Poor Man's Fight (38 page)

“And look at you now.” He looked from Orion to Kiyoshi at operations. “Status?”

“We’ve got… two other ships in sensor range behind us,” Kiyoshi murmured, staring at his screens. A grin appeared on his face. “One of ‘em is a Lai Wa freighter.”

“Right on time,” Ming said. He stared at the approaching destroyer. “Take the bait, you stupid tools. Take the bait.”

“Yup.
Norfolk’s
running an active scan,” Kiyoshi announced.

A moment later, Orion turned back to his station to answer a hail. “This is
Sarah’s Dream
,” he hacked and gagged. “Go ahead,
Norfolk
.”

“
Sarah’s Dream
, we see significant radiation on your center hold,” warned the voice on the other end of the channel. “You say you’re carrying textiles?”

“Affirmative,
Norfolk
. Mostly silks. We know about that radiation. Gonna get a scrub at Apostles’ Station soon as we get there.” Orion clicked off the mic, then clicked it on, coughed and clicked it off and on once more. “Radiation’s not too bad. We’ve just been trying to get… grragh… get to a good… stopping point.”

“And you guys are checking yourselves out over there, right?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re huuurrggghhhh fine heeechk. Fine here.”

There was a long silence from
Norfolk
. “You’re clear with a regulation scan and you’ll get customs run-through at Apostles’ Station. Just take care of yourselves. Continue on your original course.
Norfolk
out.”

Ming tossed the others on the bridge a smug but relieved grin. “Told you we could wait on the radiological scrub.”

***

So it finally happened, just like I was warned. Stevens had us all muster out on the fligh
t line for PT. Apparently the last few times this happened, some of the crews of the other ships and the local support stopped working to watch and laugh. I think that’s why Stevens had us muster before regular work hours.

Turns out, by the way, I’m still just as in sh
ape as I was when I got out of weapons and tactics school. I’ve been worried, ‘cause I’m tired and dizzy a lot while underway, but I’m surprisingly fit. Morales is a fitness monster and I guess Stumpy was a star athlete in school or something… but I almost wish we’d done something competitive.

Anyway.
Our gunner’s mate, Miller showed up ten minutes late. He didn’t talk to the captain, which was good, because we realized pretty quickly that he was still drunk from the night before. He hardly kept up with us and he fell out of formation constantly, but the XO and Freeman kept the captain distracted so he wouldn’t notice. I always thought you’d be in deep shit for showing up drunk. Everyone seemed to find it hilarious.

Mostly I think it was just something else they could do to give the captain the finger without him knowing. That’s basically how it is here. Everyone hates him because he works us so hard and so much of it is bullshit. He called everyone to the galley last week while we were in port, like there was some emergency or we were going to war or something, and then he stormed in and says, “There’s a hard copy of an engineering certificate that’s gone missing from my desk. Tear the ship apart and find it
right now!”
Naturally, it was on his desk underneath some other papers.

He freaks out over these things, he freaks out over how the ship looks coming into port, but then we haven’t run a single general quarters drill since I’ve been here. Let that sink in: I’ve
been here almost eight full months, and not once have I actually trained in my position for battle stations. Or boarding teams.

I can’t say Stevens is all bad. He was really good to the refugees. Every boarding we did during that mess, he made sure they had enough supplies and
got medical attention, kind of above and beyond our actual instructions. We had an informal all-hands formation on the base, and when they read off some of the metrics on the whole refugee flood, we were clear out on the top. Most hours underway, most ships inspected, all that. And then one of the base officers made some passive-aggressive comment about how “obviously nobody was trying to out-do anyone,” and the other officers stood there chuckling about it. As if Stevens knew any of that would be reported. I really think he was just trying to live up to the whole Christian charity thing.

I wish I could say as much for the rest of the crew. Pretty much everybody with a rating is married, most of ‘em with kids to boot, so it’s not like they’re good to hang out with
when we’re in port. The deckies haven’t gotten any friendlier, especially Morales, who’s still an ass. I tried going out with them a couple of times, but I just can’t relate. I’ve got nothing in common with anyone except the job.

And that’s the real problem out here. I’ve got no social life. Our schedule’s always a jumble and the captain wants us to be ready to go within an hour of being called, even when we’re in downtime status in port. I can’t take any classes because I can’t commit to a schedule. I go to the gym and
the range and there’s a dojo near the base, but that’s about it.

Tanner leaned back from the screen of his holocom. He sat at a table in the galley, listening to music as he wrote his letter. A frown darkened his face as he read over the last paragraph. He’d be sending the letter out to several friends:
Allison, Alicia, Ravenell, probably a couple of friends from Geronimo. On the one hand, he wanted to tell it like it was. On the other, there was no point in moping to his friends. They couldn’t do anything about his situation, nor did he want to have a pity party.

Sighing, Tanner deleted the last two paragraphs.

At the moment, though, I can’t complain much. We’ve been in port for a whole week and should be for two more. Stevens and Morales are away on leave for another week. Hell, with Morales gone, the other non-rates have lightened up on me some. I’m starting to think they give me shit mostly to buddy up to him.

The chime of the ship’s comms system
cut off his music. Tanner glanced over to the comms screen and noted that it was a local, civilian call, and audio only.

“
St. Jude
,” he said, “Crewman Malone speaking.”

“Hhhhey. Malone. ‘s Miller.”

“What’s going on, Miller?”

“I’m at my girlfriend’s an’ I wannda check in. Is anything going on there?”

Tanner’s jaw dropped. Miller didn’t have a girlfriend. Tanner couldn’t even believe women would talk to him for more than five minutes if they had any choice. “Your girlfriend’s?”

“Yeah! My girlfriend!” Miller’s
wobbly voice hit a defensive note before he hiccupped.

Tanner kept a friendly tone. He realized he was talking to a drunk. “Why aren’t you calling me with your own holocom, Miller?”

“I kinda dropped it in a toilet at the bar.”

Tann
er buried his face in his hands. “Gotcha.”

“So’s anything goin’ on?”

“No, I’m just sitting here on the midwatch.”

“Hooookay, I’m gonna get laid an’ maybe call you in a couple hours an’ check in again.”

“Miller, why don’t you let me know how I can reach—hello?” he blinked. The line was dead.

Tanner frowned, tapping the screen in search of contact info. Naturally, the call had been sent with privacy conditions. “Dumbass,” he grumbled. Tanner
turned his music back on. It was Miller’s funeral if they got a call-up while he was out of touch.

Then the comms chime sounded again. Tanner smirked, figuring maybe Miller wasn’t quite so drunk after all.  “
St. Jude
,” he said after touching the screen, “Crewman Malone speaking.”

“
St. Jude
, this is Augustine Command.”

Tanner’s face went white.
Oh no…

***

“I don’t like this at all, XO,” Reed muttered. The ship’s resident old salt stared through the bridge canopy at the stars. “Hundred-fifty-meter independent freighter? There ain’t no such animal. Not coming out here. Ship like that can’t turn a profit on lanes this busy.”

Lt. Gagne turned from the plot on the astrogation worktable. “You think she’s a smuggler?”

“Hell, probably. If that CDC ship had boarded like they were supposed to, though, they prob’ly wouldn’t have found anything. Those guys are sloppy and they don’t care. I just can’t imagine what legit cargo they could be carrying to make it worth coming out here. If it was a corporate ship, that’d make some sense, because they could maintain her cheaply. But if she’s an independent? Profit margin’s too narrow. I mean it could be a lucky charter job, but it just seems unlikely.”

Tanner
listened from the starboard chair. Reed held immense experience and professional knowledge, but he hardly ever spoke. This was the most Tanner had ever heard Reed say at once. Even if the old ops specialist still mumbled and muttered it out while literally staring into space, this made him seem positively animated.

Everyone on the ship was groggy
. Most had been woken from sleep by Tanner’s summons. That led to grumpiness all around, and none moreso than Freeman. “Hell, Reed, maybe they’re just bad businessmen.”

Reed gave a little shake of his head. “Maybe, but you can’t get away with that for long, either. Sooner or later the math overtakes your stupidity.”

“Malone,” Gagne said, “you got anything on sensors yet?”

“No, sir,” Tanner
replied. “Still nothing out… wait. Yes, sir. Think I’m finally picking up a faint radiation trail. Yeah, right there, see? Right on the path she’s supposed to be.”

Reed leaned in to look over Tanner’s shoulder. “Yeah. She’s probably just another few minutes outside our bubble.
Headed into Ophanim’s gravity well. Boarding team’s definitely gonna need serious anti-rads. You guys will be lucky if you don’t come back sterile.”

The XO leaned in and frowned. Soon, the ship’s sensors came up with the freighter just outside the two light-minute sensor bubble as Reed had predicted. With
St. Jude
moving in pursuit speed, she would catch up in roughly fifteen minutes.

Tanner felt much more comfortable with Gagne than his other superiors. He decided to risk voicing a concern. “Sir,” he said, “I don’t want to sound paranoid and I’m sure there are a million of ‘em… but from the description we got, she’s the same class of freighter that dropped the fuel cell bombs on that city on
Qal’at Khalil.”

“Was that in the message?” asked Freeman with a frown.

“No, but they mentioned her freighter class,” Tanner answered, “and I’ve read up a lot on the whole thing. It’s probably a coincidence, but I thought I should mention it.”

“Alright, I
want everyone on the same page,” Gagne decided. He clicked on the ship’s PA system. “All hands not on watch report to the galley. Repeat, all hands not on watch report to the galley for briefing. OP3 Harper to bridge to relieve helmsman.” Turning the PA off, Gagne looked to Reed and said, “Hail them as soon as we’re one light minute away. Tell ‘em to heave to and await inspection.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Reed mumbled.

“Hey, Tanner,” Freeman said, “I’m gonna need you to write out a statement about Miller before too long. You sure there’s nothing you haven’t told me yet?” It wasn’t an accusation; for once, Tanner was clearly not the object of anyone’s ire.

“Wish there was, but it’s that simple,” Tanner shrugged. “He only made the one call.
Ship’s holocom channel has it recorded.”

“Yeah, I know,” Freeman huffed. “Stupid asshole. Guess you’re gonna get to see your first captain’s mast. Anyway, here’s Harper. C’mon, let’s go. XO’s probably gonna want you on the outside helping with the link-up.”

In the galley, Tanner found a collection of tired, unhappy faces. Gagne stood behind the smaller table, looking over a screen from his holocom until everyone arrived. This represented a serious change of pace from the captain’s usual leadership style. Stevens rarely held briefings, formal or otherwise.

“Sorry to drag you all out of bed,” Gagne began with a wry grin. “So here’s the deal. We’ve got an independent Ayrshire-class freighter headed for Apostles’ Station, or so she says. A CDC destroyer
let her pass with only a cursory scan. Command on Augustine decided that’s not good enough. Nobody else was available, though, so they sent us, which is why we’ve been hauling ass since we lit out of port.

“She’s a hundred meters long and she claims a crew of forty-two, but nobody’s verified that. Our computer doesn’t have any record of her coming through here before. She’s showing radiation contamination on one of her containers, which is probably why the CDC boys
skipped out on boarding her. That means everybody who goes over gets to take anti-rads beforehand and do a body system flush afterwards.” The XO let the groans pass before continuing.

“Obviously
this may be no big deal, but here we are short three people and back-up is a good ways away… and I want to point out that it was an Ayrshire freighter that nuked that city on Qal’at Khalil,” he said, glancing at Tanner. “She’s one of thousands, but it’s worth noting.”