Jeffrey Carver - Eternity's End

“And were you confused?” asked an offscreen voice.

“Well, yeah —things got pretty damn hairy pretty fast.” Jakus barked a laugh, almost a cough. “But still—”

“What?”

“Well, you know. If our stern-rigger hadn’ta fallen for it, we could’ve steered clear. The pirates didn’t come after us ’til after we’d slowed.”

“But if you and the captain saw through it, couldn’t you do something?”

Jakus shook his head. He seemed to gain a measure of self-confidence, now that the lie was out. “You got to understand about rigging—it’s a team thing. It only takes one person pulling the wrong way, or getting confused, to bring the whole thing down around you. And that’s what happened—we got bad input from the stern, ’cause our guy there kept sayin’ he saw something. And even though the skip said—well—” Jakus’s voice faltered. “Well, he said to stay right on course, but we couldn’t—couldn’t do it—”

“Because of the stern-rigger?”

“Yeah.”

“And his name was—?”

“Oh, uh—” Jakus hesitated, swallowing. “Groder, I think it was. Is that right?”

A different voice from the panel: “There was a Renwald Legroeder listed on the rigger crew. Is that who you mean?”

Jakus’s voice shook a little. “That’s it.”

“Thank you—”

“Legroeder,” Jakus repeated, his voice gaining strength. “It was Renwald Legroeder.”

The recording ended.

Legroeder stared at the blank screen. “I’ll be a God-damned son of a monkey.”

Harriet turned off the monitor and settled into the wingbacked chair behind her office desk. The sunlight coming in through the window was turning golden orange with the approach of sunset. “What do you think?”

“I think,” growled Legroeder, “that I’d like to have a talk with my friend Jakus.”

“Well, I’m not sure that would be very productive.” Harriet lowered her glasses to hang from the chain around her neck. “That was two years ago. The inquest is history now. But if we could prove that there was falsification—”

“Prove it? The sonofabitch lied through his teeth because he thought he’d never have to answer to me.” Legroeder tried, with difficulty, to keep his anger under control. “You don’t happen to know where he lives, do you?”

“I haven’t really kept track—”

“You aren’t going to bullshit me now. My lawyer?”

Harriet scowled. “All right. As your lawyer, I strongly recommend that you not attempt a personal confrontation. You’re out on bail, if you haven’t forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But something rotten’s going on, and we aren’t going to find out what by sitting here. So do you know where Jakus is, or not?”

Harriet stared at him for a moment. “Let me see what my PI’s latest files say.” She put her glasses back on, tapped on a small screen on her desktop and studied it before looking back up at Legroeder. “According to this, he lived for a short time in a RiggerGuild complex on the outskirts of the city; then he left the Guild and moved out into a small condominium. He hasn’t flown since, though he’s done some work for a maintenance outfit at the spaceport.” She studied the screen again. “What would a rigger do for a maintenance company, I wonder.”

Legroeder rubbed his chin, remembering many days on maintenance details at the raider outpost.

“Whatever it is, he spends a lot of time at it. According to this—and I must commend my PI for staying current—he’s moved out of his condominium and is spending all of his time with that maintenance outfit.”

“You mean he’s sleeping at the spaceport?”

“Apparently so.” Harriet closed the screen again. “The question is, what should we do?”

Legroeder rose, shaking, and not from the coffee. “I know what I have to do.”

“That’s not what I meant, Legroeder. Will you please let me do this right —and keep you out of jail? Let my PI make the contact.”

Legroeder closed his eyes, as the memory of all that had happened to him welled up, bringing his rage with it. He struggled to push the rage back under. “I’m sure you’re probably right. But this… is something I have to do myself.” Jakus Bark. My friend. Backstabbing bastard . He forced a smile at Harriet. “I’ll be good. I’m not going to start a fight with him or anything. But I am going to talk to him. I mean, we used to work together. That counts for something, right?”

“Legroeder, please—”

“And after this, I’ll follow your advice. I promise.”

The spaceport field was a sprawling place, bordered with countless hangars and repair shops and administration buildings, and few signposts for strangers. Legroeder had traveled in and out of this port before, but he still had trouble finding his way around; the place had changed in seven years. They’d taken his RiggerGuild ID away from him, but as it turned out, security was nonexistent on this part of the field.

Legroeder stood at the edge of the decayed plasphalt pavement of a parking lot and squinted across the complex into the setting sun, trying to figure out from Harriet’s notes just where the maintenance hangar might be. He was at a remote corner of the field, and it looked more like a down-at-the-heels industrial park than a spaceport.

Harriet’s words echoed in his mind. What are you going to do if he won’t talk to you? She’d given him a good, long stare. If his own grandmother had still been alive, she couldn’t have conveyed greater sternness.

He hadn’t had an answer, and still didn’t. But he knew one thing: pushing paper wouldn’t get answers out of Jakus. He had to confront the man himself.

The line of hangars just across the way looked promising. He started across the crumbling tarmac, clenching and unclenching his fists. When he realized what he was doing, he pressed his open hands to his sides.

The shop he was looking for was the last one, marked by a dusty sign: CAVANAUGH AND FARHOODI RIGGER SYSTEMS. The hangar door was shut, so he tried a small door to one side. It opened with a creak and banged shut behind him as he entered. Inside was a dingy outer office, with a scarred counter and one dirty chair; behind the counter was an inner office, with a light on. A voice—a woman’s—called out: “Who’s there, eh? We’re closed!”

“Hello!” he called, and moved around the end of the counter to peer into the office.

A thick-waisted woman in a faded jumpsuit stood behind a desk, holding a dusting wand. “That door was supposed to be locked,” she said, sounding annoyed. “They’re closed here.”

Legroeder showed his empty hands. “I’m sorry—I’m not here on business, exactly. I’m looking for someone named Jakus Bark. I heard he worked here.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Yeah, I guess he does. What d’you want with him?”

The words came reluctantly. “We used to… rig together. I haven’t seen him in years, and I, um, wanted to say hello. I’m… interested in getting into his line of work.”

The woman squinted at him, obviously processing his words slowly. He couldn’t tell if she recognized him from the news or not. Perhaps she wasn’t someone who watched the news. “I’ll check,” she said. She touched a com switch on her collar, spoke subvocally for a moment, then nodded. “What’s your name?”

He told her, and she relayed the information. Her eyebrows went up once, as she listened to a reply. Finally she shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess. He’s in the, what do you call it, sim’lator three, out back.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, indicating a door behind her. “Don’t touch nothin’, though, ’cause you probably shouldn’t be in here.” She muttered under her breath for a moment before adding, “and be quick, eh? I don’t want to get in no trouble.”