13 Degrees of Separation (64 page)

“Go for
burn aye. Engines all ahead one half. Braking commencing. Time to orbit 30
hours sir,” he reported looking up.

“Very
good helm,” the exec replied with a nod.

*****

The
chief frowned, cursing softly as he pulled the turbine off the main rotor
shaft. They used the winch to move it to a waiting stand which had its' own
rotor. A bit of jostling and they got the damaged turbine mounted and locked
on. Then the winch was unhooked and the chief sighed, signaling a break.

“So, we
really going to do this?” the chief asked as the work party pushed the stand on
its wheels slowly through the ship to the tiny machine shop. He'd been tempted
to try and do the rest of the tear down here, but it was all asses and elbows
as it was. Besides, that stand really wasn't set up to rip the turbine blades
off to replace them.

“You
mean this?” the exec asked, “It looks that way chief,” he replied with a snort.

“I
mean...” the chief began but the exec held up a hand. He closed his mouth with
a frown.

“I know
what you are asking, and yes. The answer is yes.”

“I'm
not sure if I should be upset about what we're doing, or grateful to get the
damn things off the ship. I know one thing, I will be glad to shut the UV
lights off after we remove what we've got in the cargo hold.”

“More
burns?” the exec asked. Several of the cargo handlers had been hospitalized due
to skin burns from repeated exposure to the UV lights. The medic had ordered
that anyone who went into the bay had to wear a full skin suit if possible, if
not, full clothing and sunglasses to prevent blindness. That hadn't helped
moral much.

“I'm
certain whatever the Captain decides we'll get it done,” the exec replied as
the work party got to a knee knocker and started cursing and struggling to get
the stand over it. The chief nodded and hustled to help.

The
exec watched him go. He'd have to keep an eye on the chief, an eye on a lot of
the crew. Those that still had souls. He wouldn't be bothered, he wouldn't lose
any sleep over this. But others would. It had better not spill over into their
work and affect the ship. It was his job to prevent that from happening.

Obviously
news of their cargo and its contents had leaked. He wasn't sure how, but it was
typical, there was nothing better than a juicy secret on a ship, one like this
was impossible not to think about. He sighed and went about his duties.

*****

“Prinz
Zir to Epsilon ground control, this is the Captain speaking. I've been going
over your list but we have a slight problem, we are short on funds. But if you
are willing to barter, we found something in the neighboring empty system,
something of value. We found a pack of sleepers in stasis pods. They are
reading as stable, and we of course have recharged their pods. We haven't
awakened them because we didn't have the life support. But if you are
interested maybe we can do some business?” the Captain smiled, imagining the
consternation and interest in such a prize.

Sleepers
were special, they were rare. A sleeper could jump start an economy, their
knowledge, much of it they had taken for granted could kick a planet's tech up
a level, possibly even two. Many sleepers had implants and what passed as a
first class college education, both priceless things in this time period. Some
tech required implants, and of course some sleepers had programming skills.
They could repair software of aging systems.

Then of
course there were the pods. Each was a priceless artifact in its' own right.
Each could be put back into use or scavenged for parts. Most governments and
even rich individuals were more interested in keeping the devices running.
After all, you never knew when one would come in handy, like when a family
member was ill and the present medicine couldn't help them. Or when you wanted
someone to disappear but you didn't want to kill them.

He was
offering more for them, more than what the orbital and fuel prices were. since
they were untested but incredibly rare he was betting the dickering would fill
in the remaining 20 hours they had before they reached orbit. He was right
about that.

Ten
hours later he got a response. An excited response as Governor Oman himself
greeted the ship and offered to negotiate for both the orbital fees, fuel,
landing, and food fees. If this worked out they'd be covered, hell, they might
even come out a few credits in the black, the Captain thought with an amused
flicker of a smile.

“Do we
have to?” Alice asked turning to the pilot.

“Yes,
we do, so stop asking Alice. We have no choice. Orders are orders,” the pilot
said. He'd already heard enough grumbling from his cargo master and his
assistant. Both were more than a bit put out over handling their precious
cargo. Neither were happy about handing it over to the luddites for fuel
either. Of course they weren't privy to all aspects of the plan.

He
checked the rear camera feed. The cargo master was just about finished
buttoning the boat up. He was double checking the straps securing the precious
stasis pods to the hover pallet. The pallet was off, they didn't need the damn
thing's force emitters messing with the shuttle's emitters while in flight. His
finger hit the intercom switch. “All set?” he asked.

The
chief looked up, turned and slapped the intercom switch on his end. “All set
here, though I think it's a waste handing these babies over to groundies. You'd
think we'd need them or something,” he grumbled.

“All
part of a higher plan,” the pilot responded. “Now strap in, it's going to be a
bumpy flight,” he said.

“No hot
dogging,” Raff said from the copilot seat. “You heard what the exec said about
the last time you did that,” he growled.

“Everyone's
got to take the fun out of life,” the pilot grumbled, hearing Alice clipping
her safety harness on and then tapping at her controls. “Flight?”

“Go,”
Alice responded dutifully. “All lights green.”

“Cargo?”
he asked, looking up and flipping the power on start up sequence before he
looked down to the center console. The engines were starting to power up. Good.

“Green,”
the cargo master replied.

“Then
folks, let's go make our delivery,” the pilot responded.

Sprite
watched the video feed of the shuttle landing. She was amused, the pilot was
good for an organic, better than some she had heard about. He'd dropped the
shuttle a little low, but corrected and landed neatly. The landing added an
extra sense of drama to a normally routine matter from her time. Here it was
something else.

The
boarding ramp dropped and the hatch opened. Apparently they didn't want to taxi
the shuttle to the waiting customs station for processing. A person, human in a
battered flight suit emerged from the shuttle and looked around. He spotted the
circus of cameras and people and hesitantly waved to them.

Another
crew member brusquely passed the first and then said something that the far
away microphones didn't pick up. The effect though was obvious, the other crew
member stopped waving and went to work. They went to the cargo hatch and
started undogging it.

“Not
even checking to see if they will get the fuel?” Sprite asked. “Remarkably
trusting of them,” she said to Irons.

“Maybe,”
Irons replied. He was more interested in the shuttle. It wasn't military grade,
it had to be a civilian knock off of a Highland class naval shuttle. It had two
umbilical ports on either ventral side, one small one larger. The one the crew
had exited from was the smaller port hatch. From the look of the shuttle it was
in remarkably good condition. Whoever owned it, knew how to take care of her.
That was rare in these times.

“Anything
from the ship?” Irons asked.

“No, no
communications to Phoenix at all, which is strange.”

“Not
very talkative with the competition?”

“Everyone
likes to talk, even if it's only to size the competition up and see what
tidbits they could get out of them. Maybe see where they are going next. It's
odd.”

“Arrogant,
smug?” Irons asked.

“Quite
so,” she replied.

“Well,
they are civilians, they have some right to privacy. Let me know if that
changes,” he said as the cargo hatch opened and a hover pallet dropped out. He
thought it had been sloppy securing of such precious cargo but two other
workman were there pushing it out. Straps dangled from the side of the cargo
pod. The pods were covered in a tight fitting tarp, the disappointment from
some of the crowd was obvious from their groans.

*****

Raff
tried hard not to glare at the fat guy in white coming up to them. A sheriff
with a duster and black hat on was behind him, practically bouncing in glee.
Others followed. “This it?” Hodges asked, waving to the stasis capsules.

“Yes
sir, all six accounted for.”

“Well,
there is a matter of your landing fees,” the fat man said with a hint of
avarice in his voice, pudgy hands holding his jacket lapel. “Each time you land
and all...”

“Which
is covered. We have a negotiated contract,” Raff replied with dignity. “All
charges go to the Governor's office,” he said.

“They
do?” Hodges asked in dismay. Raff snorted as the fat man's face fell. He
probably thought he'd scam them and didn't know he was the one getting played.

“Yes
sir. If you have any problems you can take it up with Governor Owan. He's
monitoring the situation as we speak,” Raff replied, pointing to a camera
remote nearby. Now he knew why the boss had told Alice to set the thing up.

“They
are?” Hodges asked, sounding further dismayed.

“Yes
sir,” Raff said as the sheriff poked the fat man.

“Boss,
is this going to mess up your plan? You know about saying how they never
delivered?” he stage whispered. Raff scowled.

“Eh!
Rosco!” the fat man batted at the sheriff's finger and then scowled as the
sheriff stepped back, hands up. “Go make sure the shipment's secure!” he
snarled waving him on.

“I
apologize,” he said, turning to Raff. Alice came out, wiping her hands on a
rag. “For such unseemly things. We'll get the fuel rolling in a moment,” he
said, chuckling and cocking his head as he put his hands together piously.

“Yes
sir, we're supposed to refuel 6 times and also get a load of food and other
materials,” Raff replied.

“Six!”
Hodges said, eyes wide in dismay. “No one said that many!”

“It's
all part of the contract,” Raff replied, smiling sweetly. “And it's 6 for the
fuel. 8 all together,” he added, feeling the need to twist the fat man's tail a
bit more.

“Oooohhh...”
The fat man groaned, looking like he was ready to eat his hat. Raff just smiled
a bit more.

*****

Each
time they landed for fuel the crew were more nervous, though they tried to hide
it. “Why are we doing this?” Raff asked. Alice snorted. She was an old hand at
this.

“Because
we're following orders. The Captain wants his due. If anything happens we'll
pull out.”

“But...”

“It'll
be fine. A director Richards has taken custody of the pods. They have been
transported to Rubicon.”

“They
have?”

“Where
is that?” the copilot asked.

“A
hundred kilometers west of here so relax,” Alice replied with a slight smile.
“Word is they may not even open them. There is still a lot of discussion going
on.”

“Where
did you hear all this?” Raff asked.

Alice
frowned. “I'm not just a pretty face,” she replied. “I've been listening to the
media. The politicians...” she smiled nastily. “Are fighting over who gets what
share, and how they divvy it up, if they divvy it up. There is speculation that
they may hang onto the pods to sell to someone else.”

“Really,”
Raff asked, now worried the plan might fail.

“We'll
see,” Alice replied with a shrug. “Out of our hands anyway.”

*****

“Did
you hear about these latest intel reports Captain?” the exec asked, waving a
tablet.

The
Captain looked up from his diner and frowned. He preferred to eat alone in his
cabin, but he'd asked the exec to join him. Now he was wondering if he would
regret that particular courtesy. “No, but I'm afraid you'll tell me,” he said,
dabbing at his chin with his napkin.

The
exec frowned, blushing slightly at the rebuke. The Captain had a general rule,
no talk of work during a meal. “Sorry sir,” he said, setting the tablet down by
his table setting. “Were you waiting long sir?” he asked politely as the
steward materialized to pour him a glass of wine.

“No,
just through the appetizer,” the Captain replied as the steward removed the now
mostly empty plate. “What's on your mind number one,” he sighed, sitting back.

“We
should of gone to Antigua.”

“Oh?”

“And
we've got a complication. The ship in orbit? The Phoenix?”