Her Brother's Keeper - eARC (24 page)

Wolfram von Spandau took a few moments to type his response.
Very well. Please be cautious. I will see to the replenishment of our remass tanks and set up a maintenance rotation while we’re dirtside, as we discussed. Three local days will be more than enough time for the maintenance. The crew can get off the ship for a time and waste their money at the trading post.

There is one last thing,
Catherine typed.
While I see to this, I want you to run an emergency drill on the crew. Hostile natives threatening the ship in port. We’ve been underway for a long time. They’re tired and won’t be expecting it.

I agree,
Wolfram typed.
It will give Mr. Winchester a chance to organize his people on the fly as well.

Very good,
Catherine typed.
Start the drill in one hour. I want the crew ready to defend the ship until it can be brought back up for launch. Notify traffic control, Mr. Broadbent, and Mr. Winchester of the drill, but no one else. The ship is yours.

Logging off and shutting down her command console, Catherine stood up and stretched. “Mr. Azevedo,” she said, “I have business to attend to.
Herr
von Spandau has the ship. The command deck is yours.”

* * *

Showered and refreshed, Catherine made her way down to the
Andromeda’
s cargo deck. She wore a fresh flight suit and her genuine leather flight jacket, with a gun-belt around her narrow waist. The large ventral cargo bay doors were opened, connected and sealed to the spaceport’s landing tower. Down the ramp was an elevator that led to the base of the landing tower. From there, a series of underground tunnels connected the various areas of the spaceport and trading post, so that travelers could move from one area to the next without having to brave the sweltering climate outside. The dense atmosphere made it difficult for those unaccustomed to it to work, and the humidity level was always murderously high.

The spaceport’s underground tunnels were well lit, but practically deserted. A small, three-wheeled electric scooter was available for rent for a small fee. As Catherine rolled along the tunnel connecting the
Andromeda
’s landing pad to the
Ascalon
’s, she didn’t see another soul. The only activity was a couple of service robots going about their appointed tasks. Soothing mood music played over speakers and resonated off of the bare block walls.

The landing tower that led to the cargo bay of the
Ascalon
was identical to the one Catherine had come down when leaving her own ship. As she made her way up the ramp, she saw quite a bit of activity in the merchant ship’s cavernous cargo bay. An alarm chirped as she approached, and the crew members inside took notice of her.

“Good evening,” she said crisply. “I am Captain Catherine Blackwood of the privateer ship
Andromeda.
Your skipper was gracious enough to invite me to your ship. Permission to come aboard?”

A waifishly thin crewmember in a red coverall spoke up. “I am Cargomaster Mearl,” he (or perhaps
she
; Catherine couldn’t really tell) said. “We have been expecting you. Permission granted, Captain. Welcome aboard the armed merchant cutter
Ascalon.”
The androgynous cargomaster had very pale skin, a shaved head, and never set down the tablet he/she was holding. Behind him/her, the cargo bay was stacked with shipping containers of goods, all secured and balanced so as not to throw off the ship’s center of gravity. From the looks of things, the
Ascalon
would be leaving Opal soon.

“Your ship is impressive,” Catherine said. “I can see you run a most efficient cargo deck. I’ve visited a lot of merchant ships, and have seen few in such impeccable shape. I assume you’re departing soon?”

Mearl perked up and actually smiled at Catherine’s offhand flattery. “Thank you, Captain. Indeed. Our launch window is in a matter of hours.” He/she turned and waved toward another crewman. “This is Cargo Tech Samuel. He will take you to see the captain.”

The hulking crewman stood in stark contrast to his supervisor. He towered over Catherine, his dark skin rippling with muscles. “Please follow me,” he said tersely, his deep voice booming. “Our captain is waiting.”

The
Ascalon
was large enough that it had a small lift running up its centerline. The
Andromeda
, in comparison, had no such luxuries; the crew had to use ladders to traverse between decks. The merchant vessel was rather larger than the
Andromeda
, but unless it had a surprisingly potent engine cluster, Catherine suspected it wasn’t nearly as capable. The
Andromeda
could pull ten gravities of acceleration under full afterburner; a ship like the
Ascalon
probably couldn’t do half that. The two ships were designed for very different roles—much of the
Andromeda
’s internal volume was used for redundant systems, armament, and armor. As a merchant cutter, though, the
Ascalon
was impressive.

A tinny robotic voiced announced that the lift had stopped at the officers’ quarters deck. Saumel led Catherine through a narrow, circular corridor, lined with doors to small cabins for the ship’s officers. Each appeared to be as big as Catherine’s personal quarters, and a four such cabins ringed this deck of the ship.

One of the cabins had an ornate door, and seemed to be larger than the other three. Samuel banged on the hatch three times, then stood up straight, hands folded behind his back. With a clank and a hiss, the door slid open, and he spoke up. “Cargo Tech Samuel reporting, sir. I am escorting Captain Catherine Blackwood of the
Andromeda
. I believe you are expecting her.”

A cheery male voice spoke up from inside the cabin. “Send her in, please!” Samuel stood aside, nodding as Catherine stepped past him and entered the cabin. “Welcome aboard the
Ascalon
, Captain,” the ship’s skipper said. “I’m so pleased that you accepted my offer.” He was an average-looking man with an average build, red hair, a red goatee, and freckles. He stood at the far side of a small table. Like his crewmembers, he was dressed in a dark red coverall, though over it he wore a more formal tunic with four gold bands around the cuffs of each sleeve. “I am Captain Matthew Atkins of the Llewellyn Freehold.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Catherine said, stepping across the cabin to shake his hand. Captain Atkins seemed to have his own private dining area, another decadent luxury the
Andromeda
had no room for. “Your ship is most impressive.”

Captain Atkins brimmed with pride. “Isn’t she? So many free traders are little more than tramp cruisers in poor condition, crewed by shady individuals. Then they wonder why they can’t get contracts with the big corporations and colonial governments! My predecessor ran a tight ship. Matt, he would always say, a ship’s got to be in shipshape! It’s hokey but it’s true.” He paused, before motioning to Catherine to sit. “Please, Captain, have a seat. You’ll get me talking if you ask me about my ship!”

Catherine smiled at him. She didn’t think she was in any danger of getting abducted (nor in any danger of getting ravaged by a lusty pirate queen), and Captain Atkins seemed unusually personable for a Freeholder. “If I may ask, why all the secrecy?”

“Ah,” he said. “Wine? Water?” He poured Catherine a glass as he continued. “Many of my crew are new hires from the Freehold. They can be a rather mercenary bunch. You asked me about Zanzibar, so I thought we’d have a private conversation, face-to-face, captain to captain. Discretion is part of my professional code.”

“I certainly understand,” Catherine said, sipping her wine.

“Dinner should be ready shortly. I hope you like roast chicken?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll really like this. It’s an actual chicken my men acquired.”

“From the colony?”

“No, from the trading post. The locals don’t raise livestock. But it’s not dehydrated, frozen, or otherwise preserved.”

Catherine thought for a moment. “The locals don’t raise livestock?”

“You don’t know? I suppose the information available about this place is pretty sparse. The colonists are all strict vegans, by law. All they eat are the plants and nuts they grow in their greenhouses. The consumption of meat, fish, or animal products is forbidden. Rumor has it they put people to death for it.”

“That’s insane,” Catherine said.

Captain Atkins could only nod. “It’s just a rumor. I’m sure they’d be unhappy if they found out we were eating meat in here, though there’s nothing they can do about it. These people have been isolated on this rock for over a century. Until this trading post opened up, maybe forty local years ago, they were completely cut off from the rest of inhabited space.”

“How in the world did they sustain themselves on such an inhospitable planet?”

“Their original colonization mission was intended to be long term. Their ship, the one rusting away to the north of the settlement? They completely stripped it for parts and equipment. The ship’s fusion reactor was moved, and now powers the colony. Compared to fusion rockets, the colony doesn’t need very much power, so they leave it more or less in standby mode. With a minimum of maintenance, it can run for a very long time like that.”

“One of my crew spent some time here a few years ago. He told me the colonists on Opal were strange.”

“Oh, they’re an odd bunch all right. Their colony is a commune. Everyone pitches in to the best of his ability, and is in turn given what he needs to survive. There’s no money, no private property, and no taxes.”

“I see. And who decides who needs and gets what?”

Captain Atkins chuckled. “That is the rub, isn’t it? They call them the Elders. They run the show here. Really reclusive bunch. Supposedly they’re the living survivors of the original colonial mission. They’d have to be really, really old for that to be the case, but I suppose it’s possible. They make the laws, and they have so-called Peacekeepers to enforce them. But mostly people abide by the laws without the threat of force. They’re indoctrinated from the time they’re children, taken from their parents, raised in communal crèches. This whole colony is basically a cult, except they’re not religious.”

“The trading post…they’re Freeholders as well?”

“Yes. Not affiliated with my business, and believe me I don’t get any kind of a discount for being from the same home port. There’s just enough traffic coming through this system these days to make it worthwhile.”

“Trade from the Orlov Combine, I assume?”

Captain Atkins took a long sip of his wine. “I don’t like dealing with the Combine. I know what they are, you know. But their raw materials are good, and they’re cheap. The profit margins are too big to pass up.”

“If I may ask, what are you doing on Opal?”

“Same as you, I suspect. Stocking up on remass and supplies. I do trade with the colonists here. I have a contact and, before you ask, I’m not inclined to share.”

Catherine smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not my sort of contract, really. But what do you trade? The information I have is vague.”

“The trinkets the natives make fetch a pretty credit from collectors. But the real money here is in the wood.”

“Wood?”

“It’s not technically wood, I suppose. The flora that fills the role of trees on Opal aren’t really trees, in strict biological terms. But their hides, the bark, wood, whatever you want to call it, is beautiful.” He reached behind him and produced a small box. Inside was a sample of the plant matter. It had rich, deep, purple coloration, and swirled with intricate patterns and grains. It dimly glowed indigo.

“It
is
beautiful,” Catherine said, touching it lightly. It felt like finely polished wood. “Did you finish this?”

“That’s the real beauty of it, Captain,” Captain Atkins said. “This is just a sample cut from a pseudo-tree. The texture and color varies widely from breed to breed, but a lot of them are just as lovely. The bioluminescence lasts for years, even after the sample has been cut from the tree, so long as it’s exposed to UV light daily.”

“I can see how selling this would be profitable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I’ve got a deal worked out with the colonists. I bring them supplies they need, mostly from Orlov’s Star, and they let me take wood and trinkets. It’s all kept on the down-low, of course. The trading post gets a cut of the profits. Apart from my ship, there are only one or two others that have such a deal worked out, and it’s good money. It’s the secret that makes this place profitable.”

A rap on the hatch announced that dinner was served. Catherine hadn’t smelled fresh roast anything since leaving New Austin. The scent of the chicken was almost intoxicating as two crewmen set the table. After they excused themselves, she dug in greedily, savoring every bite of her meal. The vegetables were fresh as well. It was glorious.

“My God, this is good,” she said, washing down a bite with a sip of wine.

“I saved the best for myself. Being captain has its privileges. But don’t think I haven’t taken care of my crew; I purchased some pigs from the trading post and had them butchered. We’ll be having quite the feast before we lift off. It’s a long way back to the Freehold, and we’ve been gone from home for a long time. I want to treat my people.”

“I guess my question is, why are you divulging all of these secrets to me? Aren’t you afraid I’ll try to move in on your territory?”

Captain Atkins only smiled. “Not at all, Captain. For one, you’re a privateer, not a free trader. You might make a few extra credits running cargo, but your ship isn’t suited for it. Secondly, your reputation precedes you.”

“My reputation?”

“Absolutely. I’ve heard of you, Catherine Blackwood, and the
Andromeda
as well.”

Catherine couldn’t stop a devilish grin from appearing on her face. She folded her hands under her chin and leaned in. “Oh really? And what is it you’ve heard?”

Captain Atkins may not have been Catherine’s
type
, and maybe it was the wine talking, but he was quite the charmer. “I’m sure you recall an incident a few years back, where the
Andromeda
was brought in to protect merchant vessels transiting into the Coleman-2203 system?”