He hoped Marie was free, and safe. He hoped nobody had gotten hurt on his account.
But it was decidedly time to sit down and take hold. Which he did, with a lump gathering in his throat. He located the safety restraints on the bunk and sat down, cross-legged, not expecting but a short zero g, and a gentle shove, not worth belting in for.
It was far more than a gentle shove. He grabbed the frame of the bunk and the safety hold on the wall, and braced his feet, one on the deck and one on the mattress—thinking he’d just made a serious mistake.
He didn’t know how long the acceleration was going to last. He dared not let go the handholds he had to get the safety restraints fastened. His heart was going doubletime.
He didn’t like the ship putting out like that. He didn’t like a pilot who skirted the regs and a bridge that didn’t warn people when they were moving.
It struck him then that there couldn’t be kids or seniors aboard. It just wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t a Family ship, never mistake it again, and if he didn’t lose his grip and break his neck during launch, he’d be luckier than he deserved for trusting anything about it.
They went inertial then, a moment of float, and he snatched the restraints across and jammed the first and the second clip shut with shaking hands.
After that he lay flat on his back and felt the stomach-jolting g-shifts of maneuver of a ship that didn’t care about crew comfort, and didn’t engage the ring for crew safety, or warn anyone beyond sounding the siren.
In a hurry to leave and doing a show-off bit of maneuvering, he could read it—screw you all, the pilot was saying to Sprite, and to Viking, and maybe to all civilized places, maybe just because Austin Bowe was pissed, who knew?
* * *
Chapter Four
Contents – Prev/Next
—i—
“MARIE.”
Depend on it. Saja found her. Turned up at her elbow in the Trade Bureau offices, all concern, all indignation.
Marie keyed up another file in the Financial Access section, downloaded it… they said a ship at Viking Free Port had open access to the trade records. Translation: they let you look. If you understood the software and knew what files might be significant, good luck, you had a chance, but the too-damned-helpful system wanted to pre-digest the reports for you if you got into the market area, not give you access to the raw data, and that was a piece of computer cheek.
So Corinthian had pulled out. Spooked out, left, maybe to change its whole pattern, her worst fear, and she was not in a mood to be lectured to by Family.
Maybe, with luck, and substantial evidence, she could get the cops into Miller’s warehouse.
“Marie.”
“I’m not deaf.” The station files were in database and wouldn’t be accessed from Sprite’s ops boards, the Rules were against it. Unfortunately so was the barrier system. So one trekked in and asked questions, and even load-splicing couldn’t fit the total DB onto any data storage medium that the casual questioner might carry into the Trade Bureau.
“Mischa’s been worried.”
“I don’t know why.” Another splice. Another capture. Hours to reconstruct the bastard when she got it home.
“He’s not happy about the fines, Marie.”
“I imagine not. Sorry about that. We’ll make it up.”
“You’re due back to handle offloading.”
“Charles can do it. He’s perfectly competent.”
“What are you doing?”
“Trade information. Data. What else is the Trade Bureau for?”
“Fine. Fine. I’ll tell him.—Tell Tom get his rear back on duty. You don’t need him here.”
Saja was Tom’s officer, on the bridge. Saja had reason to ask.
Saja had actual need-to-know where Tom was. And should, by now. She turned away from the monitor and looked at him straight-on, with the least disturbed inkling of things not quite in order.
“He’s not with me,” she said. “Have the cops got him?”
“The cops didn’t arrest anybody, either side. He’s not with you. He’s not on the ship. I called them five minutes ago, max.”
Wandering around the docks looking for her. “The damned fool,” she said.