The Serrano Succession (87 page)

"Hey there!" Basil looked up to see a tall, lean, square-shouldered man at the door of the office. Basil didn't like his tone. That man had been in authority somewhere, though he didn't look like the businessman his suit made him out to be. Military. Ex-Fleet? Not very ex by that settled air of command.

"Yes?" he said.

"How many passenger spaces have you?"

Basil's neck hairs stood up; he could feel the roughness on the back of his shirt collar. "Five, usually," he said. "But I'll have to check with the captain; we have a tentative reservation." He wanted Bethya back on this ship, if he had to drag her by the leg and shove her into Goonar's cabin.

"I'll take them," the man said. "Cash on the deck—isn't that what you free traders say?"

"Have a seat and I'll get the captain," Basil said.

"I'll just wait here," the man said. Basil noticed how he stood, half-concealed from the busy concourse beyond, but in position to jump either way. Basil had taken that same position himself more than once when dockside trouble threatened. He retreated to the inner door, stepped through, thumbed the call button for Goonar and came back out at once. The man had not moved, but gave him a sardonic look.

"The captain's on his way," Basil said.

Goonar, when he arrived, looked tired and depressed, but greeted the man politely, as he always did.

"Passenger space? Five cabins, but they're simple. This isn't a passenger liner."

The man gave Basil a sour look and turned back to Goonar. "Your . . . man . . . said you had a tentative reservation tying up one of those cabins. I'd like to pay cash for all of them, now."

"There was a deposit," Goonar said. Basil relaxed slightly; Goonar was going to stand behind him. "We don't renege on deposits."

"You said five," the man said.

"Total, yes. There may be five, if the person who reserved that place doesn't show up, but otherwise, there are four available. Where are you bound?"

"That's no concern of yours," the man said. "I want passage with you as far as Millicent."

"Umm. I presume your papers are in order, yours and the other passengers?"

"Of course; what do you take me for?" the man said, and Basil was suddenly sure he was lying.

"Because we don't transport fugitives," Goonar said stolidly, "or involve ourselves in politics of any kind. We list passengers on the manifest, which we provide to the Stationmaster prior to departure, just like the regular passenger lines. This is the policy of Terakian & Sons, and it is my duty as captain of a Terakian & Sons vessel to so inform anyone seeking passage with us."

The man sneered. "I'll wager you don't bother with that if it's a pretty girl."

"On the contrary, ser. The company is most particular, no matter the passenger's age or sex, to avoid any entanglements." Basil, knowing Goonar's every mood and tone, caught the tinge of study now forcing that flat, bland, almost boring voice. So Goonar had caught on to something as well.

"Well, it's no problem to me," the man said. He stretched, as if quite at his ease, but Basil knew that stretch was as studied and intentional as Goonar's bland tone. And as the man's arms went over his head to stretch, Basil caught a shadow that bespoke something under his jacket which ought not to be in the armpit of an ordinary businessman.

"Good," Goonar said. "Now our run from here to Millicent is sixteen days . . ."

"Sixteen days—! Isn't that rather leisurely?"

"We're not a fast passenger packet, ser; we're a cargo ship primarily."

"Hmmph. I've spent some time in ships myself, Captain; I . . . er . . . lost my ship when the company lost a court action—that's why I'm on Rockhouse. Sold her, they did, to pay the fines."

Basil grunted. That was a stupid lie, if it was a lie, which he was sure of: court actions were public information, and he could check it. And would.

"I know that route, Captain," the man said. "There's a way to knock several days off it . . . it'd increase your profit."

"There's a flux-bight in there," Goonar said, "if you're talking about that yellow route."

"Oh, that—that's what they tell you," the man said. "You'd never even notice it; Fleet just yellow-tagged it because they want the fast routes for themselves." Then, as if he felt it needed explanation, he spread his hands. "My wife's cousin's in Fleet," he said. "He told me."

"Well, I'm not taking old
Fortune
on a yellow route, just to save a couple of days," Goonar said. "My company'd have my ears."

Basil saw the man's hand twitch, an involuntary movement quickly controlled.

"Not even if I offered a bonus? We really need to get to Millicent faster than sixteen days."

"What can a couple of days matter?" Goonar asked. "Millicent's a bore anyway."

The man's face hardened. "It matters to me," he said. "Why isn't your concern. I'll pay extra for you to take the fast route, and I assure you the flux-bight is of no concern—I've gone that way many times myself. Not the slightest bobble."

A reddish tinge crept up Goonar's neck. "I'm not taking my ship through on the say-so of some stranger."

"Not for half again the fares? Man, that'd make your profit on the voyage by itself—"

"It wouldn't pay me for the ship if something did go wrong. You're maybe hazarding your own life; I'm hazarding my ship and my kin. No."

"Your
ship
." The man's lip curled, and Basil noticed that his knuckles had whitened as his fists clenched. Basil shifted his own weight, ready just in case. "Your ship is nothing but a fat-bellied old tramp—"

White patches stood out around Goonar's mouth. "Then I gather you won't want passage with us," he said. "Kindly clear the space."

"You—you fool!" The man turned on his heel and strode away; Basil leaned out the door to watch, as he headed on down Traders' Row.

"I reckon we should've gotten his name before we cut him loose," Goonar said. His normal color was returning. "Did he really think I'd let him send us into a trap?"

"What kind of trap?"

"You saw as well as I did that he was military. Could have been a mutineer, or just a bad 'un turned out years ago and turned pirate."

"I wonder what he wanted at Millicent."

"I wonder what he wanted on that yellow route." Goonar scowled. "If I remember correctly, there's an extra jump point in there, with about a two-hour transit. You have to make a low-vee downjump, reorient the ship . . . in other words, it's the perfect place for an attack. But that would require another ship."

"Huh. If we knew about it, maybe we could trap the other ship and get a reward."

"What we could get is dead, Basil." Goonar shook his head. "I don't like this a bit. He'll find someone to take him on that route, him and whoever he's got with him. Did you notice anything else?"

Basil poured it all out, every detail he'd noticed, from the way the man stood in the door and wouldn't sit down to the twitch at Goonar's mention of the Fathers taking his ears—

"Ears?" Goonar said. "Now I wonder . . ."

"What?"

"Basil . . . remember what Esmay said? Rumors that the mutineers were followers of Lepescu and took ears as battle prizes?"

"So . . . he
is
a mutineer."

"Might be. I suppose pirates might take ears, too. But I wish we'd gotten his name."

"We have some of his ID, anyway," Basil said. He could have laughed at the shock on Goonar's face.

"How? He didn't come all the way in, or sit down."

"No—but he did put his hands on the doorframe, and I don't think he was wearing gloves. And—since he conveniently stood in one place—I was able to reconfigure the office scans to pick him up. If you're thinking of making points with the Stationmaster, we can call up—"

"Not the Stationmaster," Goonar said. "Fleet. But do something, Bas, to protect those prints on the door . . . that fellow just might come back and smear them himself, if he thinks of it."

"Right." Basil moved to the door and glanced out. There he was again, headed their way, but stopping short when Basil appeared. Basil lounged there, putting his own hand on the doorframe, but a handspan higher than the other man's, and stared him down. This was fun. This was almost as much fun as rearranging the man's face, which he hoped to have the chance for later. If he was smashing up a mutineer, no one could object too much. Finally the man shrugged, and turned away, ducking into one of the little shopping arcades that opened onto the main concourse.

"Call now," Basil said over his shoulder to Goonar. "Your instincts were right; he was on his way back."

"I'm assuming you didn't put your hand in the same place," Goonar said.

"Not me. I've been in enough rows to know better."

"Trust you to know . . . I wonder if it fooled him. I'm putting on full security," Goonar added, and then nothing more. Basil assumed he was on the com, talking to Fleet, but no sound came through the security screen. Basil busied himself in the little waiting area outside the office, bustling in and out, carrying and stacking cartons. Assuming he was under surveillance, he managed to bump or touch the doorframe repeatedly, each time avoiding the area where the other man's hands had—he hoped—left their prints.

He was running out of ways to rearrange the same few cartons, when someone hailed him from outside the line. "
Terakian Fortune!
"

"Yes?" Basil said, turning around. Two men in Fleet uniform. Great. Now the mysterious stranger would know they'd snitched.

"Did you transport a former Fleet officer named Esmay Suiza?" the taller of the two asked loudly.

"Suiza? Why?" asked Basil, feeling as surly as he sounded.

"We're trying to find her," the man said. "I'm Commander Tavard. You know there's a mutiny on?"

"Yes."

"Well, Fleet's recalling all former officers, and offering them commissions again. Anyway—we were told Esmay Suiza was a passenger of yours—is that right?"

"Suiza of Altiplano?" That from a dockside idler. "The hero of Xavier?"

Commander Tavard's eyes rolled, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "The very same," he said. Then, to Basil, "Could we come aboard and talk to your captain? Or Suiza, if she's here?"

"She's not here at the moment, but our captain is. He may know where she's gone. Follow me." Basil flicked on the perimeter security, which wasn't by any means as good as that in the office, but would foil the idlers.

"Anything we shouldn't touch?" Commander Tavard asked, in a quieter voice.

Basil grinned to himself. So this wasn't about Esmay . . . it was the answer to Goonar's call. "Right through here," he said, opening the office door with an extravagant gesture and waving them in—the waving arm happening to protect the side of the doorframe with the prints.

"Captain," Basil said, though Goonar was already on his feet, alert. "This is Commander Tavard, come to ask us about Esmay Suiza. He says they want her back in Fleet."

"Glad to meet you, Commander," Goonar said. Basil noticed at once that the office security screen was off, and raised an eyebrow at Goonar, who shook his head. "Sera Suiza's a fine young woman; it beat me why she was discharged."

"A misunderstanding," Commander Tavard said. He nodded to the other man, without introducing him, and the man opened his case and removed the sort of equipment Basil had seen Station security use to gather evidence. "It should never have happened. But we couldn't trace her, at first. I know you listed her on your departure manifest, but quite frankly no one thought to check the manifests for general cargo vessels. The local command was sure she'd rented a yacht under an assumed name, or something."

Basil watched the shorter man apply a strip of some translucent material to the entire doorpost on the correct side, without revealing anything that could be seen from dockside. He himself stood where he could see through the narrow opening he'd left. He had to admire the cover story the commander had come up with. When the second man had peeled the strip away, sprayed it with a fixative, and coiled it neatly into an evidence pouch, Basil handed him the data cube that Goonar pointed out—a copy, no doubt, of their original scan data.

"I can understand why you'd want her back," Goonar said, "But she's not here."

"Is she coming back? Did she leave any luggage?"

"No—she told us she was going downside, to Fleet Headquarters on Castle Rock itself. I think she was hoping to get back in, somehow."

"If so, they haven't informed us yet. But I'll make a few calls and see. Oh, by the way, you might want to be on your guard for mutineers trying to make contact with civilian ships; we've had some reports of attacks that might be piracy or might be mutineer activity. You'll be getting a Fleet advisory in the next day or so, when we've refined the data, but I strongly advise you to stick to only green routes, even if you normally use a few yellows to save time. And if anyone approaches you, wanting a fast or secret passage, I hope you'll let us know."