No Honor in Death (23 page)

Dunmoore thought for a moment.  She wanted a group she could trust to act properly and report honestly what they saw.

"Make one of the gunners Leading Spacer Rownes," she said.  The woman had struck her as reliable and solid, plus she was a former merchant gunner, which meant she knew what to look for on a trader.  Devall silently nodded his approval.  "Anyone among the crew who's worked on the shadier side?"

"I think Nosey Bertram used to be a thief of sorts or a smuggler, before the law caught up with him and offered jail or the Navy, sir,"  Guthren said, turning in his seat.  "He's a buddy of Rownes too."

"Okay, so much the better.  Put Bertram on the list.  I'll be in my ready room.  Warn me when we're within shuttle range.  You have the con, Mister Pushkin."

"Aye, aye, sir."

In the solitude of the ready room, Siobhan wondered about her impulse to break procedure and take the boarding party herself, instead of letting the Second Officer do it.  There was only one answer.  She didn't trust Drex and hadn't since the Zavaleta incident.

Ten minutes later, in full armour with a pistol strapped to her hip, Siobhan Dunmoore joined the boarding party on the shuttle deck.  She inspected them briefly.  The nine spacers  wore the same armour as their Captain and carried short carbines, except for Chief Foste, who held a stubby, ancient and very deadly scattergun in her gloved hands.  They also carried hand-held battlefield sensors on their utility belts.  Whoever had put the party together had done her homework.

The faces peering at her through the open face plates radiated excitement at the break in routine, and Siobhan recognized Able Spacer Vincenzo.  His bruises were healing nicely.  Beside him stood Banger Rownes, her comforting bulk looming large and dominating the small, weasel-faced engineer's mate on her left.  The latter's name tape identified him as Bertram, and Siobhan could see how the weasel-face Spacer had acquired his nickname.   He had the shifty look of a professional criminal.  Beside Bertram was another gunner's mate, a young, pale and slender woman with Slavic cheekbones and a name tape that identified her as Demianova.  Next in line, the purser's mate, Leading Spacer Rajmurti, returned her gaze placidly, as if joining a boarding party was an everyday occurrence.  The others were bosun's mates, from the security division.

Dunmoore stepped back and ordered them to stand at ease.  "We're going over to inspect the
Mykonos
.  There's nothing in particular I'm looking for but she may not be what she seems.  Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut.  Use those sensors on your belts and record everything you can.  Those among you who are specialists, concentrate on your area of expertise and visit those parts of the ship that concern you.  Always stay in pairs, one specialist and one bosun's mate.  Vincenzo, you're with me.  Bosun, you're with Rajmurti.  Take a long look at their cargo and don't let them talk you out of a close inspection."

Foste stepped forward.  "Aye, aye, sir.  If I may?"  When Siobhan nodded, she turned towards the boarding party.  "Trang, you're with Rownes, Gonzalez, with Bertram and Christiansen with Demianova."

"I'm not expecting any trouble," Siobhan continued, "so make sure your weapons are on safe.  Do not use them unless threatened or on my orders.  If anything strikes you as strange, wrong or unusual, use secure comms to tell me.  Make sure none of the
Mykonos
crew can overhear you.  Questions?  No?  Okay, Bosun, mount up."

The boarding party climbed into the tiny shuttle and strapped in.  Siobhan went up front with the pilot, who, to her surprise, was none other than Lieutenant Kowalski.  The Signals Officer gave her Captain a grin and a thumbs-up, then raised the shuttle's ramp.

The radio crackled to life with Pushkin's voice.  "Boarding party, this is the bridge.  We're in position one kilometre off the target's starboard side.  You may launch now."

"Bridge, Dunmoore here,"  Siobhan replied, "General Order eighty-one is in force."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"Dunmoore, out."

Kowalski looked at Siobhan for a few seconds, then flicked on the thrusters.  General Order eighty-one meant that if the
Mykonos
wasn't legit and took the boarding party hostage, the
Stingray
was to disregard their presence on board and deal with the other ship in whatever manner the acting captain thought proper.  If that meant blowing her up and thereby killing the boarding party, so be it.  The Navy did not deal with hostage takers.

The frigate's massive shuttle deck doors opened slowly, revealing the aft lower hull framed by the massive jump drive nacelles.  A band of stars dusted the black velvet of space in the distance, the Milky Way in all its glory.    Deftly, Kowalski raised the shuttle above the deck and inched her way through the energy field keeping in the shuttle bay's atmosphere.  Dunmoore felt the small hairs on the back of her neck stand up under the charge of static energy.  Then, they were through, floating in space.

Kowalski swept the shuttle around the upper hull and Siobhan took a long look at her ship.  For her age and the unhappiness within her, the
Stingray
remained a beautiful frigate, a marvel of technology and ingenuity, and Siobhan felt strangely touched by the sight.

Then, the shuttle swung away, towards the small, toy-like ship in the distance.  As they got closer, Siobhan, and indeed the entire boarding party stared at the
Mykonos
, examining her, wondering what about her had made the Captain order an inspection.

The trader was sleek, built for speed and manoeuvrability, not for bulk cargo.  Her drive nacelles seemed strangely outsized for her hull and she sported a large number of gun blisters.  The
Mykonos
appeared in good repair and well-cared for.  Better than most traders Siobhan had seen.  At a glance, the Captain decided it could easily take on a corvette-sized warship, and probably had the legs to run from anything bigger, like a frigate.  Which means Slayton could have evaded the
Stingray
successfully if he'd wanted to.  Maybe he really had nothing to hide.

"Cor," a disbelieving voice said behind Dunmoore, "if that's an effing trader, I'm an effing Admiral."

Siobhan turned around to face the speaker, Nosey Bertram.  "What makes you say that, Spacer?"

"Begging' yer pardon, Cap'n, but I served on smugglers with less power and guns than that one."

"Which is why you got caught and ended up in the Navy," Demianova tartly replied, to the general amusement of the party.  Bertram made a face at his friend.

Siobhan smiled at the ribbing, surprised that Bertram was so free about his less than sterling past.  But then, the lower deck probably knew all about his pre-Navy days.

"I agree with Nosey, Captain," Rownes calmly stated, when the merriment died down.  "I've served on many fast traders, and the ones with outsized engines and heavy armament usually carry cargo they don't want the Fleet to see.  But then," she shrugged, "what with the war, civvie shippers could do worse than equip their barkies with powerful drives, so maybe it don't mean anything."

Siobhan nodded.  "We'll have to see when we climb aboard.   Like I said, keep your eyes and ears open.  If she's a smuggler, then we've got ourselves a nice prize.  A ship like that would probably be bought into the service.

Eyes lit up at the mention of prizes.  Pay in the Fleet was good, better than in most merchant outfits, but the wartime Navy had another perk that never failed to fire up a decent crew: all ships captured, whether enemy, smuggler or pirate, became prizes of the capturing ships, and when sold by the Admiralty or taken into service, the crew received prize money equivalent to the value of the ship and its cargo.  Some Fleet ships were said to be doing very well in this war, and their crews, if they lived to see the end, would return to civilian life with full pockets.

Nosey Bertram grinned broadly.  "That'll be one hell of a change, Cap'n, an' I says its about time, too.  Ain't making the same kinda money no more since I volunteered for the Navy."  His wistful tone brought on another round of laughter, and for the first time since taking command, Dunmoore started to feel comfortable with her crew.

Moments later, the
Stingray
's shuttle eased onto the trader's shuttle deck and settled on the centre mark between two rows of modern, armed and unmarked craft.  Siobhan quietly pointed at them and then at Kowalski's scanner console.  The Signals Officer nodded her understanding.  Some traders liked to use armed craft when calling at dangerous planets beyond the Commonwealth, but these hardly looked like the surplus stuff civilians could buy cheaply.

Kowalski then gave them a thumbs up, signalling that the static charge, picked-up when crossing the energy barrier, had bled away and it was safe to disembark.  The ramp dropped and Siobhan walked through the aft compartment to climb out first.  Vincenzo immediately followed her, his carbine held at the ready.

Slayton met her at the foot of the ramp, unsmiling and tense.  He did not offer to shake hands.  In person, the trader captain was shorter than Siobhan expected, shorter than she was, but heavier.

"Captain Dunmoore," he nodded in greeting.  "I'm flattered that you're leading the boarding party yourself.  Any particular reason for that, or your warlike get-up?"  He pointed at the body armour covering Dunmoore's battledress.

Siobhan smiled tightly.  "Let's just say I wanted to stretch my legs.  As for the get-up, it's standard procedure.  If the shuttle loses pressure during transit..."

Slayton raised his eyebrows.  "Are your shuttles in that bad condition?  Maybe I could sell you some of mine," he offered, a faintly patronizing smile on his lips.

Siobhan pursed her lips tightly.  "Why don't we get on with it."

"Yes," Slayton sighed, "let's.  I still think you're wasting your time, Captain.  In fact I know you are."

"We'll just see, won't we.  Please have someone conduct Chief Foste to your cargo holds, Spacer Bertram to engineering, Spacers Rownes and Demianova to your defensive systems.  I'd like to tour your bridge and examine your permits and manifests."

Slayton lost his weary look and a hint of steel glinted in his dark eyes.  "You seem to be well prepared, Captain."  He snapped his fingers over his shoulder and a bearded, thick-set man, armed with a blaster, trotted up.  "Targa, take the Chief to the holds.  Get Hicks to give the Navy a tour of engineering and Mkila to give a tour of the defensive systems."

The hard faced merchant spacer nodded, clearly unhappy with his orders.  "Aye, Cap'n."

"Captain Dunmoore," Slayton gestured towards the open door leading to the ship, "before we visit, I'd like to have a private word with you."

"As you wish," Siobhan shrugged.

Slayton led her through narrow passages to his quarters.  On the way, Siobhan's alert eyes took in the excellent state of the ship, better than what she expected of a cost-cutting merchant, and the hard look of the crew they passed.  All were armed.

The trader captain's quarters were small and sparsely furnished, but he had a small collection of antique, printed books lining a single shelf above the bunk.  Siobhan recognized several of the Anglic titles and was amused to see a copy of Machiavelli's masterwork among them.

Slayton perched himself on a corner of the desk and sighed.  "Quite frankly, Captain, your insistence on inspecting the
Mykonos
is presenting me with some difficulties."  He rubbed his jaw with a hand that literally dripped gold and precious stones.  The jewellery looked like it would keep a four-star Admiral in luxury for a year.  "Not that I have anything to hide from Starfleet, but to avoid any misunderstandings, I'm afraid I'll have to breach security.  Unfortunately, that means you and I will probably suffer some consequences."

Dunmoore remained silent, eyes on Slayton.

"You see, Captain Dunmoore, this ship is under orders from the Special Security Branch."  Slayton waited to see how the naval officer would react to this revelation.

The Special Security Branch, known as SSB, was the all-powerful civilian spy and secret police arm of the Commonwealth Secretary General.  The organization had used the war to expand its reach and powers, and that brought it in frequent conflict with the military.   Dunmoore, like most line officers, knew little about the Service, except that it was dangerous, unaccountable and, if rumours were true, frequently screwed the Fleet in the pursuit of its own goals.  SSB agents were said to have infiltrated just about every part of the armed forces.

She repressed a sudden shiver when the thought of SSB operatives among her crew crossed her mind.  If any of the stories were true, then crossing the SSB was equivalent to a one-way ticket to hell.  There were rumours that a lot of dissenters had disappeared since the start of the war, supposedly in protective custody of the security services.

Siobhan took a deep breath.  "Do you have any proof, Captain Slayton?  I'm sure you understand that your word means little to me at this point."

The civilian laughed harshly.  "Come now, Captain Dunmoore.  Do you really think I carry an SSB membership card around with me?  The whole point of undercover work is keeping your true allegiance hidden."

"Then I'm afraid I shall have to treat you like any civilian vessel in a war zone, Captain.  Is there anything else you wish to tell me?"