Grayson Sontang in Space Ch. 02

"Three," Hal supplied. "To avoid disputed, uncontrolled space."

"I'm a cargo ship. I'm not equipped for people. I don't have the recycling systems, the food systems, any of it. And I don't have defenses against pirates."

"We have temp systems for all of that. And your piloting skills are all the defense you need. All you have to do is drive, and Pilot Evans can help you with that part, even."

"I don't carry people and I don't carry Feds," she proclaimed, stalking toward him. This time, he stood his ground.

"Confederated Officers, technically," he said, speaking down to her now, as her head didn't even come to his chin. She glared up at him. "I'm sure you've seen that yacht over there," he said quietly. "It was attacked by pirates. It's been adrift for days. We arrived in time to prevent the people from being taken for ransom, but the ship is a worthless hulk now. They have no way home. Ten of them are just kids."

"Don't try to play on my pity. I have none. Take them yourselves."

"We're needed out here. Obviously," he added with a vague gesture.

"And what if I decide to ransom them?" she threatened, hands on her hips.

"You don't need to. You will be very well paid for your time and effort. Some of the passengers are part of the royal family."

Grayson cocked her eyebrow. She knew damn well that the royal family was huge. They probably wouldn't miss a few members here and there. Still, she doubted Hendon would appreciate her comments as to that fact. "How well?"

Hendon smiled, knowing he'd snared her. "You can haggle with the family's agent shortly. In the meantime, you need to decelerate and rendezvous with the yacht. Or tell your computer to allow Evans to take control."

"Like hell anyone drives this baby but me. Just get your asses off my ship and let those rich-ass suck-ups know they're going to be bedding down in a cargo hold for a few nights."

"The Captain has assigned Evans as back-up pilot. He will undoubtedly assign a couple of other officers, too. I'm sure they will be no more fond of you than you are of them."

"No, see, that's not how it works. I'll take your cargo 'cause you're not giving me any choice. But I run this ship alone."

"Then think of them as part of the 'cargo,'" he replied, obviously growing irritated with the conversation.

Grayson glowered at him for a moment, then spoke, still staring at Hendon, irritated that he didn't show even a slight waver of intimidation. "Hal, set rendezvous with the yacht. Maintain two hundred meter buffer on starboard." With that, she stalked around Hendon, easily maintaining her balance as Hal adjusted thrust and grav fields to compensate. As she stomped through the portal, she caught a glimpse of Hendon shaking his head in disgust and Evans shrugging helplessly.

She hurried to her quarters and closed the portal behind her. "Hal, relay all comm."

Hendon was texting on what he thought was a secure, encrypted line to his ship. He obviously didn't know Hal well enough. "Captain, I'm not the person for the job. We have a mutual antagonism that will blow the op to the next galaxy."

"I've decided. You're the most expendable."

"Thanks," Hendon replied sarcastically. "Look, just contact Customs and talk to my Commander."

"Already have. They're convinced this trader is a key smuggler. They figure we can recoup some favor with the Feds if we can show proof."

"Don't you think I would have used that leverage if I'd been able to prove anything?"

"They say to send Bogart, too," the Captain added.

"Oh, my fucking nebula!" Hendon exclaimed textually. "He takes one look at her, his tongue will be hanging out tracking slime everywhere. She'll have him for lunch. Send Shelly."

"Word is Sontang prefers men."

"What the hell does that have to do with the price of coffee?"

"Word also is that she's a nympho."

"Gimme a break, Captain. She's all about profit. Like any trader. She does whoever can increase her profit, and trust me, that doesn't include any Fed OR Confed officer."

"It does if she wants them to look the other way. But that's neither here nor there. She just needs to get these people to Sirius Prime so we can get the king off our back. You keep her in line, Bogart keeps her distracted. Simple. Over."

Grayson clearly heard Hendon over the ship's comm system. "Fuck!"

"Fuck you too, sweetie," she muttered.

A few minutes later, he was letting himself into her quarters. Grayson glowered at him. "Have you ever heard of privacy?"

"Not where I work. Which is apparently on this ship for the next few days. The shuttle needs to head back. Your computer won't open the bay without your say-so."

"Fine, as long as you're all on it."

"Evans and I are staying. So are Het and Sip."

"The smelly twins?"

"You get used to it. The Alliance members like to keep their input relevant."

"And that's code for?"

"Exactly what it says, at my pay grade. I'm paid to nod and say yessir."

"Shit," Grayson said, but only half-heartedly. She tended to work the fringes of human-occupied space, so zenophobia was not only un-useful, it was self-defeating. Zeno's were just as interested in contraband as humans. "Just so you know, this little jaunt is going to be so fast, you'll be wondering what system you left your teeth in."

"Your computer tells me you haven't slept in two days."

"What? Hal!" The computer was silent. "Turncoat."

"He also told me you have a six hour required rest prior to flight. I would suggest you use the time now, while we are rendezvousing and loading, then you can take the controls to the next jump hole."

"You think I'm going to let you load a bunch of rich fucks into my cargo bay along with oxy and god knows what else without me being there to supervise?"

"Yes. Because I think you want to be rid of us as soon as possible, so I think this is a trade-off you will be willing to make."

"Asshole," she exclaimed, throwing the nearest object at him. Unfortunately, it was another silk negligee. He peeled it slowly off his face, inhaling deeply - and dramatically - as he did so. He tossed it back at her.

"Have a nice rest period," he recommended.

****

Despite herself, Grayson did sleep; and woke to all kinds of clanging and the reverberations of shuttle bay doors opening and closing. She laid on her bed and listened, trying to make out what was going on. She knew if she asked the computer, it would count the time against her sleep period. Why the hell, in a fit of safety-related paroxysms, had she programed those restrictions? Not that it mattered. They were there now, hard-wired, and she had to live with them.

The moment her six hours were up, Grayson walked onto the bridge and scowled at Evans. He had ensconced himself in her command console again. "Out!" she yelled and he hastily moved down to the control console. "Hal, coffee!" The dumbwaiter slid open, revealing a steaming cup. The computer had seen her coming. "If you think that's going to make up for ratting me out, you've got another think coming, you silicon junkie." She took the cup and a big gulp. When she turned around, Evans was looking from the computer banks to her with a puzzled frown. She glared at him and he quickly became fascinated with one of the monitor readouts.

Grayson slid into the command chair and stared at the monitors gloomily. Apparently, Evans had been going through her logs again, even more carefully. Looking for evidence to use against her, no doubt. She looked at the main screen, but it was just showing a star field. Near the center was an extremely bright star, probably Sirius A. Grayson ignored Evans' presence and began rapidly calling up status reports and camera views on the monitors in front of her, while ordering Hal to display a sim of near space on the main screen. She studied the sim, showing her ship and the yacht. One of the Confed fighters was drifting nearby. The yacht was perhaps twice her volume, though it was long and angular. A shuttle - her freight shuttle, she noticed with a scowl - was in the process of returning to her ship. From camera shots, it appeared that the Confed shuttle had just docked. The shuttle bay was still open, waiting for the freight shuttle before cycling air. Grayson switched to cameras in her holds and was blessed with a view of her new cargo. People were milling about, or sitting on the floor or on cots. She had an intense urge to shut off the gravitron field and perform some acrobatic maneuvers. "Shaken, not stirred," she proclaimed, causing Evans to jump at the sudden break in the silence.

"What?" he said, turning in confusion.

"James Bond. Never mind. Just how many people have they drug over here?"

"Um, six crew and thirty-five passengers, I think. They lost some crew members in the attack."

"Gods, they're going to expect to be waited on hand and foot."

"Or," he pointed out, "They may be so grateful for the rescue, they'll wait on you hand and foot."

"You've never met the Siriun Royals, have you?"

"And you have?" he scoffed.

"Actually, yes. Well, one of them. How soon can we get out of here? You know, where there's one pirate, there's always others."

"They're bringing over the last of the temp systems now. I believe Hendon was assuming you'd want to check the installations yourself before leaving the transit jump." Grayson eyed the monitor showing the cargo holds.

"Do they have at least one tech down there?"

"Het and Sip are good at that stuff. And there's a tech from the yacht that's kept things running this long."

"Then I think I'll trust Hal to tell me if something needs my personal attention."

Evans grinned at her over his shoulder. "Not the social type?"

She scowled, but only half-heartedly. "Would I be flying around on a trader if I were?"

"I hear ya. This thing moves like a dream. How'd you get so much push out of that old engine?"

"Some tweaks, some special valves, some duct tape and wire." He laughed. Grayson eyed a readout. "Hal, oxy's too high on level one and too low on level two. We're going to have to lock all the doors open or it will never balance. And lockdown all the other doors. Don't need a bunch of brats pulling wires loose or something."

"Agreed. Initiating."

"If those people would stay put and quit wandering in and out it wouldn't be a problem," she complained.

"They've been confined to a small space on the yacht. They need to stretch their legs. They'll settle in soon," Evans said. "How come you've got meat in a temp-control hold instead of freezer crates?"

Grayson's scowl deepened, though his back was turned again. "I got screwed. Bought a lot of freezer crates - supposed to be freshly charged - and it turned out some of them were half dead. What's it to you?" She could tell he was looking at her logs, still, but his response was off-hand.

"They wanted to use that hold for some perishables but the temperature was too low. With your kitchen designed to favor fresh cut vegies, there wasn't much storage room there either."

"Not my problem if they have to settle for freeze-dried."

"Just don't be surprised if they offer to take some of the meat off your hands. They're bringing some portable units over, too, so it'll get them by until they get home."

"What were they doing running around out here in pirate heaven anyway?"

"Same thing as you, I'd guess. Hoping to take a shortcut and get lucky."

"Ha, ha'" she snarled. "You might take notice of the fact that they got hit and I didn't. I don't trust to luck. I trust my skill."

There was a ding and Hal announced that Hendon was outside the bridge portal. "Can we just leave him locked out there?" Grayson asked.

Evans shook his head and rose to unlock the portal. "For the next few days, he's my boss. You might be able to get away with that, but I have to play nice."

Hendon strode onto the bridge looking very annoyed. "Please tell your computer to grant my men passage throughout the ship."

"Your men, maybe. Not your cargo."

"Fine," he snapped.

"Hal. Can you do FaceRec on the Confeds?"

"Yes."

"And the Siriuns," Hendon added.

"You can't even see their faces. What about SmellRec?"

"What about we all agree to be civil with each other for the duration," he growled.

"I'm not sure I've been civil with anybody that long," she muttered. She could hear Evans trying to stifle a chuckle. "Hal, unlock for the Confeds and Alliance Officers on approach."

"Thank you," Hendon said tersely.

"You're welcome. Can we go now?"

"You don't want to meet your 'cargo?'"

"I make a point of not getting personal with cargo. I just haul it from one point to another."

"Then perhaps you'd like to open a comm line to 89564," he drawled.

"You're awfully testy today. What's your problem?" she asked, giving him a sugary smile.

"You," he replied. "You're going to make this trip hell for me, aren't you?"

"You imposed on me, remember? I was just minding my own business, trying to make a buck."

"Comm line," he prompted.

"Hal, let Hendon talk to his daddy."

"Breathless Dragon calling 89564. Hendon speaking."

"Captain Harris."

"We're loaded and ready to head out," Hendon reported.

"All right. Nav is sending you your route."

"Excuse me?" Grayson spluttered. "I don't take routing from anybody. I'm the goddamn pilot."

"I'm sure they're sending the same route you would have selected," Hendon pointed out, trying not to let his irritation show in his voice while his captain was on the comm. His face was another matter entirely.

Grayson narrowed her eyes and turned back toward the main screen. "Hal, show the route they sent." It popped up on the screen. She studied it for half a minute and exclaimed, "There! See it?"

"See what?" Hendon said with exasperation.

"That second jump. It's next to a red giant."

"So? The wormhole is stable."

"You can't shoot through there at speed with that kind of mass pulling on you. The grav field can't compensate for the star on top of thrust at more than ten gee. It would add a whole day to the trip. Maybe more if you've got a lot of whiners in the holds. They don't exactly have gee-rated seats down there. Hal, show him a real route."

The computer superimposed a different route that appeared to cover much more distance. Hendon shook his head. "Take this wormhole? That would take us out of Siriun Space."

"Yes, where the galaxy is a whole lot safer. Then it's two and a half days to the next jump which puts us just outside your precious sector, three days into a more stable part of the sector for a hole right to Sirius."

"Captain, we're sending a proposed alternate route," Hendon said with a sigh.

Grayson squirmed in her seat in her version of a victory dance. Evans was studiously avoiding looking at either of them. "You'd have to pull, like, thirty gees for eight hours to make that third lap in three days," he said thoughtfully, squinting at the screen.

"Two four hour thrusts with a half hour break in between," Grayson said. "No pirate's going to catch us at that acceleration. Are you worried about the cargo? I've got a few gee chairs we can put the weaker ones in."

"I'm worried about your engine. Especially if they're jury-rigged. You know, the duct tape might give out."

"See, the thing is, it was jury-rigged by me, so I know it can handle it. I have no desire to be vaporized in space."

"Are you catching all this, Captain?" Hendon asked.

"Nav is running the figures now," he replied. "Thing is, it is a safer route. The king has been pretty insistent about that."

"Since when does he make decisions about ship navigation," Grayson demanded, even though the captain was arguing for her route choice.

"Since his son is involved," Hendon replied.

"His what, what?" Grayson demanded.

"His son is down in your hold," Hendon said calmly. He looked over at her. "Are you okay? You look a bit green."

"My fee just tripled," she snapped. "Hal, more coffee!"

She stalked to the dumbwaiter and grabbed the fresh cup even as the captain announced her alternative route was approved. She wanted to smirk at Hendon, but her stomach was tied in a knot and she had some flying to do. There would have to be time later for smirking. Like when they were no longer within Siriun jurisdiction. "Hal, plot for wormhole. Warm up engine." She glanced at Hendon. "You'd better tell the cargo to settle in. I'm taking it back up to fourteen AU/D."

****

Grayson was drowsing in the command chair with her feet up on the console when Hendon came back on the bridge. They had made it through the first wormhole and were safely away from the pirate- and Confed-infested Siriun sector. "Shouldn't you be accelerating?" he asked.

"Not till I hear from the king's agent. And my money is put in a third-party account. And my contract is in Fed hands," she said with her eyes still closed.

"That's rich. A smuggler depending on the Feds for contract enforcement?"

"Alleged smuggler."

"And if your demands aren't met?"

"Then I'm dumping your asses on the nearest planet and getting on with my business."

"A little overconfident, aren't we?"

Grayson opened her eyes and looked over at him. She scanned him up and down, then said, "Nah." In front of her, Evans was making the smothered snicker sound again.

"Supralight message coming in," Hal announced.

Grayson pulled her feet down and tapped a key, reading the offer from the king's agent. Hendon moved behind her chair to read over her shoulder. She was already answering the message with one of her own. It simply said, "Triple it." Less than a minute later, the response came, agreeing to her counter offer and with a contract attached, even specifying one of the typical third party fiduciary agents and agreeing to paying their fee. Grayson stared at the message, realizing she could have demanded even more. This time, it was Hendon snickering, and he wasn't trying to hide it. She swore under her breath as she attached her electronic signature and sent the contract off to the agent and to the Fed's Contract Enforcement Division. By the time she'd done that, and logged into the Fiduciary to check the account, the money had already been transferred.

Grayson sighed and headed for the next wormhole. It was rated for twenty AU/D as neither end was near a star system. She set thrust at a reasonably comfortable gee level that the grav field could easily compensate for, then went to her quarters to eat, hoping to avoid having to spar with Hendon even more. She was beginning to think she might have to deck him just on general principals, but it really seemed like a good idea to put that off for the time being.

An hour later, she was laying on her bed, reading a book, when her portal opened. Grayson scowled. She was going to have to remember to throw the manual locks if she wanted any privacy at all. Hendon rounded the corner with another officer following on his heels. This one was Customs also, slightly shorter and leaner, definitely younger, than Hendon. "Officer Bogart, I would like you to meet our hostess, Grayson Sontang," Hendon said.

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet you, Trader Sontang. I only wish that it was under more pleasant circumstances than our current intrusion into your life."

Grayson sat up. This was the Bogart that was supposed to drool all over her? Even Hendon seemed to be looking at him with a perplexed expression. "Pleased to meet you, Humphrey," she said.

He looked at her with a puzzled frown. "Actually, it's Hank. Hank Bogart."

"You mean you've never... Ah, nothing. I trust the cargo is stowed," she commented, looking at Hendon.

"As comfortably as can be."

"And I don't suppose the government is willing to meet us halfway with more comfortable accommodations?"

"If you were concerned about pirates, would you want to risk the extended period of vulnerability necessary to slow down, match velocities, transfer 'cargo,' then get back up to speed?" Hendon lectured as if she were a school girl.