Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (34 page)

“And you’re jumping to this conclusion because nobody stole the firewalled readers.” Zoya’s eyebrows rose.

Natalya felt the heat rise on her neck. “That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

Zoya shrugged. “Interesting hypothesis, but I think we’d be wise to keep the possibilities open. The readers aren’t exactly a solid data point. And speaking of readers?” She held out her hand.

Natalya gave her the unit and shrugged. “Sorry. Got carried away.”

Zoya plugged the chip and frowned at the screen.

“What is it?” Natalya asked.

“Bank deposit.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Zoya said.

“Are you rich yet?”

“Twenty thousand.”

“Any orders?”

“Just the deposit.” Zoya turned the tablet around to show Natalya.

“What do they think they’re getting for this?”

Zoya shook her head. “No idea. I hate surprises.”

“Maybe we’ll run into Hardwall at Siren and you can ask.”

“You think so?”

Natalya shook her head. “No. Not really. If he’s really TIC, he’ll keep a low profile in station.”

“But if he’s Rewers’s gopher? Won’t he have to be out and about?”

“Probably no more than Rewers herself.”

“You think he’s not TIC?”

“No, I think he is TIC. I just wonder where he really falls on the chain of command.”

Chapter 36
Siren System: 2363, July 30

Captain Trask’s face turned an alarming shade of red. “They want what?”

Blanchard held up a hand, palm out. “Just the messenger, Skipper.”

“At least they’re waiting until we dock,” Lyons said.

Pritchard smirked. “Guess my hiding didn’t work out so well.”

“You going to be all right now?” Trask asked, arching an eyebrow at Pritchard. “I wasn’t sure you weren’t going to have a heart attack at Moe’s.”

“Here we’ve got a legal cargo,” Pritchard said. “There’s nothing for them to find now.”

Lyons snorted and pushed his dinner plate back from the edge of the table.

“Something you want to say, Josh?” Pritchard asked.

Lyons looked up at the overhead and took a couple of deep breaths. “No, Mr. Pritchard. There’s nothing I want to say.” He glanced at Natalya. “I’m not being a mope.”

She grinned at him.

“If we’re done with the drama for the moment, is there anything we need to do before we dock in the morning?” Trask asked, looking around the table.

Blanchard pursed his lips and shook his head. “I think we’re as clean as we’re likely to be.”

“I can discharge a couple of fire extinguishers,” Natalya said. “Nothing major, just something they can find and write us up for.”

Pritchard turned to her, his jaw flapping, but no words came out of his mouth for several heartbeats. “You’ll
what
?” His voice squeaked on the last word.

Natalya sighed. “If they don’t find anything, they’ll dig. Everybody has something. If we give them something easy, they’re less likely to go poking about where they might find something serious.”

Pritchard blanched. “What could they find?”

“I thought you were good with them coming aboard now,” Trask said. “You’ve done this drill before, Steven. What’s got you so spooked this trip?”

Pritchard drew himself up in his chair. “I am not spooked, Captain. I’m aghast that Ms. Regyri would consider lowering the operational standards of the ship in such a cavalier way.”

“Uh huh,” Trask said, casting him a sour look. “What’s your biggest concern, Ms. Regyri?”

“I don’t want them looking too closely at the Burleson drives.”

Trask frowned for a moment. “Is there something wrong with them?”

Natalya shook her head. “Not as such. They’re too big for a stock Barbell. They’re Class T’s where normally we’d have Class O’s.”

“Ah,” Trask said. “I see your point. If they ask, just tell them it’s your first trip with us and they should ask me. I can probably come up with a cover if we need it, but I’d rather not try to use it.”

“That’s it?” Pritchard asked.

“What’s it, Steven?” Trask asked.

“You’re not going to say something about discharging fire extinguishers?”

Trask pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “I wasn’t going to, no, but now that you mention it,” he looked at Natalya. “There’s one at the foot of the bridge ladder. It’s a backup in case of fire in the data closet. That would be a good one to hit. Also one in the spine around frame sixty-five.”

Natalya nodded. “I know the one you mean. Should I pop one in crew berthing as well?”

“No, but see if Ms. Marah can expend one of her small ones from the galley and red tag it for replacement when we dock.”

Natalya grinned. “Nice touch.”

“Not my first circus,” Trask said with a wink.

Pritchard’s expression of horror almost made Natalya laugh. Almost. “Captain, I must protest. This is highly irregular.”

“Thank you, Mr. Pritchard. Protest noted. You’ll pardon me if I don’t log it until after we leave Siren?” Trask stared at Pritchard. “Is there anything else you’d like to bring to my attention?”

Something in the captain’s expression made Pritchard back down. He sighed and deflated like a week-old balloon on the exhale. “No, Captain. Nothing else.”

“Good,” Trask said. “Then let’s clear out of here so Mr. Bray can clear away the dinner mess, shall we?” He stood and ambled out of the wardroom, leaving Pritchard scowling at his empty plate and Lyons shaking his head.

“Something funny, Josh?” Blanchard asked.

Lyons looked across the table and grinned. “All this time and I never realized how much fun I was missing.”

Blanchard gave a small chuckle. “Blame her,” he said, jerking his thumb at Natalya.

Lyons glanced at Natalya. “Thank you, Ms. Regyri.”

There was more behind the simple thank-you than a light-hearted comment. Natalya grinned. “Don’t get all sappy on me now. That’s worse than moping,” she said.

“All right, people. Let’s move on, shall we?” Blanchard stood and poked his head into the pantry. “You can clear now, Mr. Bray. Thank you.”

Bray’s voice came from the galley end of the pantry. “Aye, aye, Mr. Blanchard. Have a good night.”

Blanchard nodded at Natalya and gave a little snort when he looked at Pritchard, still glaring at his plate, his brow furrowed. “I’ve got the mid so I’ll see you in the morning,” he said to nobody in particular and left the wardroom.

Natalya stood and followed him out, Lyons on her heels.

“Speaking of mope,” he said. “I never knew Mr. Pritchard had such a flair for the dramatic.”

Natalya shrugged. “I don’t think he can help it. Something ain’t right with that man’s head.”

Lyons stopped and looked at Natalya. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” she said and shrugged again. “He’s like a twelve-year-old playing dress up in Daddy’s work clothes. He’s so self-conscious about playing the role of chief engineer, I don’t think he realizes that he’s terrible at it.”

Lyons frowned, looking down at his boots for a few heartbeats before nodding. “I can see that.” He glanced up at Natalya from under his eyebrows without raising his head. “What do you say about me?”

“Generally that you’re a nice guy,” Natalya said without hesitation.

“You don’t think there’s something wrong with me?” The earnestness in his eyes almost took her breath away.

“No, Mr. Lyons. I think you’ve got some kind of issues that probably need professional treatment, but honestly? I think I do, too. So does Zoya.” She snorted. “Especially Zoya, but no. Not like Pritchard. Even drunk you’re more self-aware than he is.”

They separated at the passage to officer country, Lyons heading toward his stateroom with a wave and Natalya heading for engineering. They’d be docking in the morning and she wanted her ducks all quacking in the same direction when they did.

Chapter 37
Siren Orbital: 2363, August 1

Docking felt like coming home. Natalya ran through the power changeover and assured the station-ties connected solidly for all the tankage. She keyed the fuel, gasses, and water replenishment before the captain secured from navigation stations. The spares order had already been forwarded from Moe’s.

She sat back in her chair and watched as her crew secured their terminals, shutting down the systems they no longer needed, putting the fusactors on ready standby. The sail and keel generators had been secured and set to safety before the tug picked them up and guided them into the docking ring. Natalya had shut down the Burlesons herself. On the one hand, TIC seemed to know all about the ship. On the other hand, having to wait for the Burlesons to spin up would take time. If the safety inspection was simply a
pro forma
exercise in bureaucracy, the inspection crew might not want to take that time. If it was more, then the Burleson drives weren’t their biggest problem.

That made her think of Pritchard. His behavior at Moe’s left a lot of unanswered questions. His subsequent turnaround on undergoing inspection at Siren made even less sense.

“All hands secure from navigation stations. Secure from navigation stations.” Zoya’s voice sounded calm and smooth on the squawker.

Engineering central went silent for several heartbeats.

“No liberty?” Town asked, looking at Natalya

“Well, this is a Confederation port. They’ll have to run Customs in first. The captain will need to clear up the issue of the safety inspection before he can do much.”

“We won’t need to be aboard for that, will we?” Solomon asked.

Natalya shrugged. “No idea. Might be a good plan to set up a port-side watch rotation for the engineering space. Simple fire-watch rotation.”

“Is that necessary?” Collie asked.

“Necessary, probably not. Useful camouflage for the inspection? Certainly.”

Solomon grinned at Collie. “You’ve done the Visual Site Inspection before. What’s your beef?”

“VSI is tedious and boring.”

“Cheer up,” Solomon said. “It’s only for a couple of days. You’ll only have one watch before we’re out of here again.”

“Mr. Knowles can probably add to our merry band as well,” Natalya said, rising from her station and stretching her back. “Once the TIC people are satisfied, the captain will probably relax ship doctrine, but for the meantime, do us all a favor and pretend you’re actually CPJCT qualified, yeah?”

Everybody nodded and Ms. Solomon winked at Natalya.

Solomon tapped Reisine’s shoulder. “Go get gussied up, dearie. We’ll put you on watch first in case they decide to come in right after Customs is done.”

Reisine looked down at her shipsuit. “What’s wrong with this?”

Solomon pulled on her own collar tabs and held up her left arm showing the Spec-One Fields insignia. “You’ve got a spec-three set, don’t you?”

Reisine nodded. “You know I do. You made me buy it.”

“Go get into costume, dearie. Your audience could appear any moment.”

Reisine sighed but stood and scuffed out of Engineering Control.

Solomon looked around at the others. “You’ve all got about three ticks to get yourselves out of here and into engineering berthing, unless you’re looking for some day work.”

Natalya snickered when they took less than two ticks to vacate the area. “You’ve got a talent for this, Ms. Solomon. You ever consider the academy?”

Solomon’s laugh bounced off the bulkheads. “I’m way too old and set in my ways to be going there. Besides, I don’t have that pristine a background that I could fake my way in.” She shook her head. “No, dearie. I’m Toe-Hold through and through.”

Natalya shrugged. “You never know. You’re not that old. I had classmates in their thirties.”

“I don’t know that I’d want to do this full time,” Solomon said, sitting down at the propulsion console. “One quarter a stanyer I get to come out and play.” She shook her head. “It’s enough for me. Any more and it would get tedious, I think.”

“What do you do between runs?”

“Third shift supervisor at Dark Knight Gamma.”

“Gamma?”

“Ore processing terminal. I make sure the boys and girls don’t get their hands or feet in the crushers or smelters.”

Natalya felt her eyebrows rise. “Is it that dangerous?”

Solomon shook her head. “Not really. We just have to keep the machinery going. The barges bring the raw ore in and load our bunkers. We keep the rocks moving all safe and sound in the booth. Don’t even need exosuits most days.”