Seven

 

Halifax – the Cape Fortune

Captain Amyl Bond was not a patient man. Waiting in port for weeks at a time was galling, much as his crew liked the liberty to spend evenings in the various pubs and clubs of the Fleet dock’s private levels rather than in their quarters on the cramped old freighter.

Work was, however, scarce, and the retainer Philemon Baxter was paying him added nicely to his expected half-share of the stolen diamond shipment.

Bond wasn’t even sure why he was on his own Bridge this lazy Tuesday afternoon, watching a skeleton crew perform a few minor maintenance chores. The only station on the Bridge that was operational was the Signals panel, and it was the Signals tech that spoke up now.

“Captain, message intercepted from Port Control; the Shade Tree was just given permission to dock. Pier Nine, two spaces over from us.”

“Nice to have neighbors,” Bond noted. “I’m sure Baxter already knows they’re here, but send him a heads-up anyway and…”

“Captain,” Signals interrupted him, “The Shade Tree is signaling us.”

“No shit?”

“No shit, Captain. They’re requesting a private channel from their Captain to you.”

Bond picked up an old Pratt-Siemens headset and put it on. “Send them through to here.”

“Transferring.”

A moment later, the headset buzzed. There was a hiss of static from a low-powered, short-range radio set, and a voice came through that Bond recognized. “Cape Fortune, this is the Shade Tree.”

“Cape Fortune,” Bond replied.

“Having a nice quiet time in port, are we, Captain Bond?”

“A bit dull. What can I do for you, Captain Barrett?”

“We’re approaching our pier now, should be docked inside of ten minutes. How is your medical staff, Captain? Up to date on communicable diseases?” It was a rhetorical question; a starship medic was useless if they didn’t stay current on the diseases one could expect to find on the many Confederate worlds.

“Our Doc is competent,” Bond answered. “Why?”

“As soon as we dock,” Barrett answered him, “I’ll be sending my Security Chief over to your pier. He has a blood sample with him, and he will have orders to place that sample personally in your hands. I’d like you to have your docs analyze it – very carefully, full Class IV biohazard protocol – and tell you what’s in it. Then, call me back, and I’ll explain it.”

“I don’t see the point,” Bond said, “but I’ll do as you ask.”

“You’ll understand it all in good time, Captain, believe you me. Shade Tree out.”

“Well,” Bond said as he removed the headset. “Isn’t this interesting. I’ll be going to the docking port,” he announced to Signals tech. “Page me if she calls again.”

***

Baxter’s office – two hours later

“Boss,” Fox informed his employer, “Message from the Cape Fortune.” He held out a small message pad.

Baxter raised his eyebrows; Fox normally just read the messages out loud. He took the pad, looked at the screen:

Baxter:

Sorry, but biohazards aren’t really our cup of tea. By the time you get this message, we’ll have left port. I will expect our retainer through today deposited in our ship company’s Tarbos account by six weeks from this date.

Good luck hiring another ship for anything once word of this gets out.

 – Starship Cape Fortune, Amyl Bond, Captain

“Shit.”

“How do you suppose he found out about that?”

“Barrett,” Baxter growled. “It had to be that bitch Barrett. She dodged the plague somehow and got word out.”

“This looks bad,” Fox observed.

“It’s worse than bad,” Baxter said. “The Shade Tree arrived this afternoon – we heard anything from them yet?”

“Nothing, Mr. Baxter.”

“She’s up to something,” Baxter said. “She’s got to be up to something.”

 

 

To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.

Links, in case you need them:

https://crimsondragonpublishing.com/anderson-gentry/

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