Where the Ships Die (15 page)
Natalie frowned in response to the premature demotion, stepped over the raised coaming, and followed Peter into the ship's interior. Every ship has its own unique smell, and this one smelled of incense, spicy food, and just a hint of ozone. It looked a lot like the other Kilworthy Unihulls she'd seen, although cleaner than most, and host to a multiplicity of small altars. There seemed to be one dedicated to each department they passed. Or to a wide variety of individual gods, she wasn't sure which. There were differences, but all the shrines featured brightly colored figurines, and were decorated with candles and plastic flowers.
Everything else was fairly standard, steel gratings underfoot, pressure-molded side paneling that protected the wiring and fiber-optic pathways beyond, and the jumble of air ducts, storage compartments, sleeping cubicles, junction boxes, and other equipment that combines to create a fully functioning ship, lord's cabin lay up one level, just steps from the control room.
Peter rapped three times, received a "Come," and gestured for Natalie to enter. The officer did so and stepped into a haze of smoke. It spiraled out of a brass incense burner, drifted overhead, and dived into a vent. Behind the smoke, Captain Jord sat on a mat facing the hatch. Outside of a white loincloth, he was completely unclothed. His eyes were closed and his legs were crossed in the lotus position. The smile appeared before the eyes opened. They were black and seemingly magnetic. "Greetings, Third Officer Voss ... and welcome aboard. I am Captain Jord."
This was the second time she'd been demoted and Natalie wondered what it meant. Had Jord misunderstood her previous rank? Or already given her a berth? There was no way to tell. She forced a smile. "Thank you. It's a pleasure to be here."
"Please," Jord said, indicating the mat near her feet, "have a seat. I apologize if you find it uncomfortable. Those who follow the path prefer simplicity over complexity, knowledge over comfort, and humility over pride."
Unsure of what response might be appropriate or expected, Natalie lowered herself to the mat, considered the lotus position, and decided against it. Not because of the religious significance ... but because she wasn't sure she could pull it off. Jord snapped his fingers, and a wall screen came to life. Natalie saw the picture she'd sent along with her service record. Jord used the text to prompt his memory. "Twenty-seventh in your class at the Mechnos Trade Academy, complete with a pilot's ticket, additional qualifications as load master, plus an endorsement for ship-mounted class-three weapons control. Very impressive. Why seek a berth on a screamer?"
Natalie was taken aback by the directness of the question. She shrugged. "Slots are hard to come by... and you're headed for a place I want to go."
Jord had a receding hairline, the same "S" she had seen twice before, and prominent cheekbones. They gave his face a lean, vaguely sinister appearance. "You plan to leave the ship at our first port of call?"
"No," Natalie responded honestly, "not so far as I know. I was served with a Confederate summons. I'm supposed to report to a being called Rollo on The Place of Wandering Waters. Once there I expect to be questioned and released. That being the case, I will require passage back to Mechnos."
Jord nodded. "And what of our religious beliefs? Will they bother you?"
Natalie stirred uneasily. "I don't know. Not unless you force them on me."
Jord nodded. "I appreciate your honesty. You may be relieved to know that the crew includes other nonbelievers such as yourself. And no, we don't force our religion on others. Our cargo is loaded. We lift at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow morning. We pay standard rates. Please be aboard at least two hours prior to liftoff."
Natalie thanked Jord, made her way to the lock, and stepped out into the downpour. It seemed the crew was strange but tolerable. Or so she hoped. A squall blew in from the bay and pelted her with horizontal rain. Natalie felt very lonely as she walked the length of the dock.
Orr's study was located in the west wing of his enormous home. Dark beams crisscrossed the white ceiling, wood paneling covered the walls, and well-chosen pieces of art hung, sat, or stood in all the right places. The fire in the fireplace burned year round. Orr's wife enjoyed the effect.
The industrialist's mind was as usual on building Orr Enterprises into the largest, most successful company in the Confederacy. Which was why he had agreed to speak with the Traa, in spite of his wife's rather unpredictable moods, a balky weather system, and a shitload of lawsuits, including farmers with flooded fields, rained-out athletic events, and at least one bride who wanted Orr Enterprises to pay for a mined wedding ceremony. The list of know-nothing parasites was endless.
Orr checked to make sure that Ari and the rest of his retinue were out of pickup range, assured himself that they were, and gave the necessary command. A wall screen swirled to life and the Traa appeared. It was, Orr thought, the one called Sa-Lo. Though hardly an expert on alien facial expressions, Orr thought he detected open disapproval. Sa-Lo confirmed that impression. "Time has passed, the female is scheduled to lift tomorrow, and your promises are as empty as a spendthrift's purse."
"Don't hold back on my account," Orr said sarcastically. "Say what you mean."
The tonality was lost on Sa-Lo. "You insisted on haste, your operatives frightened the girl, and the opportunity was lost."
"So?" Orr demanded. "What would
you
suggest? Spacers look after their own. It would take an army to pull the girl out of Freeport. Besides, this isn't some rim-world backwater where you can do as you please."
"We have taken the situation into our own paws," Sa-Lo said stoically, "and will deal with the girl ourselves."
Orr felt a sudden sense of alarm. Would the Traa cut him out? Was the deal slipping away? And what about his son? "Wait just a minute. We have a deal... and what about Jason?"
"Our agreement stands," Sa-Lo replied, "and your son is safe. And will be for as long as your interests are aligned with ours. We will contact you when the necessary documents have been signed." The video snapped to black.
The silence stretched long and thin. The first voice to break it belonged to a man. "What cute little playmates you have ... no wonder you want some help."
Orr turned as the man stepped out of the shadows. He was tall, thin, and dressed in impeccable clothes. They were tight, with a touch of decadent lace. Thirty? Forty? Fifty? He could have been any of those. But the most striking thing about him was that his eyes never closed. Not even to blink. He looked like a statue, or a corpse come to life.
His name was Sanko, and like his father and grandfather before him, Sanko called himself a free trader, but made most of his money hijacking other captains' cargoes, running contraband goods, and anything else that would turn a fast credit. He had fallen under Orr's influence when he had jacked a load of highly addictive sleepy seeds, which, instead of belonging to a low-level drug cartel as he had believed, were actually the property of the Hildago Crime Syndicate, an organization sworn to slit his throat. Orr forced a smile. "My furry friends are cute, aren't they? It would be a pity if something happened to them."
Ari drifted into the light. She wore a frown and a much-handled sidearm. Data flowed through her implant. "The call originated from a hotel in Freeport."
"Which would tend to confirm your hypothesis," Sanko said thoughtfully. "The aliens booked passage on the same ship the girl did ... or hope to do so."
"Exactly," Orr said grimly. "So do what needs to be done."
Sanko was a thief and a murderer, but he hated hypocrisy. He took pleasure in the exchange that followed. " 'Do what needs to be done'? What does that mean?"
Orr flushed. "What's the matter with you? Kill them... that's what it means.
All
of them. Is that what you wanted me to say?"
"Yes," Sanko said sweetly, "it is. And the
Will of God.
What of her?"
Orr shrugged. "She's yours ... but not in-system. There would be an investigation, and we have enough badge pushers on Mechnos already. Take her at the other end of the trip. The law is thin out there ... and news travels slowly."
"As you wish," the jacker said calculatingly, "but that means a long stern chase ... and it takes money to run a ship like mine."
"Fifty thousand," Orr replied, "and not a credit more. Half now, and half when you return."
"A sum that will barely pay for my fuel," the jacker complained. "Seventy-five would be more like it."
Sanko felt something ram the base of his skull. His eyes flicked right, then left. The woman named Ari was nowhere to be seen. She was fast, damned fast, and the gun barrel hurt. Had it been anywhere else, on the street, or aboard his ship, his own bodyguards would have flayed her alive, but they'd been barred from the estate. Orr smiled. "Like I said, Sanko, fifty. Not a credit more."
The jacker nodded, felt the pressure disappear, and rubbed the sore spot. "All rightâno need to get excited. Just business ..."
"Good," Orr said. "Ari, see our friend to his car."
It took the bodyguard less than fifteen minutes to escort the jacker to his limo, see him off, and return. Her jacket was damp, and water dripped on the hardwood floor. Orr had just completed one com call and was about to make another when she entered the study. "Our friend is gone?"
" 'Friend' might be an overstatement, but he's gone," Ari replied.
"Excellent," Orr said cheerfully. "Sanko tends to overplay his hand at times, but he has his uses. Now, given the fact that little Miss Voss won't be coming back, we need to speak with her brother."
Ari frowned. "Why? I thought he was too young to put his thumb on documents."
"True," Orr replied easily, "but not for much longer. I checked, and guess what? Dorn Voss will be eighteen, thirty-six days from now. And if his sister had access to the coordinates, it seems safe to assume he does too."
"And if he doesn't?"
Orr shrugged. "Then we pay him a small sum, find the Gap the hard way, and open for business." "So you want me to get him?"
"Bring the boy
or
his thumb," Orr said lightly, "whichever is more convenient."
Natalie went aboard the
Will of God
six hours prior to liftoff rather than the mandated two, and was familiar with the ship's systems by 0630. The rank still sounded strange to her ear. "Third Officer Voss to the bridge."
Natalie pushed a pedal, waited for the weapons pod to swivel left, grabbed an overhead rail, and swung out into the corridor. It took five minutes to reach the bridge, but she found it on the first try, and felt proud of herself. The first officer, a screamer named Russo, looked up from her computer screen. She displayed an S, a jeweled implant, and a practically nonexistent chin. "Passengers are coming aboard. Meet them on the dock and bring them below."
The request could have been passed over the intercom, which would have saved Natalie the walk, but Russo had power and wanted to use it. Natalie had been around that kind of officer before and kept her face intentionally blank. "Yes, ma'am."
The passengers had arrived on the dock by the time Natalie got there. There were two of them, and they wore hooded cloaks that served to hide their faces as well as protect them from the rain. The officer thought they were humans at first, women perhaps, or adolescents, but soon learned differently. Each carried a small bag, and Natalie offered to help. "Greetings. I'm Third Officer Voss. May I take your luggage?"
The taller one replied. "Thank you, Third Officer Voss, but no, my companion and I prefer to carry our own belongings. Please proceed."
Though careful to avoid anything that would seem like a stare, Natalie was able to determine that the passengers were aliens and, if memory served her correctly, members of the Traa race. A highly competitive species known for their sharp but mostly honest dealings. And, while The Place of Wandering Waters seemed like a somewhat unusual destination for the aliens, the same commercial opportunities that attracted Jord might interest them as well.
The gangplank bounced as the three of them made their way down onto the same platform she had used earlier. It whirred as they were lowered into the lock. Russo was there to greet the Traa as the hatch cycled open and, judging from the heartiness of her welcome, regarded the Traa as VIPs. That they were was made even more clear when it turned out that the aliens had been assigned to the first officer's cabin, forcing her to bunk with Natalie.
Things went quickly after that, with a clearance to taxi, help from a busy little tug, and a final systems check. Natalie, whose launch station was aft in case of a bridge fire or similar emergency, pulled the harness across her body, checked to make sure her backup instrumentation registered the same readings that Jord's did, and nodded to the chief engineer. Both hung on as the
Will of God
shuddered, broke free of the water, and rose into the air.
Then, following one additional systems check, the ship roared out to sea and clawed through the atmosphere. It was slow going at first, but the drives roared, and the planet dwindled behind them. A short time later the
Will of God,
or the
Willie,
as the secular crew members called her, escaped the planet's gravity well, cleared planetary control, and directed herself toward a pinpoint of light.
One hour later, on an absolutely identical course, Tor Sanko, along with an unusually large crew, departed Mechnos on schedule. Their ship, a heavily armed Tully Trihull, had the ability to catch the
Will of God,
but made no attempt to do so. That, like the spoils to follow, would have to wait. The stars, eternally neutral in the affairs of man, wheeled through the void.
11
Friendship can flower in the most arid of fields.
Horbuth Neebarzer Oral Bod
Cycle Sayer to the Drodd
Standard year 2109
The Planet New Hope
The star ship's repellors functioned like man-made cyclones as they tore through the slums and sucked debris into the air. Dorn watched aghast as an entire line of people, still linked by the drag chain, were pulled off the ground. Arms waved and legs kicked, but to no avail. Dorn urged the others forward as Myra left the ground. "Quick! Grab them! It's their only chance!"
