Ships of My Fathers (35 page)

“I see a lot of you security folks down here today. What’s up?”

“We’re looking for some kid, a real troublemaker.”

He gave her a little grin. “You got a picture? Of the kid, I mean.”

She held out a tablet with an image.

His grin grew into a broad smile. It was the boy who had bribed his way in almost two hours before. “You know, I think I may have seen this boy.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Did you? Where?”

He gave his lips a little lick. “Well, if I help you out here, maybe you’ll come help me out later? You know, when you’re off duty.”

She set the pad down on his little table and moved in closer. “For a good looking guy like you, why wait?” She pushed him back into the shadow of the bar’s entryway, her hands playing across his chest and waist. “Let’s see what you’re offering me here.”

He gulped as her hand slipped beneath his waistband and her fingers wrapped themselves around his testicles. “You’re the friendliest security gal I’ve ever met,” he said.

But then her face changed, and he felt her nails start to dig into his scrotum. “Maybe,” she said, “or maybe I’m the meanest. So how about you tell me what you know, and maybe I won’t keep these,” she emphasized with a painful squeeze, “as a souvenir of our little encounter.”

He swallowed hard. “He’s inside,” he waved his thumb to the door behind him. “Got here over an hour ago. Wanted to use the terminal. Hasn’t left. That’s all I know. Honest.”

She gave him one more squeeze and then pulled her hand out, wiping it back and forth across his face. “Now that’s a good boy. You remember that, if you ever see me again, got it?”

“What do we have here, Maya?” her partner asked.

“Kid’s inside, Leo. You take point.”

“Will do.”

They left him, and Ned slipped down gingerly into his chair. No way that kid had been worth a twenty.

Michael was on his second bowl of pretzels and his third orange soda, but there was still no word from Lt. Commander Wheaton. How long could that meeting with the yardmaster take? Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a uniformed man slide onto the stool next to him. He turned to see, but the first thing he noticed was not the gray security uniform the man wore. Rather, it was the face of Leo Perez looking back at him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Fletcher.”

He jerked around the other way and did his best to leap from the stool, only to stop just as suddenly. Maya Zoland stood four meters back with a pistol leveled at him. She was also in a station security uniform. “Going somewhere, Michael?”

He felt Leo grab his arm and twist it behind him. “We’re going to do this nice and quiet, Mr. Fletcher. If you try to run, Maya might have to use that.”

“You can’t just kill me,” he said.

Maya leered at him smugly. “We’re security, Michael, and I believe the phrase you’re looking for is ‘shot while resisting arrest.’ Now let’s move.”

Leo started walking him forward. He looked around in panic, catching the eye of the bartender wiping down one of the tables. “Tell Monty I’ve been kidnapped!” he shouted.

“That’s it, you’re under arrest,” Leo roared, and underscored it by punching him hard in the left kidney.

He went out silently. The bouncer gave him one brief glance and then looked away.

Collins stood over the empty metal tub, no bigger than a coffin. It had been tucked snugly in a hidden space between the two sail generators. It was the right size for holding a body, though the constant vibration of the generators under power would have made it a living hell for anyone hiding there. Still, it was an effective hiding place. He had almost missed it.

But no one was hiding there now.

A small gathering waited nearby. The sergeant from station security stood patiently. The XO, Marcus Nieru, was less patient. He stood with arms crossed and eyes threatening to shoot flames. The unflappable Mr. Bishop stood with hands behind his back and a hint of satisfaction on his face. Admitting some measure of defeat, Collins stepped over to join them.

The sergeant spoke first. “We’ve finished our sweep, sir. No sign of the boy.”

Collins chewed on it, trying to think of what he could have missed. “I’d like to look through your cargo bay next.”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Mr. Bishop said, “but it’s been depressurized for several hours now.”

The XO stepped forward. “And we don’t have the time in our schedule to repressurize it for you, so that’s it.”

“Well, I’m sure I can find an EVA suit.”

“Then you’ll have to find another warrant,” Mr. Nieru replied. He held up the sheet Collins had presented him with before. “This doesn’t say anything about our cargo.”

“Well, I’m not looking for your cargo. I’m looking for Michael Fletcher in your cargo.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the sergeant spoke up. “But he’s right. The warrant does specify the crew areas of the ship. It does not include the cargo bay.”

Nieru shifted to a more relaxed posture and stepped to allow Collins a clear path to the exit. “I do wish you the best in finding your man, Commander, but you’ve taken up enough of our time. I formally request under article seven of the CSC that you and your security leave the
Blue Jaguar
now.”

The sergeant nodded to Collins. He did not like it, but at this point, he knew he had no choice in the matter. He followed the sergeant out.

Bishop brought up the rear, and he kept his silence until they had reached the final airlock. “Did you enjoy your tour, Commander?”

Collins turned and faced him. “We’re not done, you and I.”

Bishop smiled. “Perhaps not, but we’re done for today.”

He sealed the inner hatch before Collins could think of a reply.

Michael’s legs were bound to the chair with some kind of sticky plastic sheeting. His hands were cuffed behind him, the links fed around and through the chair back. In theory, he might be able to stand on his toes, but he was not going anywhere without the chair.

Not that he even had that much choice. Leo stood behind him, while Maya watched him from the door, her hand never far from her pistol. At least he was still on the station. They had taken him to a back room in a poorly lit warehouse unit. He must have asked a dozen questions, but his captors ignored him.

After about twenty minutes of this, Maya raised a hand to her ear and said, “I’ll be right out.” With a nod in his direction, she left.

He considered for a moment that this might be a good time to try something, but that line of thought was cut short by a hard smack to his temple. Through the pain and disorientation that followed, he heard Leo say, “That’s for even thinking about it.”

It would not have mattered anyway. Maya returned within a minute, and she brought Captain Lewis with them. Lewis, Watkins… whatever her name was, her arrival was as dreaded as it was inevitable. She paced over, grabbed his face by the jaw and forced him to look up at her. “Well, at least now I don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“Fuck you, bitch!” he said, trying to fill it with all the bluster he wished he had.

She smiled and pushed his face away. “At least you’re in a talkative move. Let’s start with Monty. Who is he?”

He feigned confusion. “Monty?”

She smiled at him and nodded. The blow to his temple came from the other side this time, and Leo’s left was even worse than his right. He shook his head slowly until the stars faded. The captain had pulled up a chair opposite him. “Let’s start again. Maya tells me that when you all left the bar, you shouted to tell Monty that you had been kidnapped. So, my question is, who is Monty?”

He thought about it for a moment, trying to think of someone he could know that might be looking for him, someone who was not actually Montgomery Wheaton. “My uncle,” he said at last.

“Your uncle?” she replied. “I don’t think so. Malcolm didn’t have any family.” She looked up to Leo and nodded again.

Michael cringed, bracing his neck, but this time the blow came low and hard to his ribs on the right. It took his breath away, and he gasped for a few moments, each intake another stab where Leo’s fist had struck.

“So, uncle?” she asked.

“Well, he’s only sort of an uncle,” he answered, amazed at how raspy his voice had become. “It’s a long story.”

She shook her head. “Long story, eh? Well, when we get you back to the ship, Mr. Bishop and I are going to put you in a very small room, and you’re going to tell us all of your stories, long and short.”

“Do you want to move him now?” Leo asked from behind him.

“No,” she replied. “I want to wait until the dock has settled down a bit more, but it won’t be long. First the cargo, then him.” She peered at him a moment. “So for now, how about you tell me where your uncle is.”

“The last time I saw him was Latera.”

“On the
Heavy Heinrich
?”

He nodded. That much at least was true.

“But the
Heavy Heinrich
isn’t here. Why were you using the terminal?”

“I was sending him a message.” Again, it was true enough.

“What? I’m sorry I left? Please come save me?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“And what were you planning to do for the six or seven weeks it was going to take before he could make his way back here? Hang out in that bar drinking soda?”

He frowned. “I, um… I hadn’t thought it out that far yet.” That, he realized painfully, was entirely true. He had only gotten as far as hoping Lt. Commander Wheaton would actually call him back. It had not been, as Malcolm would have said, a shining example of good thinking. He should have known better, but he had been stupid. From the moment he had walked away from Karen to the moment he got off the
Jaguar
, it had been one stupid decision after another.

He looked up at his captor and saw her grinning. “I would have expected more from Malcolm’s boy, but I guess you’re not up to his standards. Too bad for you.”

He sat there, knowing he was likely doomed and was tempted to simply give up. But then, Malcolm had a saying about that, didn’t he? Oh yeah… fuck them. Fuck them hard.

So he looked up at his gloating captor. “Well, once Uncle Monty tells the Navy that Elsa Watkins is alive and well on the
Blue Jaguar
, I’m sure he’ll be back with friends.”

She stood and took a furious step towards him. “What did you say?”

He grinned up at her and taunted her with his words. “Wel-come back, El-sa.”

Her face went red, and she hauled her right fist back.

Michael did not remember much after that.

Chapter 25

“They say the cavalry often arrives five minutes too late. In my experience, five minutes is optimistic.” — Malcolm Fletcher

G
ABRIELLE COULD SEE THE FAILURE
written on Commander Collins’ face when he came into the lounge. They were about a quarter way around the ring from the
Blue Jaguar
. She had wanted to wait on the docks where she could watch the
Jaguar
’s airlock, but Father had agreed with Collins that they should wait somewhere with privacy.

It was just as well. She would not have liked to have gotten the news in public.

“He was not on board,” he said, making it official.