Angeleyes - eARC

  This was a poor tramper. We had neither of the last two. I thought about offering services, but it was too small a crew to keep any sort of emotional distance.

  The next day, we apparently sent a signal to Jump Point control that we were outbound with cargo. Juan looked really tense in case. I figured the cover story was limited. What had this ship been doing previously? Was there a real crew who might be known? Had they been paid off or killed?

  It occurred to me I had no idea at all who these people were, other than “military.” There were rumors of Blazer teams trained for all kinds of barely legal viciousness, and someone on Mtali had wiped out an entire district. That was groundside, though, and these were spacers. Did Space Force have their own Blazers?

  Still, I was on their side, and for now, it was a paid job hauling cargo.

  Whatever info he’d sent checked out. We queued up, jumped into Caledonia, and took a berthing number to dock and unload cargo.

  Five days later we grappled in and started undogging pods and tainers.

  Roger said, “If anything odd happens, just ignore it. If you really think something’s out of line, call me first, just a, ‘Hey, Roger!’ Got it?”

  “Sure. I’ll be discreet.”

  He clapped my shoulder and I got to work.

  I lit up my loader, annoyed that it was a -4. Otoh, the others were -2s, way out of date. Mine had a plate from another ship on it, stamped out, with a riveted overplate. I was just happy they were Hevi-6s, not Isorus. Those things are horribly uncomfortable and rough to handle. I pulled the first pallet of chemical pellets and rolled down the ramp.

  As I passed through the hatch, someone in gray coveralls and cap jumped up, snagged one of the boxes and pulled. The banding wasn’t as tight as it could be, and it wiggled loose. Then they disappeared back underneath. I looked back at Roger, and he just nodded.

  And that’s how someone got hold of some chemicals for explosives. I think.

  I’m sure, I know, other stuff went missing. Any time we had an overestimate, either we pulled stuff off, or someone else showed up to sign for it, or just filched it. I don’t think we ever made a delivery where all the numbers matched.

  When we were done, Juan asked, “Can you take us somewhere to eat? Anywhere a crew might go after finishing a load and awaiting a new one.”

  “Sure, how many?”

  “All of us. I’ve contracted with Hallog to patrol the Pieper.”

  I thought about that. I guess it would help argue against us being criminal, if we’d all leave and let an outside party do that.

  “Sure. I guess you want someplace where no one will know you’re not Alsacien?”

  He shrugged and said, “Ça fait rien, Angie, ils ne savent pas quand même.” I guessed what he meant, and his accent was perfect. Damn.

  “Fish dinner?” I asked. “There’s a great salmon and shrimp place a couple of ramps out.”

  “Perfect.”

  The guard showed up, checked in at the bottom of the ramp, Roger and Mo ran a mesh across the open hatch, Juan locked the pax hatch, and we bounded along the hub. The lead six chattered in French, and I was sure it was real, but that made me more nervous. I knew it was an act, so they were doing something, and it was probably illegal, possibly a war crime, and might get us captured or killed.

  There were UN guards at the gate between dock and station. They weren’t tagging people, but they were checking ID. I had the one I’d been handed, and hoped it worked. I assumed so, but I didn’t know. I handed it over and looked bored.

  “You’re native here, Ms. leBlanc?” the goon asked. They’d gone with my existing docs and basically cloned them.

  “Yes, I am.”

  He said, “Your accent’s funny.” He wasn’t even really looking at me when he said it.

  “I get it from my mother.”

  He looked up. “What, your citizenship or your accent?”

  I rolled my eyes and acted as if it was a come on. “Both.”

  “So what’s that in your pack?” he said, looking at the screen next to him.

  “A lock wrench.”

  “What does it lock?”

  Damn, this jerkweed was a grounder.

  “Airlocks.”

  “Okay. It’s just that it’s shaped and massive enough to be a weapon.”

  “Yeah, but that would be illegal,” I said. I tried to look clueless.

  He seemed completely serious as he said, “That’s why I asked.”

  They definitely weren’t sending their better troops. I wondered if he knew his general orders, or if they even had any. I still remembered mine.

  Teresa was behind me. The others had split up. We all regrouped and made small talk about, “Here she comes” to avoid comments that would piss off the idiots at the gate.

  We bounced down three ramps, g increasing slightly as we went. The first level is all urgent stuff for spacers—transcoms, oxy, power sources, customs agents, stuff like that. The next is really cheap stuff, the third is much better.

  The Silvery Catch was at the high end of my budget, just where a lot of crews went to relax after a haul, especially if they had a day or two layover. They had a huge holo of a swordfish over the entrance. It covered an emergency pressure curtain that could deploy down. Most stuff this close to the docks had reinforcement in case of a crash causing a leak.

  The server was cute, and I wondered how she got here, because her physique was groundsider, even more than mine. She had a wedge do with blond highlights and was cheerful without being icky.

  I do like salmon. I had mine with a teriyaki lime glaze and mushrooms on a bed of rice noodles with broccoli. It was moist, flaky and delicious. I’ve been told that describes me, too. The others chose anything from whiting to buffalo shrimp. Juan and Sebastian ordered chicken.It was good, and we had a couple of drinks each, while Juan, Roger and Dylan swapped jokes in French, and the rest of us spoke English. Mira’s French was pretty good. I understood one word in five when they spoke slowly.

  We loped back up to low-g, the booze making us even dizzier. Or at least it made me dizzier. Juan glanced over his locks, signed off on the rentacop’s phone, and we boarded for the night. We had another day and a half before our scheduled slot out, and about empty mass-cube to fill if we could find contracts. We were actually working as a freighter so far.

  In case you’re just a groundsider—the primary things shipped between planets are people and luxury goods like gems, foodstuffs that grow in specific environments and original artwork. Most other stuff is cheaper to do with fabricators and transferred files, since you only have to pay for the data once. But if a ship is jumping through, they’re going to charge for data. That market isn’t very expensive, but it depends on how critical the info is on how fast it must be transferred, so there’s some variance in price, and all ships that can take in data right up to Jump, and resend on arrival. Then, some are bonded and Space Material and Data Transfer Accord rated for secrecy.

  However, between habitats, all kinds of stuff xfers. There’s a lot less energy involved in near space transit and through the Jump Points. So the stations near them are huge with populations in the hundreds of thousands, and the ones in Sol system actually can have millions, though they’re scattered through linked habitats. The outer systems just run shuttles. Most systems have transfer stations, too, partway between the industry and the point habs.

  Once stuff is in space, it tends to stay there, swapped around as needed. Organics, metals from Govannon (everyone deals with Prescot Deep Space), repair parts, tools, and even medicine if it’s faster to ship a nano then get the data and build it yourself.

  So right up to the last div or even hour, someone might have a package or shipment they need sent, and pay for it if you have mass-cube left. Then there’s personal documents and digital data.

  We had a day and a half. We’d try to max out on that mass-cube and data to make a bit more profit.

  I had music, vid, sens and a mostly private be
rth. We’d dogged tarps up to screen it into cubbies. For very private time the head had a locking shower with interactive holo.

  When I overheard Juan and Shannon talk about “Sol system,” I got nervous.

  “Is that safe?” I asked.

  “Probably not,” Juan said. “What do you know about their Jump Point Three?”

  “They’re pretty good at keeping everything patrolled. They tag everyone, even short transients. They also scan all cargo and try to inspect or check bills of lading.”

  “Heh,” he said. “You think they scan all cargo.”

  “They do.”

  “They maintain that image. We’ve proven they don’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “You can figure it out,” he said. He wasn’t going to tell me. I assumed they’d done this before. So either there were regular smugglers, which was likely, or they’d planned ahead for this war. That was possible, but bothered me.

  If we picked up anything special here, I wasn’t aware of it.Cubes, cargotainers, vac-packs. We had a leisurely load to start with, and Roger had a load plan for the intended manifest. I put stuff where he said and let him worry about the thinking.

  I expected we’d have a rush toward departure time. Lots of transshipments look for available craft, or get delayed, or travel space-A, or hope for a discount on an already full load. It’s how trampers stay in business.

  It was eight hours and a bit until departure when Shannon said, “Angie, can you come dockside with me? I’d like some info.”

  “Sure. What?”

  “Can you show me a couple of emergency safehouses here? Do you have any?”

  “Bypassing the gate, hiding out for a nap and some privacy, or being invisible?”

  “Whatever you have.”

  They wanted proof I was bona. It made sense. Worst case, I was in Caledonia.

  “Okay. Dark coveralls, and follow me.”

  I went to my cubby, found a maintenance cover, pulled it on and met him back at the cargo lock. He was dressed the same. He handed me a badge that would clear me out and back in through the dock.

  I led with chatter, and hoped he’d catch on and play along.

  “So we’re off the ship,” I said. I was quiet and conversational, but parannoyedly assumed someone might listen. “You realize the captain will be a bit ticked if he finds out we’re sweating together.”

  “He won’t find out,” he said, and gave me a grin that almost seemed real. But I knew he’d got the meaning.

  There was the “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” sign, and I said, “This way.” I slipped past and into a door that led to a cleaning closet. That was smart because it gave distance to stuff they cared about. It was stupid because it was easy, unsecured cover. A few seconds later, he was in behind me.

  “This is one,” I said. Good for a quick snog or a spread if you’re adventurous.”

  “Are you?” he asked. It took me a moment to realize he meant that strictly professionally. He was asking if I had.

  “I have been. Now and again and again.”

  “Go on,” he said, and it took me a bit more to realize he meant about hideouts.

  “Up there,” I said. “The grill pulls off, and there’s a large air plenum. That’s used . . . not often, but it’s not that uncommon . . . and laborers use it to get past gates when they miss a sched. They’d report anyone really suspicious and figure to get a slap and a bonus for stopping a smuggler or whatever.”

  “Got it,” he said, looking up. I’d had to toe the shelf to get up. He could reach it unassisted. If he was fit enough, he could probably spring up and pull.

  “This way,” I said. I cracked the door, checked, stepped back out and around into the main passage again. He followed.

  Down two ramps was an under-ramp stowage, that locked. We went around behind it and I pointed, then kept walking.

  Once around again, I whispered, “That takes a standard key all the maintenance use. All it has is cleaning carts, vacuums, things like that. If you wait until traffic dies down, it’s a quiet place to rest or sleep. They change the key periodically, but I spread with one of them two years ago and he let me have the login. It updates me when I hit system.”

  “Do I get that, too?” he asked, leaning close as if we were flirting heavily.

  “Of course,” I said, and licked the tip of his nose. Damn, this was distracting. He was built, smart, had a lot of charisma and I hadn’t been properly boned in weeks. Shipboard release was work, not play, and not the same. It was more like petting a cat than real sex.

  “One more?” he asked. “Somewhere more private?”

  I’d shown him two closets. He wanted something more serious, to prove I was.

  “How long do we have?” I asked.

  “A couple of hours at least.”

  “Just enough time,” I said. “You can’t rush these things.”

  I’d have to go in the back way from here. I hadn’t done that before.

  “It would be easier with blue coveralls for station staff, but these will work,” I said. “Can we get a bit dirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Find some grease or dust as soon as we get into the service passage,” I said.

  Getting into the service passage wasn’t too hard, but I did have to shim the latch. I carry a small tool that has a reflective surface that fools a non-locked latch into thinking it’s been opened.

  I had it out, he ran a hand down my wrist, glanced that way, and shifted his eyebrows to silently ask, “Want me to do it?”

  I let the card go and he stretched up with both hands, touched the doorframe, waved it, and stepped slightly back as it opened.

  Once inside, I glanced around, pointed low at a dumpster with some rags and other “clean” waste, and we walked over to it. I grabbed one, rubbed it between my hands and across my brow, then wiped it down the coveralls and across my ass. I was a well-worn laborer now, as far as anyone looking could tell.

  Looking like that, I led the way down the length. It doesn’t quite circle. It crosses another one that’s polar rather than circumferential, and it stops before the next bay.

  I spoke regularly, so it sounded normal. “We’re needed down at Chinchy’s in ten. This isn’t really authorized, but as long as we go straight there, we should be okay.”

  We passed some guys unloading a flat behind a restaurant. It looked like new equipment. Two glanced up, and I said, “Sorry, can’t help or would.”

  “Yeah, you better get back into transient passage,” he said.

  “Working on it,” I replied, with a tone of go screw.

  Past them, there were occasional others, but no one said anything, most didn’t really notice, and those who did just sort of stared to make sure we kept walking. This was trespass, but mild.

  Then I waved my thumb and ducked into a little side niche. This had a door that was almost a hatch.

  “Watch this,” I said, and punched the code I had from my phone. It clicked, I opened it, and he followed me through. Inside it was dark. This was a conduit for water and sewage, and it was hot, dank and almost pitch black. There were emergency lights every hundred meters or so. Actually, probably exactly one hundred meters.

  He whispered, “Can we talk?”

  “At a whisper, yes. There are camps out here from time to time. Refugees, homeless people, petty criminals, some of all that and more. If they’re found, they get sent wherever home is or to ground.”

  “That’s expensive.”

  “Yeah, they’re very decent like that, though of course, a lot of us don’t want to be on ground. But at least..I guess they’re somewhere.”

  “How often do they sweep for them?”

  “Every few weeks. The campers get good at moving around.”

  “Should we look messy?”

  “Some do,” I said. “Some are smugglers. Some scrape a living acting as go-betweens and shoppers. They look nicer. If someone can save, or has skills, they might find a slot on a near-derelict and
relocate.”

  “I’m told there’s a lot of these at Ceileidh and Breakout.”

  “Yes, and it’s easier to make a living there, but harder to survive. Most of these can beg for assistance from the government and get it.”

  “Yeah. We actually do save some, though. We just can’t save all.”

  “No one can.”

  “How do we get out of here?” he asked.

  “Down this way about two hundred meters. There’s five little alcoves along the way. A board or cloth hanging up,” I pointed at the first one, “indicates it’s taken. It’s rude to shove in until at least a third of a day goes by. If you get snoopy, they might be armed and mean, or drugged, and the community of sorts will come after you as well.”

  He looked around as we walked, and I was pretty sure his shades were taking images.

  “They’d leave us alone?”

  “Mostly. If they thought we were doing what we are they’d turn us in themselves.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  The exit was behind a dumpster behind a restaurant. The dumpster wasn’t supposed to block the access, but there wasn’t anywhere else to put it. That passage was full. I gather they paid an occasional bribe of a meal to the safety inspector, and he mostly looked away.

  “Straight back now,” I said. “We’re too dirty for this area.”

  “We should have brought spares.”

  He handed me a wash wipe, and I cleaned my face and hands at least.

  In twenty segs we were back at the dock.

  In the meantime, loading started, and I joined in to help, with all the internal and racked tainers.

  CHAPTER 15

  At the last minute, we had a passenger.

  We weren’t really set up for them, but Roger cleared out a compartment that was mostly pantry, and rolled in a folding rack. With that, comm access and agreed use of our shower and head, he settled in. He was slightly old, slightly gray, in really good shape, and quiet. He nodded all around, shook hands limply for his mass, and went to secure for launch.