STARLINER by David Drake

He walked past Lieutenant Holly’s door and stopped at Kneale’s. Setting his ear to the panel didn’t tell him anything, not that he’d have expected it to. Worth trying, though; and it took up a moment before he had to act.

Ran set his ID chip against the lock plate. An officer could open any door on the ship, even the one to the captain’s suite. Of course, Ran could knock instead, but he figured he’d learn more this way.

The man who was leaning against the inside of the door staggered backward when the panel withdrew into the coaming. Ran stepped around him, moving fast so that he was past the entry and bathroom before the man he’d passed grabbed him from behind and another rammed a sub-machine gun into his chest. Together they slammed him up against the wall.

“Who the hell is he?” another man demanded.

All six of the strangers wore civilian clothes, but that was as far as “civilian” went. Both the men holding Ran had gun muzzles against his body. For all his strength, he couldn’t have broken free if he’d tried, and he was pretty sure either of them could have handled him alone.

Bare-handed, at any rate. With a Cold Crewman’s adjustment tool or even a shovel—maybe not.

Three of the others had shifted Commander Kneale’s terminal into the center of the floor. They were wiring a panel into the bulkhead behind it. That was fast work, even with a modular system, but the technicians were obviously pros—as were the two holding Ran, in their own fashion.

The sixth man, the one asking the question, was in his late 40s, with iron-gray hair and a face to match. He hadn’t drawn a gun when Ran burst in, but he certainly looked as though he’d seen his share of sight pictures over the years.

“I’m Third Officer Colville,” Ran said. One of the men held Ran’s face hard against the wall so that he couldn’t look around at the work going on. “And who are you, gentlemen?”

“Let him go,” the man in charge said abruptly.

The guns and gripping hands fell away. Ran turned slowly. He was going to have a stiff neck in a day or two. The panel the technicians had been working on was hidden behind a holographic screen. With the hologram projector working and the terminal slid back to where it belonged, the additional panel would be completely hidden.

“Mr. Colville,” said the man in charge, “we’re here on company business.” He offered Ran an ID chip embossed with a gold trident. “Check this with your reader, please.”

Ran obeyed because that was simpler than refusing. His commo link trilled in his ear, “John Brown, Central Office. Bearer is authorized to enter all Trident Starlines locations. Direct any questions to Department Five, Central Office.”

Ran handed the chip back without comment.

“Colville,” said the man whose name was as likely Brown as he was likely a Trident employee—not very, “you probably think you were doing your job. We are doing ours. Get out of here now and forget all about it Otherwise, you won’t have a job with this company or any other that lifts off of Earth.”

Ran didn’t doubt that the cold-voiced statement was a promise rather than a threat, nor that it was a real one. But why was the government of Federated Earth installing a—

“Freeze!” ordered Wanda Holly from the open doorway where she stood with her right hand in the pocket of her coat as though she was pointing a pistol. “Drop those guns now!”

“It’s all right!” Ran shouted. He didn’t step toward the Second Officer because the gunmen might use the cover of his body to swing their weapons up and—

“Lee, Damson!” snapped the man in charge. “Don’t move.” When he was certain that his subordinates had heard him, he added like the rustle of a bullwhip, “Since you left the damned door open.”

“Wanda, it’s all right,” Ran said in a calmer tone as he stepped quickly toward the corridor before “Brown” decided to hold them. “These gentlemen are from Central Office. They’ve got a perfect right to be here.”

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