Galaxy's End: Book One Page 19

  I didn’t need any conversation. They would ask questions I couldn’t answer. Besides, I was on a mission to meet with Chance.

  The corners along the wall were no cleaner. I suspected the grime had accumulated along the walls where nobody had walked for a generation. The heads of screws and bolts were rounded and shiny, indicating decades of use. While functional, everything seemed old and slightly alien.

  The handle to open Chance’s door was smooth and worn where many hands had touched it. I debated knocking and relented. My knuckles rapped the thin metal.

  He instantly called for me to enter.

  I pushed the door open and found him sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet on the floor, his head held down in his palms. He looked up at me with red eyes. He’d been crying.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  I sighed and looked for a place to sit. There was none. It was a cabin a third the size of ours, intended to hold a single crewman. I said, not to him, but to the ceiling, “Bert, are you with me?”

  “Yes.”

  Chance said, “He’s always there?”

  “Always.”

  “Why did you come?”

  He sounded genuinely puzzled at my appearance, or maybe because I was alone. He had little knowledge of his empathic power if any. He had seemed to use it almost defensively, and sloppily if that was the right way to describe it.

  I felt a pang of pity. It was alien. Not my idea. My head jerked up in near rage. He was doing it to me. Never had I been on the receiving end of an empath. I said flatly, “You are an empath. Not a particularly good one, but no matter. You will not do that to me again.”

  His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

  “You will not attempt to sway my thinking.”

  Now, he seemed confused. Was it an act? My mind wanted to be gentle and give him any benefit of the doubt. He might not even know of his abilities. He might just go through life finding that others often did as he wanted. To him, more coincidence than empathy. He might not even know the word. I should feel sorry for him.

  I pulled myself up taller and mentally slapped myself across the face. He was doing it again, manipulating my feelings to benefit him.

  Instead of reacting angrily, I drew a breath and waited. I could learn a lot from him, simply by observation. What worked for him would work better for me if I learned how to control it. I might also learn what didn’t work so I could avoid it.

  I said, “Mr. Chance, how long have you known you are an empath?”

  “Don’t be silly. There’s no such thing. I asked why you are here?”

  Denying it didn’t make it any less true. Besides, there was that word again. Coincidence. He was on the ship that had been targeted for attack, had killed the captain, and he was an empath with ties to Prager Four. Too much to be an accident.

  Was it possible he didn’t know?

  No, I dismissed that instantly. Two crewmen were bribed to take over the ship, the communications Champers and a steward who was to kill the captain while a ship threatened us and forced us to drop out of hyperspace so others could board.

  That brought up the second coincidence. The “pirates” were not pirating in the entertainment sense of the word. Vids always showed them boarding other ships with knives held in their teeth, which seemed silly when they could put them in a scabbard.

  These “pirates” were an organization after something else. They didn’t want to capture a marginal tramp cargo ship. If they did, they could have bought one for less than it cost to bribe the crewmen. They also wanted Captain Stone’s ship. The two were somehow connected.

  Again, not the ships, but probably what they held in their cargo bays.

  Which brought me to a third coincidence. The pirates were focused on two ships. One held Captain Stone and the other was where she normally lived. She was the obvious connection.

  I allowed the ideas to shift and take shape. At first, it seemed they might be after Captain Stone, but that didn’t work. She had booked the trip too late for others to find a pair of corruptible crewmen and put them in place so the ship could be captured. Nobody could know she would be on the ship until the day of our departure. The takeover of the Dreamer had been planned long ago.

  That took me back to the cargo. Two ships, each with cargo so valuable that ships barricaded a wormhole nexus to protect it. That was a fact.

  However, there was a commonality. Both ships had been on Roma at the same time.

  That had to be a major item. The only solid connection.

  “When were you hired to kill the captain?” I asked as if I was asking if he wished for me to pour him a cup of tea. I returned the favor of him using his empathy on me by doing the same to him. Hopefully, more skillfully and without being detected. I nudged him to work with me. To trust me.

  He tried to hide his eyes. Then, he sighed as if realizing it would be easier on him if he answered than if he didn’t. My empathy was working. I saw a subtle shift in his expression as he thought of me as a friend. “Five days before liftoff.”

  That confirmed part of my idea. Whatever was happening had been planned long before Bill, Bert, Captain Stone, or I had become involved. I let out a sigh of relief.

  Half of the air had been expelled when I realized I was alone in a cabin in a spaceship with an admitted killer. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  I blurted out, “You don’t look like a murderer.”

  “I’m not. Well, I guess I have to take that back. I am now.”

  “You’ve never killed before?”

  He hung his head and slowly shook it.

  “Why?” I asked. “Why this time?”

  He didn’t look up. In barely a whisper, he said in a voice almost inaudible, “My family. My mother and sister are still on Prager Four. I send them almost my entire paycheck, but it is not enough. My sister works three jobs and met a guy. She is pregnant, so she will have to reduce her work hours. Mom is ill and her meds are expensive.”

  I saw where the story was going. I felt no sense of compassion or deception.

  I grew up on the hard streets of Roma and had heard similar stories, mostly lies, my entire life. Hell, I’d told a few far bigger than his.

  Bert’s voice came softly from somewhere above, “Truth, Kat.”

  Chance was on his feet, his arms thrown wide, “You’re listening to everything we say? Always?”

  “It’s what I do. Hello. My name is Bert.”

  “And you know all that about me? Are you one of them? The men who made me do this?”

  Bert gave it a few moments before telling him, “No, I am not. However, I will say this one thing and you should listen carefully. My family is on this ship and we may be in a position to offer help for you, but only if you help us. I am speaking for myself, not the others.”

  I was not shocked at Bert offering to trade help for information. It was a good offer. However, I was stunned at the statement about Bert having his family on this ship. Either he had little digger kittens hidden away or he was talking about me. And Bill, of course. Maybe even Stone and Fang.

  Family. Such a strange word. So non-linear. Family can be defined in many ways and yes, I considered Bert closer than others with blood-family. He was not even the same race—and we’d never discussed it—but he was right. We were family.

  Chance said, “You’d help me? How?”

  Bert said, “We’re in the deep-dark of hyperspace, within a wormhole. We have little allegiance to anyone not aboard this ship, therefore, what we hear or do not hear, may not be repeated at the end of the voyage. We are not required to contact any police agency. We do have that option, but it is not a requirement. I’m tending to repeat myself. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “You might let me go?” he whined pathetically.

  “And more. We may be in a position to financially help your family. No promises.”

  “But if I tell you all I know you won’t turn me in?�
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  “I’ll confirm it with our captain, but for now you can assume it to be true.”

  I couldn’t help myself. I scowled at Chance. “One lie, one untruth or misleading fact, and I will take you to the next police force and testify against you.”

  He sat up and looked at me with fear in his posture and eyes. Yes, there was fear, but also a glimmer of hope. I gave him a mental nudge, just a little touch to help him make the right choice. He said, “I do not know much.”

  That was probably the most truthful thing he could say. Our new enemies wouldn’t confide in a man like him; one they knew would tell the enemy all he could to save himself. He was a tool they would discard as soon as they had the ship.

  However, he was not a random selection, either. He was an empath. From Prager Four. That made him different than all others on Roma, except for me. And Stone.

  Take away all else that was happening, and that single fact remained. I couldn’t believe his employer knew he was an empath or Chance would be working at a much higher position. The alternative was that they did know and didn’t care.

  Like that song I couldn’t get out of my head, it kept coming back to that one junction in our histories. The three of us were linked in a manner nobody else could know.

  Inspiration struck like a fist slammed into my stomach.

  “Bert,” I said, “check the departures of ships from the spaceport on Roma and the times. Were there other passenger ships with connections that could have taken us to Escobar Habitat where the Guardia was supposed to be reoutfitted?”

  “Three other ships would have sufficed, two of which immediately departed before this one. A third slightly after, one far faster and a route more direct. What caused you to ask that question?”

  “Why did we take this one instead of the others?”

  Bert was silent as he seemingly considered my question. Chance sat and waited, dreading our conversation. Bert pinged the speakers and said, “Two of those other ships would have been better choices. One not. However, your question is relevant. Ask Chance.”

  “What do you know about that?” I asked, pointing a finger at his nose.

  He recoiled as if struck.

  “Tell me!”

  “Okay, back on Roma, I received a com message from the Champers that I needed to think about this being a good ship and that your captain should choose it to travel with us. It seemed innocent enough. I’m sorry.”

  If that was true, why hadn’t Captain Stone detected and rejected his mental suggestion? I asked, “Listen, I understand you attempting to hide your empathic abilities. I also believe you’re used to doing that and, you lied to me a while ago. Probably not intentionally but from habit and I don’t blame you.”

  He looked hopeful. A fake smile touched his lips.

  I continued, “You’ve known about your powers all along and how to use them more and better than you’ve let on. Right?”

  “Right. I’m sorry. It was not an intentional lie, just reflex.”

  I believe him for a change.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Captain Stone

  Captain Stone asked Bert to replay the conversation they had had with Chance had had a short while ago. Yes, Bert had exceeded his authority to offer help to the steward and agree to not prosecute Chance by a few lightyears, but he did it with good intentions and to maximize the information he might obtain as a result. There are times when you have to do what you must.

  Bert had promised little, implied more, and all of it was what she would have wanted if she had been there and handled the situation. Crewmen like Bert made being a starship captain easy. She allowed him to continue with the interview. Besides, she and Fang were busy with the ship following them.

  First, no ship should have that tracking capability. She would have heard if they did. Everyone knew that wormholes disrupted all but subspace calls, which were in another dimension or some such nonsense that nobody understood. And it was wrong. Second, the ship remained where it believed it was out of the detection range of the freighter when in normal space. Fang had decided that upon arrival at the nexus near Franklin, the ship behind would close the distance between them before their freighter could achieve the safety of orbit or landing. Franklin had no navy posted at the nexus to protect them.

  When the freighter left the protection of the wormhole, the pursuing ship would do the same within a few instants. It then could either catch up or fall behind and maintain what it believed was an undetected pursuit.

  In short, she believed the captain of the ship behind thought that she would lead them directly to the Guardia. That might be their plan, and probably was, and she would believe it easier but for the mutiny attempt her people had foiled on the freighter. How was it all connected? The timing appeared wrong. Perhaps Kat would elicit new information from Chance.

  In the meantime, she had a vague plan. She said, “Fang let me know if there are any changes in the situation. I’m taking Bill and heading for the cargo hold. Listen in, as if I have to tell you to do that. We’ll probably be down there for a while.”

  Bill leaped to his feet even though she was speaking to Bert. He’d been silent as he worked on a computer program with basic engineering concepts that she’d set up for him. The introductory program was intended for youths younger than him but was exactly what he needed to get started. He was beginning to understand how much he didn’t know. That was important for anyone.

  Captain Stone snapped to Bill as if he were officially one of her crew, “Follow me.”

  She exited the bridge with him at her heels and unerringly navigated passages and halls he hadn’t known existed. Most starships use similar layouts dictated by the large space the engines consume, leaving only a fraction available for habitation. Like most constructs, the physical dimensions and requirements of the crew, make logical use of the space.

  Ships that never enter an atmosphere differ completely. They are often called “habitats” or “habs” and can take on any shape. Some travel, others are stationary.

  Bill and Captain Stone passed only a few crewmen. Each of them paused, saluted respectfully, and seemed pleased she had taken over the ship. She had probably saved their lives —and they knew it. She had also found the killer and had him confined.

  The engine room was loud, not from the propulsion system as the ship coasted without friction to slow it. Dozens of machines caught Bill’s attention, from air handling to water pumps, and electrical panels. Despite the age of the ship, the engine room was clean, the tools meticulously stored on racks mounted on walls for ease of identification, and overall, it was probably in better condition than all but the newest or military vessels.

  Captain Stone paused in front of a paunchy old man in tattered overalls who was bending over a worktable and the assorted parts of a machine spread out for repair. He hadn’t heard them over the din. She eyed him carefully as he reached back and scratched his butt with his left hand where a stubby tail appeared. A light brown fuzz covered his face, head, arms, and probably the rest of him. Cute little tufts of fur rose at the tips of his ears. She placed her hands on her hips and asked, “Is this space yours? You’re the chief engineer?”

  “McL, at your service, Captain,” he said as he turned. “But you can call me McL.”

  She smiled at his little joke. “This engine room is a pleasure to observe, sir. I have been on many ships and have seldom found one that can compare. You would be welcome on my ship if you’re thinking of a change. For now, will you point to the hatch for the cargo bay?”

  He beamed with pride and jammed a greasy thumb over his shoulder to an airtight door.

  She paused. “Air?”

  He shrugged. “You’re the captain until we arrive, so if you want the hold filled with expensive air, the company can pay the cost.”

  “Fill it, please.” Working in suits was restrictive and dangerous. Besides, when doing physical work, she tended to try wiping sweat off her brow while wearing the helmet and made hers
elf look silly.

  He raised his arm and spoke to his sleeve to the com wrapped around his wrist. Captain Stone moved around the room taking in the machinery. While she was not a mechanic, she recognized good work. The screw heads were like new, few burred, and some probably were new. It was a tip her father had pointed out when selecting a good engineer. A sloppy set of burred screws showed a poorly maintained space.

  Her eyes went to the air filters where a fluttering red paper tag drew her attention. They were overdue to be changed. The red tag was the chief engineer’s way of telling his crew what hadn’t met his expectations. The schedule for changing filters had exceeded the published timeframe and he was drawing their attention to that and she suspected there may be a few shouted words. When she returned to the engine room, she’d wager the red tag would be gone, the filters changed, and in the future, they would be changed on time per schedule. Yes, she would try to steal him for her ship.

  A roar of compressed air passed through exposed ducts near their heads as McL filled the cargo bay with atmosphere. She glanced at Bill from the corner of her eyes and wandered near the chief engineer again. She said in a friendly tone, “You never get ahead with maintenance, do you?”

  He kept his eyes on a monitor and answered, “Getting ahead isn’t my problem. It’s getting behind that’ll get you killed.”

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  He chuckled and said, “Besides the offer of a job?”

  “I have a dolt on my crew who wants to be an engineer, hopefully, to be like you one day. Would you like some free unskilled labor to assist?”

  “Him?”

  “How’d you know? And yes, it is him. Bill.”

  “His eyes are taking it all in. I saw him looking up at the ceiling and following the freshwater system from the recyclers to the tanks. He’s got a good eye.”

  She nodded in satisfaction but didn’t want to mislead the engineer. “He has no experience, from books or hands-on.”

  The pitch of the air being sent to the cargo bay decreased. The monitor said it was almost full. The engineer faced her. “That sort of kid probably tore things apart and reassembled them. He knows more than you think. I’d love to have an extra hand.”