He hiccupped. “Only thing I can say is the fucker better watch himself before he gets a real accident. Wouldn't be the first.”
Zack made out something that sounded like a man taking a sip of something boozy.
“Ah, that's good stuff, Alf,” the bosun continued. “I showed that asshole what was what tonight. Rammed him well and good into turret five's access tube.” Alers chuckled, as did his drinking companion.
Decker frowned for a moment then nodded. Alf Hartjen, the senior engineer's mate, Sonoda's right-hand man. Small guy, wiry but no threat. Hartjen hung on to Alers like a little dog will hang around a big dog. Zack shrugged and made a grimace of disgust. The engineer's mate would hide behind Alers while the latter fought until he saw an opening for a stiletto in the back.
“Next time you ram me well and good,” Zack said, words lashing out like a whip as he filled the doorway to the alcove, “better make sure I'm down for the count, Alers.”
The bosun stared at him in amazement and fear.
“How the hell did you escape on your own?” He asked.
“Wouldn't you like to know, asshole?” He looked at Hartjen and pointed his thumb at the gangway. “Go play in the engine room, rat-face. Now.”
The engineer glanced nervously at Alers, then back at Zack and decided not to take any chances. The promise of violence in the gunner's eyes was enough to scare him. He scurried out of the alcove like the rodent he resembled.
When he was out of sight, Decker grabbed Alers by the front of his coveralls and hauled him to his feet, lifting the man until the two were face to face. Then, without warning, Zack slammed his rock-hard fist into Alers' midriff several times in rapid succession. When bosun retched, Decker threw him against the bulkhead so hard that the thick alloy rang with a dull clang. Alers collapsed into a heap, panting and coughing. A thin trickle of blood ran out of the corner of his mouth.
Zack squatted down beside him, grabbed his chin and forced the bosun to look at him. A rictus of violence distorted the ex-Marine's face.
“Listen up and listen good, you little turd. The fucking around stops now. I don't give a shit what you like or don't about me. You're a petty officer, and I'm a warrant officer. Two different worlds, see. You have a grievance against me, you bring it up with the second officer. Next time you so much as bump into me by accident, I will make sure they find your stinking body floating outside the airlock without a suit. You hear me?”
When Alers didn't answer, Zack raised the tone of his voice and brought his face within centimeters of the bosun's.
“You fucking hear me, shithead?”
“Yes,” he replied in a hoarse voice.
“Yes what, asshole?”
“Yes sir, Mister Gunner, sir.” Alers coughed several times.
“What I said goes for your mates and buddies too, Alers. The captain hired me to do a job on this ship, and I'm doing it. It isn't my fault if you're not doing yours worth shit and Strachan has to ride you hard. But that's not my problem. Just remember: the next time you piss me off is the last time you'll ever do anything again. You wouldn't be the first idiot I kill, either.”
To make his point as clear as possible, Zack drew his dagger from its hidden sheath and brushed the blade across Alers' face, leaving behind a thin line of blood. The bosun's eyes widened in fear and a sudden stench of urine permeated the alcove. Decker made a grimace of disgust, stood and left the bosun alone in his piss.
Not good, the gunner thought, shaking his head in annoyance at his actions as he walked down the passageway. Alers just humiliated himself in front of Decker, and would look for revenge, no matter what. Few men would let it pass and still believe they could think of themselves as men.
*
Already in her bunk, Nihao looked at him with curiosity but didn’t comment as he stripped off his soiled coveralls with knuckles skinned by his work on the access hatch. Zack took a quick shower and then jumped into bed without bothering to put on a t-shirt or shorts. His mind was on things far removed from his bunkie.
“Need the lights, Zack?”
“No. Go ahead and turn ‘em off.”
After a few moments in the dark, he heard her turn onto her back and put her hands under her head.
“What happened tonight, Zack?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re almost two hours late, for one thing.”
Decker glanced at his watch. Shit, she was right: almost eight bells, he thought, and me so regular in my habits.
“Your hands seem to have been through a meat grinder.”
“You know, Nihao,” he replied sourly, “you sound just like my ex-wife.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “I’m sorry for that crack. You’re the only one on this ship who cares enough to notice, and I’m thankful.”
She grunted in reply. Not quite absolution, but close enough.
“I had a few problems with turret five. Cracked gimbal and defective hatch mechanism. Took me longer than expected to fix. Was a bastard too, hence the torn-up hands.”
When her snort sounded close to disbelief, Zack wondered for the first time how fast news traveled on board this ship, and how many people knew about his confrontation with the bosun. More to the point, Zack wondered how long he would last aboard Shokoten at this rate.
If he was right in his suspicions, the captain wouldn’t tolerate a disruptive officer for long, no matter where the fault lay. And his removal might be more than a layoff notice and a shove down the gangplank. This was no regimented company ship but a free trader that almost certainly dabbled in illegal business. They had their own ways of solving problems.
Zack frowned at another thought. “Say, Nihao?”
“Yes?”
“To who does this ship belong, anyway? I can’t see Strachan having enough dough to own it himself.”
“You’re correct, the captain does not. The ship is owned by a holding company.”
&nb
sp; “Holding company?”
“What? Is there an echo in here?” Nihao asked with an edge of sarcasm in her tone. “That is what I said.”
“Eh, Nihao?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s a holding company?”
She snorted with amusement. “You don’t get out much in the Marine Corps, do you? Nowadays, a holding company is mostly used as a blind, or a means to confuse people. It permits the real owners or investors to hide behind an anonymous corporate name.”
“Listen, Zack, I’m not sure I should tell you this, but I found out about Shokoten’s ownership by accident. As purser, I have to deal with accounts and the like, and one day the captain gave me accounts he should have handled himself. I don’t know whether he realized his mistake.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to confide in anyone aboard, present company excepted.”
“Okay. Well, the holding company is called Intertrans and is registered on Mykonos. I did a little digging during my last leave, just out of curiosity. Its board of directors comprises ordinary Mykonos businesspeople who are paid a small honorarium for the use of their names. The actual shares in the company are held by another holding company, and those, in turn, are owned by several trusts. I could not trace it any further. Suffice to say, the ultimate owner does not want his or her name associated with Shokoten.”
“Why? It sounds like a strange way to do business. Has Shokoten been doing illegitimate crap?”
He could feel her hesitate.
“Not to my knowledge,” she finally replied, sounding as if she didn’t quite believe herself. “We’ve been hauling perfectly legal cargo since I was hired.”
Yeah, and I have a prime piece of swamp to sell you on New-Tasman, complete with a colony of vytyrek.
Zack grimaced in the darkness, unconvinced by Nihao. The more he discovered about the ship and her crew, the more he wondered about the wisdom of signing on. All he needed now was for someone to question whether he was really a Fleet or Constabulary plant, out to spy on whatever smuggling activities Shokoten did, if any.
Nihao Kiani soon fell asleep, but Decker remained wide-awake, wondering whether Lokis’ death had something to do with the unanswered questions about the ship. He wanted to ask her but didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize their budding relationship. She would come around and tell him one day. Zack just hoped it would be soon enough. Shokoten was landing on Pradyn in less than twenty-four hours, and that’s where the former gunner met his end.
Five
“Any questions about your job once we’re on the ground, Zack?”
“No, Captain. First thing, I make sure the security system’s online and working. Then, I make an outside visual of the ship. When the stevedores come to unload the cargo, I post guards at all airlocks so nobody tries to sneak in, and then watch the unloading with the second officer. Once that’s done, I make sure all access points of the ship except the main personnel hatch are secure and can’t be opened, except by authorization from the officer of the watch, and post a guard at the airlock round the clock. Then I can take liberty.” Decker grinned.
Strachan nodded with satisfaction. “Aye, but you’re back on board for loading, which means less liberty than you may think.”
Decker dropped his grin and shrugged, unconcerned.
“That’s why you pay me.”
“Pradyn is one of the most civilized places in the Shield, which means you don’t have to be on full alert to make sure the natives don’t steal the hyperdrive nacelles from under your nose. But it also means they’re more efficient. Turnover can be quick.”
“Job’s a job, Captain. If I don’t have time to play tourist, so what?” Decker didn’t much care about getting liberty. Not on this planet at any rate.
“Okay, Zack.” Strachan glanced at the chronometer. “We’re about to enter Pradyn’s defensive sphere, and you’d better stand by at your station. It’s quite an experience to see their version of tech, funny really, but the natives take it seriously. They have enough problems with marauders, mainly human pirates, that they take no one at face value.”
“Captain.” Decker nodded and left Strachan’s cabin for the bridge.
He met the bosun at the juncture of the central passageway. The man seemed to have recovered from his encounter with Zack’s knife and sneered at the warrant officer. But he kept his distance, like a beaten dog. A vicious dog who carried a mean grudge.
Decker smiled back and brushed his hand over his dagger. He had the satisfaction of watching Alers scurry away. When the petty officer was out of sight, Zack dropped his fixed grin and sighed. Something would eventually break. Alers wasn’t the kind to keep a grip on reality forever if he let hate gnaw at him.
Unfortunately, Zack couldn’t help pushing him further towards the edge. He had a hidden mean streak that was sometimes hard to control, which was why he was working on a freighter instead of a frigate.
The small Pradyn guard cutter grew on the viewscreen, and Zack had to smile at its appearance. It was ornate, heavily decorated and looked ludicrous in space. It reminded him of the pre-spaceflight ceremonial barges he’d seen in the Fleet Museum.
Gold fittings seemed to glint all over the voluptuous, gondola-like hull and painted, multicolor creatures capered on either side of the cockpit window.
“Come, Mister Decker, time to greet our visitors.”
The first officer’s voice was a silky purr, and Zack had to suppress an involuntary shiver.
“Why isn’t the captain meeting them?” He asked her once they had left the bridge for the shuttle bay. He had learned that Darhad wasn’t averse to his questions if they concerned business or if her answers could help advance some personal agenda.
“Face, Mister Decker, face. The Pradyni are a status-conscious species, and it would be demeaning for the captain of a great human ship to waste his valuable time on a minor customs official. By sending an underling, Captain Strachan gains status and face with the local authorities, and that will make things smoother once we land.”
“Mere underling?” Decker chuckled as he glanced at Darhad’s elegant profile.
She smiled back, showing her sharp teeth.
“Do not let my choice of words influence you, Gunner, but you may be right. Perhaps a first officer is too high for those puffed-up bureaucrats. Still, they’re expecting to meet a human male and it always shakes them to meet an Arkanna female. Psychological advantage.”
Decker nodded his approval. He could appreciate her reasoning.
“I guess the Pradyni don’t let their females in high positions.”
“No, they don’t, Gunner.” Zack couldn’t tell whether she was amused or annoyed. “Female Pradyni are mere chattel with few rights and limited education. I gather polygamy of some sort is the norm. Barbaric, especially for a space faring race. You humans are responsible for giving them too much technology too fast at a vulnerable stage in their social development. It would have been better if they evolved towards space flight themselves. That way their social structures could have evolved too and freed the females from their condition. But I suppose one should not judge an alien culture by one’s own social norms, so long as it has no bearing on one’s own.”
They reached the shuttle bay just as the customs boat crossed the force field that kept the ship’s atmosphere from escaping through the open space doors. Its hull crackled blue with energy as it passed through. Grappling arms seized it the moment it was in the bay, bled away the static build-up from the field, and deposited the cutter in the center of the pad.
Zack touched the loaded blaster at his hip. No humanoid species could mistake the large, deadly looking weapon for something other than an instrument of death. The former noncom and his gun were the only security for this encounter. When he saw the customs official step out of his boat, he smiled grimly and nodded. He would be more than able to control any problem.
“Welcome aboard Shokoten,” Darhad said in slow, precise Anglic. She pl
aced her right hand over the hollow beneath her throat and nodded. Zack saw a flash of talons at her fingertips and wondered whether it had been intentional or an instinctive reflex. “I am Ship’s Second Raisa Darhad. This is Warrior Leader Zack Decker.”
Zack raised his eyebrows at the unusual titles she used, then realized that these probably translated better into whatever language the alien spoke. Darhad must have dealt with Pradyni before this. Since she hadn’t taught him the proper greeting, Decker decided against imitating her gestures. He remained in the parade rest position and stared at the official.
Pradyni were human shaped, but where Darhad could pass for a human mutation that hadn’t seen the sun since birth, the official would never be mistaken for anything but a member of another species. His hairless skin was mottled in various hues of blue, brown, and green. It appeared dry, leathery, and wrinkled. He had no visible ears.
Unblinking, large, black eyes stared at Decker. Small nostrils pierced the tip of an elongated snout, just above a full mouth. A thin blue tongue flicked out every so often as if testing the air.
He held a four-digit hand against his throat, just as Darhad had done and bowed back. His thick fingers had black claws on their tips, and these were decorated with small dots of gold, silver, and red.
When the official opened his mouth to speak, Decker saw a row of sharp, spike-like teeth. The Pradyni had a bad case of rotting meat breath.
“Thank you, Darhad. Welcome to Pradyn. I am Frykil Bvanis, customs officer of his Imperial Majesty, the Glorious Ruler, and Guardian of the First Egg, Wesshti the Sublime.”
His Anglic was labored but understandable—barley. If the female Arkanna’s presence had rattled him because he expected a human male, they could tell. But Zack figured he’d never be able to read anything off that reptilian face and in those cold, dead eyes.