Priestess of the Eggstone (10 page)

I was so tired I hooked up tubing to the wrong places. I rubbed my eyes and took a break, grabbing a drink and washing my face. My stripped bunk beckoned me but I couldn’t give in, not yet. I fetched the last box of engine parts from outside. The cold night air woke me up somewhat. It smelled of damp engine grease and scorched plascrete. I stretched, admiring the clear night sky, before returning to check my work. I ran through all the checklists and schematics, then turned the power on. Everything came up green, as far as I could check without actually firing the engine. I shut it back down then gave in to my bunk. Only for a few hours, I told myself.

I woke much too soon. My alarm bleeped. I groaned and slammed it off. I showered quickly. Breakfast was out of the question. I couldn’t face chicken soup first thing in the morning. Someone hammered on the airlock as I was running more diagnostics. I flipped the power off before opening the airlock. I hoped it was Jerimon.

It wasn’t. It was a port official with a hefty clipboard. He looked a lot nicer than the non-lady at the docking office the night before. The man looked me over, his face grim.

I leaned on the edge of the open door, smothering a yawn.

“You’re the captain?”

I nodded. I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide the engine grease caked under my nails.

The man pretended not to notice. “I need slips signed. Your registration is in Belliff’s name, but it seems they’re in a bit of trouble. Somebody has to pay the fines and fees.”

I wanted to ask what kind of trouble and how deep. I listened to the voice of prudence and didn’t.

The man handed me the clipboard, grinning at my black nails.

I skimmed the first few pages, scrawling my signature across the bottom of each page.

The man bounced on his toes, examining the Twinkle while I signed. “I heard about you coming in hot. That was some flying. Looking at the damage, it’s a wonder you ever made it in one piece. What happened?”

“We had a run-in with pirates,” I lied. Well, not really. If you twisted your viewpoint far enough, it was the truth. It all depended on which side of the law you were on. “What is all this?” I flipped through page after page of tiny writing.

“You’re being sued by half the companies that ship through Tebros. You knocked their schedules to Freya and back.”

“Did any of their ships suffer any significant damage? None of them have a real claim. Six million credits? How stupid do they think I am?” I shoved the clipboard back to the man, the last pages unsigned.

“You have to sign,” he objected.

“No, I don’t. Belliff owns the ship. It’s their fault it got shot up. Take the papers to them.”

“What about the fines?”

“I’ll pay docking charges and routine maintenance, but I’m not paying anything else. Get Belliff to do it.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” the man said as if he were talking to a simple-minded thing, like a carrot. “Belliff is closed, bankrupt. The Patrol is all over their offices. Ain’t no way I’m getting money out of them.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.”

“No, sweetheart, it’s yours. I have the authority to confiscate this ship as security against debts.” He pulled official-looking papers from his pocket.

“Fine, you win. If I pay the docking fees and fines, will you be satisfied?

“That plus another fifty for my time and I’ll pretend I didn’t know about the damage claims.”

“And I’ll be free to leave as soon as I get the engine fixed?”

“Free and clear unless, of course, the Patrol wants to talk to you, which is a real possibility.” He flipped through the papers. “That comes to two-thousand, five-hundred and four credits. Plus fifty in cash.”

“Give me a minute.” I forced a smile that faded as soon as I cleared the hatch. The amount was flat-out robbery. I opened the safe next to the bunks, pulling out what was left of my cash. The chit from Belliff clattered to the floor. It was supposed to be worth eight-hundred credits. Viya wouldn’t accept it because Belliff’s accounts there were already frozen. It wouldn’t hurt to try it here. I shoved it in with the wad of cash.

The man picked his teeth as he studied the scorch marks on my ship.

I handed him the chit first. He fingered it suspiciously before inserting it into his pocket reader. He hit a few buttons. The chit disappeared into his pocket.

“That’s eight hundred, which leaves you with,” he consulted his reader, “one thousand, seven hundred and four.”

“Plus fifty,” I said as I started counting.

My wad of cash was a lot smaller when he walked away, whistling.

I squinted against the sun as I watched him, my fingers absently riffling the few credit notes left in my hand. The sun was halfway up the sky. The cracked concrete heated quickly under its bright rays. Jerimon should have returned by now, or at least tried to contact me.

I checked the com unit in the cockpit. Three messages, all from irate shipping owners. I snorted in disgust. Grounders, all of them. Spacers knew accidents happened. If things had gone differently, a whole lot of ships including mine would be just so much space debris. I flipped the unit to standby.

If Jerimon wasn’t back by the time I got the course for Nevira entered, I’d go looking for him. And food, I added as my stomach rumbled.

I spread the copies of the course on the controls and opened the nav comp. I carefully punched keys, entering each number. It was slow going. The machine beeped over and over, forcing me to retype whole strings of numbers. A warning box kept popping up, telling me I had entered an invalid course. I swore as I punched numbers, which helped me feel better but didn’t change the message. I scrolled through the entries, comparing every number until I’d corrected all the mistakes. The nav computer chuckled and clicked for a long moment before accepting the course. I hit save, then sat back with a sigh.

I carefully stowed the paper, then filled my pockets with cash just in case I had to bribe the Patrol to let Jerimon free.

The huge maintenance cranes waited outside the ship, dwarfing it in their oddly shaped shadows. I spent another two hours supervising the maintenance crew. I paid off the crew. The maintenance cranes rumbled to the next ship.

The pile of credits in my pocket was awfully thin. My stomach rumbled, reminding me the day was long past and I hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

I trudged across the field. Heat waves shimmered and danced. I shoved my hands into my pockets. Sweat dripped between my shoulder blades. The maintenance cranes now surrounded a cluster of big freighters. I stared at them for a long moment. I wanted my own ship, not a toy like the Twinkle, but a real cargo ship. It didn’t have to be big, it just had to be mine, without strings, without complications. I blinked suddenly wet eyes. It was just a dream. I’d had my own ship for a total of two weeks. It was mine, and now it was gone, blown into a cloud of dust. I kicked at the plascrete, depressed and wondering if anything would ever go right again.

I looked up to see Jerimon running across the concrete, one arm high in the air, waving. I stopped, waiting for him. He didn’t look very happy.

“We have to go,” he said as he came close. He took my arm, hustling me back to the ship.

“I haven’t got any food yet,” I protested.

“We haven’t got time. Is everything else ready to go?”

I dug in my heels, dragging us to a stop in the shade of the Twinkle. “What’s going on, Jerimon?”

“Belliff is under Patrol investigation. They’re locking down the port until they know for sure who’s involved. Leon is spilling his guts. They’re coming to collect the weapons. We can leave as soon as they finish.”

“If they’re locking the port down, why are they letting us leave? Tell me all of it, Jerimon.”

“I’ve been explaining all night. I’m tired. I claimed a family emergency so they would let us go. I told them my sister is dying and I needed to be there. Even with that, it still took some fast talking.”

“We should be ready to fly. I’ve been working all night, too. I paid off the docking fees and fines this morning. They just finished refueling. You’re sure I don’t have time to do anything about the food? We have about a week’s worth of chicken soup. Leon ate the rest of the fish curry.”

“We don’t have time!”

We reached the ship. I opened the lock. Jerimon went inside then turned impatiently when I didn’t join him.

I would almost rather stay in Patrol custody than face a week of nothing but chicken soup. “We have until they come for the guns, right? You take off without me and I will hunt you down and make your life miserable.”

“Dace.” He ran his hand through his hair. Worry lined his face.

“We need something to eat. I’ll hurry,” I promised.

“I’ll wait,” he said as the door slid shut.

“You’d better.”

I hurried across the field to the distant port offices, my stomach rumbling.

Chapter Eight

Sweat marked my shipsuit by the time I reached the catering offices. I waited in a short line, fidgeting impatiently. My stomach growled. I pretended it hadn’t. I scanned the listing of cheap food on the wall. We’d been here only ten days ago. All they’d had then was chicken soup and fish curry. All they had now were breakfast specialties and spaghetti. At least I could stand spaghetti, although a straight week of it might change my mind.

I reached the front of the line and found the brand of spaghetti they had was one I hated. It tasted like red paste on mushy white worms. Most cheap spacer food was bland at best, but choices were limited and time was pressing. I forked over the money for a week’s worth of meals for two.

The man shoved a large box across the counter. It was bulky, heavy, and cold enough to blister my fingers. I dropped more money into the slot for a rental cart, grumbling at the expense. I had almost nothing left, but I wasn’t going to leave Tebros without at least one real meal. I picked the closest restaurant and bought enough to last at least a couple of days before hurrying back to the ship.

The Patrol clustered around the Twinkle’s hatch, their gleaming ground cars parked nearby. Men and women in black uniforms loaded crates into a big truck. They glanced briefly my way as I approached.

I dragged the hauler near the airlock.

Jerimon leaned against the side of the ship, arms crossed and shoulders hunched as he talked to an officer in a silver uniform. He nodded to the man, inching to the hatch as he caught sight of me.

The Patrol officer turned. I just about ran when I saw his face. It was Commander Grant Lowell, of the undercover branch. He’d tried to recruit me after Dadilan. He was the reason I wasn’t in prison. His eyebrows rose when he saw me. Other than that his face showed only impersonal politeness. “Captain Dace.” He smiled, a slight curve of his lips. “You sounded very sincere the last time we talked, and yet here you are, turning evidence over to the Patrol. I thought you weren’t interested.”

“The answer is still no.” I pushed the hauler towards Jerimon.

“You know him?” Jerimon darted suspicious glances between me and Commander Lowell.

“We met, yes,” I conceded. I dropped the handle of the hauler. I bent to pick up the box.

Lowell caught my sleeve, trapping me. “I’d like a word with the captain in private, please,” he said to Jerimon.

Jerimon nodded, suspicion as sharp as daggers as he took the box from the hauler, carrying it into the airlock.

Grant Lowell tugged my arm, pulling me away from the hatch and the Patrol cataloguing evidence from the cargo hold.

“What do you want?” I said, dragging my feet.

“Your pilot handed us the keys to locking Belliff executive management away for a long time. I must say his story sounded a bit farfetched. Until he mentioned your name. Dace, you’d be one of my top agents if you’d just sign up. You’d be a lot safer.”

“Let me go, Lowell.”

“I’m offering you a very prestigious job, Dace.”

“I don’t want it.”

He cocked his head, like a bird. His silver eyes studied me intently, flat and unreadable as mirrors. His hand dropped from my sleeve.

“What do you want, Dace? What can I offer?”

“Nothing, Lowell. I want my own ship. I want to be left alone. Is that too much to ask?”

He laughed, a bright sound, completely honest and living entirely in that moment. It was not the kind of laugh I expected from him.

“You’re doing more work for me on your own than I could ever expect of you as an agent,” he said, still looking amused. “But you are playing a dangerous game, Dace. You have no official backing. You almost didn’t get away from Belliff. I received the message from Viya at noon. Station management is out for blood.”

I shivered. “Are you going to give it to them?”

“And have you locked away where you can’t attract trouble? Don’t be silly.”

I wondered just what kind of power he had. What kind of bargain would I have to make for his unsolicited help? “What do you want, Lowell?”

“You’re free, Dace. No charges against you, especially since your fines are paid.” The way he looked at me made me suspect that he knew where the money had come from to pay those fines. “I could provide you a ship, let you be a trader, if that’s what you really wanted.”

“But you would still be pulling the strings.” I swallowed hard and made myself say the words. “Thank you for letting me off, Lowell, but the answer is still no.”

“Someday it won’t be, someday you’ll say yes.”

“Not today. Can I go? Your men are finished. Jerimon’s sister is very ill and he really wants to leave as soon as possible.”

“Will your ship fly, Dace?”

“Will you care if it doesn’t?”

“I think I would miss you if you blew yourself up.” With that, he gathered his troops and ordered them out. Doors opened and shut on the ground cars. Within moments, they purred across the plascrete, back to the warren of Patrol buildings.

I unclenched fists and breathed deep, trying to get my heart to slow down. I felt like I’d just had an encounter with a very sneaky, very deadly carnivore. I wondered just what game Grant Lowell played. Why would he just let me go? Was this all some plot to get me so deep that only his help could extricate me? Grant Lowell wanted me undercover, living a lie. I didn’t want to ever be in a situation where I had to shoot someone. I’d done it on Dadilan. I’d shot a woman point blank. She had a blaster to my head at the time, but that didn’t matter. I still saw her body in my dreams. I didn’t want to live with any more guilt.