Dark Secrets
They came into Venzi Station trailing pirates—and riding the redline on a guaranteed delivery, which was far worse.
They were known at Venzi—a scant blessing, so Simon thought, but then, given the current situation, he'd take every small positive thrown their way. At least they’d be allowed to rig to station and maybe even dock, if they could get there.
Caerli was first board, and flying like a madwoman. You'd think it was a gift she'd been given—at least to the point of the pursuit, there being nothing the ex-Scout loved better than to push her own personal piloting envelope.
The nearness of the deadline—neither one of them appreciated that, and it definitely added an extra bit of derring-do to Caerli's flying. His partner had a fond relationship with money. She'd felt the loss of the early delivery bonus keen as if she'd lost a finger. If it came round that they lost the whole fee, it would be a strike to her heart.
Come to it, he wasn't certain in his own mind how they were going to get on, if they lost the payout for this job. Might squeak themselfs into some local work to build the ship's 'count back up to safe levels. That was if there wasn't a fine to pay. Which . . . given Venzi Senior Station Master Tey, there was bound to be a fine to pay.
If they got a fine on top of a loss, Simon thought grimly, they were grounded— plain fact. Despite the station master, Venzi wasn't the worst ring to be grounded on, first reason being there wasn't no actual ground . . . but not being cleared to fly—that'd put Caerli 'round the hard bend in local space before a station-day was done, and himself running to keep up.
'Course, he told himself, there wasn't no sense looking so far ahead. Things might work out on their side, yet.
Pirate had range on 'em, after all. Even granting that Caerli could wring miracles from the board, they still might get hull-shredded with no back-up to hand.
And wasn't that a cheering thought.
"We are not," snapped Caerli yo'Dira, "going to be hull-shredded."
"Dash every hope I got all at once, why not?" Simon answered, glancing at the screens.
"I'm seeing two missiles with our names on 'em, heading dead on," he said, just giving her the info.
She didn't bother to answer. Thin fingers flew over the board; the screens grayed. Simon's gut insisted that the ship had twisted around them, even as the screens showed real space all about. The instruments reported that they'd Jumped out and in again between one breath and the next.
The pursuing missiles were seventeen seconds further behind them, that being what Caerli's playing of the Ace had bought them, but it was still going to be close—too close, and if—
The universe twisted again, and this time when the screens came back, they were crossing Venzi's shield perimeter. Not the way Jump engines were supposed to be treated, nor the way physics was supposed to be dared. Station warnaways blared across all channels. The missiles, being dumber even than the crack team of Kilsymthe and yo'Dira, didn't answer, and a few heartbeats later the defense system defended the station, just like it was made to do, and there weren't any missiles any more.
The pirates, no surprise, were gone like they'd never been.
"GelVoken," came blaring across the all-band. "You will be guided into a Section Eight dock. Lock in and await escort to the station master's office."
The comm light snapped off without waiting for a reply—well. Wasn't any reason to wait for a confirm, was there?
"We were not," Caerli stated, her voice raspy and not quite steady, "hull-shredded."
"That's right," he said, soothing her, 'cause the rush of dancing between life and death pretty often left her shaky. "We didn't get hull-shredded. Good work. I'm thinking Master Tey's gonna give us a citation for that, don't you?"
Caerli all at once collapsed back into her chair.
"Of course," she said. "Whyever else would she send an escort?"
* * *
"You two." The station master glared from Simon to Caerli and closed her eyes.
"You two, again."
There was that to be said for being known at a particular port or station, Simon admitted to himself – no need to waste a lot of time bringing somebody new up to speed. Station Master Tey, now, she knew exactly who they were.
And she didn't much like them, individually or as a team. Didn’t like them being a team, for that matter, which happened in more ports than it ought, Terrans and Liadens flying together wan't always a popular choice with admins.
"I guess you had a good and compelling reason for endangering Venzi Station?" Tey asked, sarcasm heavy.
Like they'd deliberately gone looking for a pirate to lead into station, thought Simon with a flicker of irritation. It was understood that a station master had a natural partiality for her station, but that didn't mean the rest of the universe considered it at all interesting.
"We have a commission to Venzi Station," Caerli said softly, reasonably. "We came out of Jump at the Kelestone Light boundary. They were waiting for us, thus we immediately Jumped for Estero— "
That was the story, but she’d short-Jumped there, dropping out well before charted Jump-end to take advantage of one of those asterisked end-notes in the ven'Tura Tables, which always creeped him, and one day Caerli was gonna miss her number and they'd fall outta Jumpspace into the maw of a sun, or the center of a planet. Not that he worried about such things, much.
"We were clear when we came out," Caerli continued, glossing the abort. "Thus, we Jumped for Venzi."
The aborted Jump—that's what'd cost them the early delivery. Still, can't come into a station trailing pirates. Surest way known to pilot-kind to make the station master mad at you.
Case in point.
"You're telling me they were waiting for you at Venzi entry?"
The station master frowned, not liking that notion at all. Which proved she was a good station master, despite the personal lapse of taste that failed to find Kilsymthe and yo'Dira adorable.
Caerli shook her head.
"Station Master, the Jump point was clear. They came in on our tail when we committed to an approach."
Tey liked that even less. Pirates lurking along the station approaches was way past serious. Most pirates weren't organized—or numerous—enough to hold a station hostage, though it'd been tried and done. Astrid Verity's Freebooters had held the lanes at Squalme Station for three Standards before TerraTrade hired Canter's Corpsmen to eradicate the problem. Which they'd done, at the cost of near-eradication their ownselves. Mostly, though, your garden-variety pirate didn't have the skill-set—or the attention span—for that kind of long-term commitment.
And, in their particular case, there was an easier culprit, right handy.
"So, your package is interesting to somebody, is it?" asked Station Master Tey. "Real interesting, looks like to me."
Simon's stomach fell straight into his boots. He opened his mouth, though their on-going agreement was that Caerli talked to Tey, whenever they could manage it. The gods of lost stars knew what he might've been about to say, but it came moot as Caerli tilted slightly forward, her whole body conveying respect.
"We have guaranteed delivery, Station Master, and the hour fast approaches."
"More fools you, then," snapped Tey.
"Station Master," Caerli adjusted her posture slightly, mixing a smidgen of humble in with the respect. "With all respect, Station Master, if we do not receive the delivery fee, we will be reduced to a cold-pad on station’s budget until we may get a rescue from guild or clan."
Simon blinked. It wasn't what either of 'em did, normally, sharing out Kilsymthe and yo'Dira personal bidness with station masters and that sort of person. Nor was Caerli in the habit of admitting she was low on funds.
Then, he saw the calculation behind that startling bit of candor. Station Master Tey saw it, too, and her mouth pursed up like her beer was sour.
Delay the delivery and she'd have Kilsymthe and yo'Dira on her station to deal with every shift until they got lucky—say, forever—or somebody—could be even Tey herself—came to the snapping point and did something maybe, a little, regrettable. Let the delivery meet the deadline, and Kilsymthe and yo'Dira would go away and leave her and her station in peace. More or less.
"All right," she snarled. "Get outta my sight."
Caerli bowed gently, which only made Station Master Tey look more sour.
"Spit it out," she snapped.
"Yes. One only wonders, station master, if we are free to pursue our own business. We had hoped for a speedy departure."
The station master looked at her hard, and Simon could almost see her measuring how much trouble she could still cause them, without being stuck with them forever.
"Make your delivery." There was a pause while she searched the office ceiling with her eyes, and then included them together with a wave of the hand.
"You're on probation and locked to station," she said finally. A glance at both of them, made with a grimace, “It’ll be a hot-pad, never fear, but locked to my orders. Admin'll move as fast as practicable, but I want the pair of you where I can find you, in the likely circumstance that questions arise."
Questions about what, she didn't say, and neither of them sought clarity. Instead, in the interest of getting paid, they bowed—and left the station master's office.
* * *
They made the delivery venue—Aberman's Drinkery, which sounded considerably more up-scale than it was—before the wire fell on the deadline, and only that. Caerli went first, with Simon lagging a step behind. His hands, trained for detail and fine work, worried the pay tab.
One long step and he was beside her at the table's edge, packet extended on the palms of his hands, so the man sitting there, scowling, could see it plain.
The resevio snorted.
"Took your time," he said, making no move to take possession.
"Yessir," Simon said, "scenic route."
The other man snorted again, and snatched the packet down to the table. He put a hand on it, and glared from Simon to Caerli.
"Will there be a return packet?" Simon asked politely.
"If there is, I can hire me a courier who respects a deadline, an' neither don't take the tab off like it was his to do."
Simon's face heated, but he said nothing.
Caerli bowed slightly.
"If there is nothing more, we depart," she said, and turned on a heel. Simon followed her out into the station hall, and kept to her side as she crossed to a clumsy corner, where two storefronts didn't quite match up, leaving a thin, triangular cubby. At her nod, he slipped into the slim cover first – that was standard operations, him being taller'n her. Caerli snugged in against him, tight and maybe even distracting, save he had a burning question at the front of his mind.
"What're we doing here?"
"Waiting," she answered.
He sighed, and for lack of anything else to do, being squished flat into the corner like he was, he scanned the bit of hall in his line of sight, which included the entrance to Aberman's Drinkery.
It was a back hall, so there wasn't a lot of traffic, though the Drinkery clearly had its adherents. A couple security types strolled in, arm-in-arm, like they was reg'lars, followed pretty soon by a man in mechanic's coveralls, and two women in librarian's robes.
A repair gurney lumbered noisily down the track laid in the center of the hall; three mercs in uniform swung 'round it, walking fast, vanishing before he could read their colors.
The repair rig crawled out of sight, and the hall was empty so far as he could see for the space of four heartbeats.
* * *
END OF SAMPLE
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