by Eric Thomson
What was it the she-wolf said? A glitch in the housekeeping program. Accident.
Not that he believed it for a moment, but there was something else. Oh yeah. She had said he was fixing the launcher's command board. How would she know? He hadn’t known the board was down until he pulled it, and all he had done was reset the chip and reroute the command functions. Then he’d shoved it back in its slot. Then the hatch slammed shut, and the compartment vented.
The door opened, and Kiani walked in, her face a mask of concern
“How are you doing, Zack? You look like hell though I understand it will fade away by the time we make port. Are you hungry or thirsty yet?”
Zack grinned.
“A cold beer and a hoagie would be nice, Nihao.”
She frowned and wagged her finger at Zack.
“I think not, Zack. No beer or junk food until you have fully recovered. Synthmilk, soyburgers and hydroponics greens are the only things on your approved menu.”
Decker made a face.
“Then I guess I'm well enough to return to duty.”
He sat up, earning another burst of nausea and slowly settled down again, grimacing. Kiani laid a restraining hand on his chest.
“No, Zack. You are a very sick man. Catastrophic decompression is not something the body shrugs off in one afternoon. It will take time.”
“Can I at least receive visitors?”
“Sure. Do you wish me to send out invitations?”
“Hell, no. Just ask the first officer if she has time to see me.”
Nihao frowned.
“You enjoy living dangerously, Zack?”
He shrugged. “I want to find out more about this supposed accident.”
“Why supposed?”
“I think Raisa Darhad is wrong. I can’t figure why, but she is.”
“Perhaps you imagine things. Who would go to such lengths to kill you?”
“Yeah,” Decker replied, eyes half-closed in thought, “who?” Alers was who, but he didn't do it alone. Not by a long shot.
*
“You wanted to speak with me, Gunner?” Raisa Darhad stood beside Zack's bunk, hands clasped behind her back. They were alone in the cabin and for once, she didn’t try to manipulate the ex-Marine with her pheromones. Even predatory females had enough mercy to give wounded males a chance to recover. She needed to concentrate on his feelings right now, and they were clouded enough with pain that she didn't need sexual arousal as well.
“Yes, sir. Would you repeat what you told me when I woke last night, just after you recovered me from the launcher?”
She nodded and did as asked, repeating her statement word for word. It matched what Zack remembered.
“May I speak frankly, sir?”
“Certainly, Gunner.” She could almost smell the skepticism. Decker was no fool.
“Let's cut the crap, Mister Darhad. You know it was a set-up and not an accident, though your explanation was plausible.”
“And what makes you speak thus, Gunner?” She didn't seem offended at his tone or words, rather the contrary.
“Something you said yesterday that didn't fit, sir. You said I was fixing the command board when the housekeeping program went overboard. There's no way for you to know. I didn't find out the launcher had a busted board until I got there, and I fixed it on the spot so you wouldn't even notice the job. No spare parts lying around.”
She nodded, smiling her predatory smile again.
“Go on.”
“Housekeeping programs don't develop unexpected glitches like that either, especially when the systems have triple safety checks. I distinctly remember the hatch slamming shut and the venting start the moment I shoved the board back into its slot. If I had to booby trap the launcher bay, I probably wouldn't have done it any different. Whoever did it rigged the board's I/O feeds to the compartment housekeeping subroutine. The moment the circuit was re-established, puff! It's not very hard to do if you know how.”
Darhad arched her eyebrows.
“Impressive, Gunner. That is indeed what I found when I investigated. I realized it was the command board you worked on because that is where your scent was strongest. I did not discover the 'booby trap' as you call it, until this morning, though it is circumstantial evidence at best, and will never satisfy an official investigation. It will not come to that, anyhow.”
“Who did it, and why?” Scent? Somehow, the thought of Raisa Darhad literally sniffing around the launcher bay was disturbing.
“I couldn’t say. At least not for sure.”
“Alers?”
“Possible. But he would not have been able to do it himself.”
“Yeah, there's that. The bugger's too stupid. Good only for strong-arming the crew. He must have had help somewhere along the line. So what're you going to do?”
“First, as per the captain's orders, treat this incident as an accident. Anything more and we would open ourselves to an official investigation, at the minimum by transportation safety inspectors from the government. We don't want this as you can imagine. Second, you will stay in your cabin until we reach Wyvern. Considering your state that is necessary anyway. Third, the bosun will be beached at Wyvern. He has become increasingly unstable and is creating more and more chaos on the lower deck. The captain has already radioed ahead for a replacement.”
“And what about whoever helped the bastard?”
“Short of interrogating Alers, I have no way of finding out but -”
“Leave him to me, Raisa, leave him to me. It'll be Sonoda for sure.”
“As I was saying, Mister Decker,” she frowned, reminding Zack that such familiarity was acceptable only on liberty, not on the ship, “I have no way of finding Alers' helpers, but with him out of the way, I doubt we shall have any more problems. The other, ah, suspects don't have reason to act alone. And please keep any accusations against superior officers to yourself. Anything else?”
“Yeah.” Zack locked eyes with her. “One more thing. You know little about me, I haven't served with you more than a couple of weeks. Yet you’re already taking care of me as if I was an old mate, which is strange since I seem to attract more than my share of trouble. Why?”
“That’s simple, Zack. We need your skills,” she answered calmly, as if she had been expecting the question, “and value your abilities. You have more experience and discipline than most on this ship, and you have already proven you were trustworthy.”
And not only because of your reaction to the contraband, my friend. Your emotions are easy to read. You are open and guileless, almost a cub which is just as rare in this business as a Master Gunner.
“The universe is a dangerous place, especially for merchant ships with our sort of business interests. Few have the luxury of hiring someone like you, and that is a luxury we wish to keep. If you had not been as efficient or as dedicated, we might not have been so solicitous.”
Decker nodded. That was an explanation he could accept. It reeked of enlightened self-interest, which he expected from people who lived to make a profitable run. Very well then, he would strive to return their confidence by doing his job well, which he couldn't from his bed. But orders were orders.
“You had better sleep now, Zack. We dock at Wyvern in seven days, and we will need you to perform your duties when we arrive. In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
Yeah, Zack thought, you can strip naked and jump in bed with me now. I’ll be feeling better in no time.
He caught an indefinable glint in her eyes as she waited for an answer. A small, wry smile formed on her lips, and Decker had the eerie sensation that she knew what he had just been imagining.
“There is something you can do,” he said, looking away, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I wouldn't mind having a reader with access to the ship's data banks, and a channel to monitor my station's activities by remote. That way, if we get in trouble, I can help without getting up.”
“As you wish, Gunner,” she nodded on
ce, the smile never leaving her face. “But we have crossed back into Commonwealth space and should be safe from marauders.”
“Take nothing for granted, sir. That way we'll all stay alive longer.”
“So far, you seem to be successful. I shall try to visit you at least once a watch. Would you like that?”
“Very much, sir,” Decker grinned.
“Until later then.”
*
An alarm siren broke through Zack's unsettled sleep, and his first reaction was to pull his blaster from its recessed shelf above the bunk. But as he woke, he realized it wasn't the battle stations siren. It was the emergency call. Before he could climb out of bed and pull on some clothes, the alarm stopped.
He flicked on the intercom above his head. “Bridge, this is the gunner. What's the problem?”
“Fourth officer here, Mister Decker. There's been an accident in the cargo hold. One of the containers broke free of its magnetic clamps and shifted.”
Zack's eyebrows shot up. Two unexpected and unusual accidents within days of each other.
“Anybody hurt?”
“Yeah. The bosun was crushed. He's dead.” Gareth's voice held little regret for Alers.
“Thanks. Gunner, out.”
Decker slumped back in his bed, lost in thought. Accident or murder? Magnetic clamps weren't supposed to fail just like that. And exactly at the moment Alers was walking by on his daily inspection of the hold? What the hell was happening?
*
Darhad came by a few hours later to check on Zack’s condition.
“You heard about the accident, I presume?” Her face was expressionless, and if Decker read Arkanna body language properly, guileless.
“Yeah. Can’t say I’m sorry to see the bastard gone. I’ll leave the pious hypocrisy to others. How did it happen?”
“One of the magnetic clamps failed in the last day or so. The other one was not strong enough to prevent the container from shifting under the vibrations of the engines. It was unfortunate that the second clamp gave up the struggle just as Alers was passing by.”
“Unfortunate indeed,” Decker murmured, narrowed eyes watching Darhad with suspicion.
She noticed his reaction and shook her head.
“It was a straightforward accident. I found no signs of tampering. The captain ordered an inspection of every clamp, and we found several more showing excessive wear.”
“Convenient. It saves me the trouble of killing him myself.”
“As you say, Gunner.”
Somehow, he didn’t believe the she-wolf. His ‘accident’ wasn’t one, and neither was Alers’. But it solved his particular problem and put the bosun’s accomplice on notice, so who was he to dig any further?
*
By the time Shokoten skipped out of hyperspace, Zack Decker was back at his accustomed station on the bridge. He still experienced discomfort, but most of the bruising had faded. The intervening week had been very educational for the former Pathfinder. He was now as well acquainted with the ship as her master, if not more so.
“We have contact with Wyvern control,” the fifth officer’s raspy voice rang out from the navigator’s station. “Transmitting approach trajectory now.” A few moments later, “course laid in and beaconed. ETA in four hours.”
“Thank you, Mister Sladek. Stand down from emergence stations. Please tell me when we have our landing window. You have the con.”
“Captain.”
Strachan left the bridge and Sladek slipped into the vacated chair, slaving the navigation readout to the small display screen in the chair’s arm. Zack decided to try out a few ideas he’d had while he was laid up and spent the next few hours reprogramming the fire control system.
*
Wyvern finally hove into sight, and the captain reclaimed his chair for the delicate landing procedure. With only fifty million inhabitants, it was still an open, pleasant, and unpolluted planet, and Decker was looking forward to a bit of civilized liberty. But it was not to be.
If the change of cargo had been relatively swift on Pradyn, one of the technobarbarian worlds, it was even more so on an orderly and well-governed human planet.
Robots quickly unloaded the containers less than two hours after touchdown at the busy Draconis Spaceport, and Zack barely had time to run a full check of the hold before the outbound cargo was brought on board. But since Captain Strachan and Nihao Kiani, had business ashore, their departure wasn’t scheduled until the wee hours of the morning.
The officers, save for Sonoda and Kiani, ate supper together at the Guildhall's Officer's Club. Only one thing disturbed Decker's brief bout ashore, and that was the annoying sensation of being observed, just as on Pradyn. Though Zack tried, he couldn't see anyone suspicious.
When they returned on board, Decker met the new bosun. She was a no-nonsense woman of indeterminate age with a face hewn from granite. Her platinum blond hair was cut so short, it nearly vanished against her pale scalp and her gray coveralls looked like they'd been painted on her muscular, short body. She wore a small silver ring through her left nostril.
Bosun Lorena Kader would prove a lot easier to get along with than Alers. She treated Warrant Officer Decker the way a petty officer should: with respect for rank and ability. When Zack wanted three bodies for this job or the other, three bodies would show up, ready and five minutes early. Kader and Decker spoke little beyond pure business, but they were comfortable enough dealing with each other, like any pair of old noncoms.
*
Shokoten lifted twenty-four hours after arriving, this time, headed for Itrul, in the Protectorate Zone, as the badlands wedged between Commonwealth and Empire were known.
“Do you know Itrul, Zack?” Captain Strachan asked, sitting back in his chair. They had jumped to hyperspace a few hours ago and were sailing along smoothly. It would be a long trip, and Zack wondered why their contractors hadn't used a ship and a departure planet closer to the Protectorate. There was enough business headed for the Shield Cluster that Shokoten didn't have to go trolling for cargoes, like a tramp, and live on narrow profit margins.
“No sir, not personally. But I’ve learned enough about the Protectorate and most of the major worlds to find my way.”
The Protectorate Zone received its name from the fact that it was under neither human nor Shrehari domination, but covertly patrolled by both. It represented what cynics called the perfect example of the military winning the war and the politicians losing the peace.
At the end of the last war with the Shrehari Empire, the Navy controlled most of the Protectorate. But the Treaty of Ulufan, astonishingly, relinquished all human interest in the zone, in return for two marginal star systems no one wanted or needed.
Now, the Commonwealth and the Empire used the Protectorate to wage covert war by proxy. Detractors maintained the SecGen of the day had given up the Protectorate under pressure from wealthy friends. They could make more money, more tax-free money, by dealing with so-called independent alien worlds than with Commonwealth members.
“Nasty little place, the Protectorate, and Itrul is nastier than most,” Decker continued, staring into the amber whiskey at the bottom of his glass. “A lot of Itrulans hire out as mercs and marauders. Not bad either, but fucking ruthless, the kind to eat a vanquished enemy's heart raw, with the enemy still alive and attached to it. I've fought the bastards, and I don't like 'em much. They're unpredictable and very dangerous. What are we doing there?”
“Another special cargo,” Raisa Darhad answered.
“You mentioned, a while ago,” Strachan said, stroking his beard, “that you had a few ways to disguise a container's contents from a scanner.” Zack's head snapped up, and he looked at the captain with suspicion. “Well, now is the time to put that knowledge to good use. The Navy and the Constabulary patrol the Protectorate borders much more than the frontier along the Shield Cluster, and there’s a decent chance we'll be inspected.”
“What sort of cargo?” Zack asked in a hard tone
. It had better not be anything he wouldn't like.
Darhad glanced at Decker, her eyes narrowed as if she were evaluating him. Again, he had the impression she had divined his thoughts. He shrugged off the feeling as the captain spoke again.
“I would rather you find out, Mister Decker.” He smiled. “With this.” Strachan held up a Mark Nine battlefield sensor. “It will also give you, and us, a chance to verify your camouflage.”
Won't do shit for you, Diego ol' buddy. The guys who'll inspect this ship on the Commonwealth side of the border carry Mark Tens, and without a Mark Ten to check my camouflage, I can't even begin to guarantee results. Unless, of course...
“You don't look all that happy, Zack,” Strachan raised a questioning eyebrow as he placed the sensor on his desk.
“Ah yes, Captain,” Darhad murmured, “I believe our dear gunner is wondering how in damnation he is to hide contraband using a Mark Nine as a check, when the border patrols use the new Mark Ten equipment.”
Decker started violently and stared at the first officer who smiled, revealing those sharp teeth.
“That's right,” Zack stammered to cover his surprise.
How the fuck did they find out about Mark Tens. They're still classified. What the hell am I going to do now? This is another test of loyalty, right? Meaning do it or you'll blow your chances at keeping this berth, and possibly even your life.
“The Mark Nine isn't nearly as sensitive as a Ten,” he said, voice steady and unemotional. “But I can boost the Nine's gain to squeeze enough out of it so that in the hands of an expert, it'll be almost as good as a Mark Ten in the hands of your average constable or trooper.” Which modifications were illegal, of course. Especially since the gain increase pointed the way towards new technology and that could be called a security violation by your local judge advocate general. But then, Decker shouldn’t be able to pull off the trick in the first place.
“Well, Zack, I believe you have work ahead of you. We have a full week before we reach the border area, and another three, maybe four days more before we cross the line. Is that enough time?”
“Sure, Captain. I'll have this baby ready in, say, two or three days. After that, another day and your containers will be as well camoed as I can manage. Not that it'll be perfect,” he warned.