Ten

Six weeks later – Denver, Colorado, Earth

“And you say these came off an abandoned ship?”

“All but abandoned,” Jean Barrett told the Off-World Mining & Exploration buyer. “There were two bodies in the sick bay. Looked like plague.”

“Plague? What happened to the ship?”

“Blown up,” Barrett said evenly. “It’s the law.”

“Sure enough.”

Barrett looked at the buyer closely, but he didn’t seem particularly interested in the fate of the Orlando. Not with the cargo he had opened before him.

“These are good quality,” the buyer said, running a scanner over one of the two cargo containers of diamonds. “First-rate Type IV and V industrial diamonds. Some boron content. Good for electronics and half a dozen other applications.” He snapped his scanner shut, pulled a data pad from his pocket, tapped away for a moment. “Looks like, wholesale rate, six point two five million Confederate dollars. Not a bad bit of salvage, Captain.”

“Should keep my ship operating for a while.”

“Here,” the buyer handed Barrett a mini-terminal with a retinal scanner. “Put in your bank’s code and your account code, look into the scanner, and we’re done.”

Jean Barrett tapped at the keys on the scanner, looked into the eye port for a moment, and handed the device back when it beeped.

“Money will be in your account in two to three weeks, depending on hyperphone traffic to Tarbos,” the OWME buyer informed her.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Barrett said. She shook the man’s hand and left.

***

Halifax

Judge Olivia Worsham was known as a ‘hanging judge’ on Halifax, an archaic term that once applied to judges with a predilection for sending convicts to the gallows, but now applied to pitiless jurists with a liking for harsh punishment. It was the final piece of Philemon Baxter’s bad luck to have his case come before Judge Worsham.

“You have been found guilty of thirty-five counts of attempted murder by biological agent; one count of attempt to solicit piracy; and one count of conspiracy to violate interstellar treaties. Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?”

Baxter looked helplessly at his impassive trio of lawyers – none of the three had been optimistic after reviewing Baxter’s comm records that had somehow found their way into the hands of the Confederate Bureau of Investigation. He looked back at the judge and shrugged. “No, Your Honor.”

“You are sentenced to forty years in maximum security confinement in the Halifax penal facility,” Worsham said. “Sentence to begin immediately.”

She banged her polymer gavel down with a sharp note of finality.

***

Adamstown

Adam Bolin reclined in his office chair, his hands dangling and his jaw slack. Overhead, a few kilometers from the station in a very obvious low orbit, was the unmistakable gunmetal-gray shape of a Confederate navy escort carrier.

The comm panel on his desk buzzed. He looked at it for a moment, and then tapped a contact with a resigned look on his face. “Bolin,” he said.

“This is the Confederate Navy escort carrier Toronto,” the panel replied. “Are you the chief executive of this station?”

“I am,” Bolin admitted.

“This is Captain Angela Ramirez, Confederate Navy, commanding Task Group 103.1,” the voice went on. “One of my ships, the frigate Kidd, has intercepted two freighters registered to this facility returning from Grugell space with an illegal load of volatiles. You are ordered to prepare to receive an investigation and data retrieval team, and to make all records available for inspection.”

It had been a while since Bolin had felt claustrophobic in the huge pressure dome of Adamstown’s central kraal, but it was plain now that he had nowhere to run to. “Very well,” he replied, “Stand by for landing clearance.”

***

The Shade Tree

Jean Barrett strode onto her ship’s Bridge with an expansive smile on her face. The main screen still showed the inside of Pier Nineteen of Earth’s massive spacedock, but Barrett was ready to see stars on the screen again.

She looked to see Indira Krishnavarna grinning at her from the Exec’s station. “Gomp and McNeal back yet?”

“They got back an hour ago,” the Exec said. “No issues converting Grugell gold to cash – they scattered it out through several jewelry wholesalers and a couple of industrial buyers. Total take was about four and a half million.”

“Not a bad day’s work,” Barrett said. “A bit over ten million dollars out of this debacle; that pays off the lien I took out to get the drive upgraded, pays and feeds everyone for a good six months, and should even spring us all a nice bonus.”

“I like the sound of that,” Hector Gomp said as he walked onto the Bridge. “Crew’s all on board, Cap’n. “

The Captain tapped a contact on the arm of her bridge chair that paged the Engineering compartment. “BJ? How are we looking?”

“Star drive is healthy and happy,” the Chief Engineer replied through the comm panel. “Water and O2 tanks are full. Reserve batteries at full charge. Converters primed and ready. Ship is ready for space, Captain.”

“Signals?” Barrett said.

“We have clearance to leave port, Captain,” Helmsman Paolo Guerra said.

“Cast off the docking umbilical. Clear all moorings. Maneuvering thrusters all back one-third.” On the screen, the spacedock started to back away.

“Where we going now, Cap’n?” Gomp wanted to know.

“Away from here,” Barrett said. “How about Avalon? I’ve never been to Avalon, but I hear they’ve had a bumper crop of inspirationweed there this year. Let’s go see if we can pick up a load on speculation.”

“Good market for that stuff on some of the developed planets,” Gomp noted.

“That’s what I hear.”

“Clear of spacedock,” Helm reported. “Free to maneuver.”

“Come about to new course one-eighty by ten. Navigation, plot trajectory for Avalon.”

“Plotted and marked, Captain. Plot sent to Helm.”

“Ahead full,” Barrett ordered. She smiled again.

“Let’s go see what else is out there.”

 

 

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