Elizabeth Moon - Against the Odds

“Some day one of you guys is going to crash one of those auto shuttles and kill us all.”

“Not this day,” Jas said. “I’m going to dock ’er right onto the Fortune . No danger to the Station at all.”

“What about her papers?”

Jas reeled off the same manifest number and clearance codes.

“All right. Just be careful.”

“You won’t feel a thing.”

Once aboard Fortune , Goonar headed straight for the bridge. As he’d expected, Station Security wanted to inspect the autopiloted shuttle and its cargo. This was standard, and probably had nothing to do with the Benignity diplomatic mission, or even the Benignity liner docked on the far side of the station. Goonar made the predictable protests—they’d already cleared customs down below, this was costing him time and money, he might lose his launch spot. This too was standard. If he didn’t protest, at least a little, they’d notice that change in behavior. When he judged the right moment had come, he gave in semi-graciously.

The Station Security team came first to the bridge, where he handed them the hardcopy of the manifest, assigned a junior officer to lead them back to the cargo shuttle, now tucked into its bay. “And no dillydalling,” he said to the young woman. “We’ve got a slot to keep.”

He spent the next hour on departure paperwork—one of the loaders had failed to clear a repair bill, and he had to authorize transfer of funds to cover it. Another loader still wasn’t aboard . . . Georg, as usual. Which meant he was deep in a philosophical discussion somewhere; Georg could handle drink and women, but not the thrill of finding another person who wanted to talk about Will and the Oversoul. Goonar knew from experience that Station Security wouldn’t have a clue where such a discussion might be going on; he himself had to figure it out. Universities were always a good bet, but this Station had only a technical school and a two-year arts school. Sure enough, Georg turned up in a coffee bar next door to the arts school. Goonar flagged a Station Security patrolman and asked him to get Georg on his way.

“Captain Terakian?” That was the head of the Station team, back at the bridge.

“Yes?”

“Er . . . we found nothing amiss, sir, but the Stationmaster says there’s a request from the Benignity ship here to do a detailed search for some missing property.” The man looked embarrassed. “I know, sir, that Terakian and Sons are reliable merchanters; I’m sure you have no Benignity property aboard. But—”

“And why is the Stationmaster kowtowing to the Benignity here in Familias Space?” Goonar asked. He would definitely throttle Basil, the first chance he got. “Or is this Benignity person, whoever he is, making a formal charge against me?”

The man flushed darker. “He’s—I can’t say anything, sir.”

“Quite so.” Goonar chewed his lip. “Then I will file a formal protest, with your Stationmaster and with Sector Three R.S.S. Headquarters and with the appropriate court.” He turned to his deskcomp and called up the extensive legal files. With a few strokes of his datawand he entered the particulars, and transmitted the first file to the Stationmaster.

In only a minute or two, the com screen lit, and the Stationmaster’s face glared out. “What do you think you’re doing, Terakian?”

“Protecting my legal rights,” Goonar said. “You’re asking me to submit to an unreasonable search on behalf of a foreign power which has offered no shadow of proof that my ship or crew has anything to do with some property they claim they’re missing. You’ve given me no reason to comply, but your armed men are on my bridge.”

“Don’t get huffy,” the man said; his eyes glanced to one side, as if to someone out of line of the pickup.

“You haven’t seen huffy yet,” Goonar said. “We’re a reputable firm; we’ve traded here for over forty years. We’re all Familias citizens, and this is supposed to be a Familias port. If you’ve changed its affiliation to the Benignity, I’m sure Fleet would like to know. So would its own citizens, who are still under the impression that they have civil rights.”

“I’m just trying to keep things friendly,” the Stationmaster began.

“By accusing us of being thieves?” Goonar said. “That’s not the way to keep Terakian and Sons friendly. And I notice all the Conselline Sept ships have left—did you fully search them , or are you playing favorites?”

“They left before we got the request,” the Stationmaster said. “And it’s not that we think you did anything. You’re too defensive—”

“Of my ship, and my family’s good name, I’m damned defensive, and with good reason,” Goonar said.

“It’s just that they wanted us to check on any ship that had cargo from downside. They said they’d help.”

Alarm bells went off all the way down Goonar’s spine. “The Benignity said it would help? How?”

“They’ve offered to lend us their own security personnel, who know exactly what they’re looking for . . .”

Goonar said, “You’re asking us to let foreign troops onto our ship to search us? What kind of traitor are you, anyway?”

“They’re not troops, they’re . . . more like the police.”

Goonar grunted. “They’re foreign, whatever you want to call them. No. No foreign personnel are going to set foot on a Terakian ship, so they can figure out how to pirate us later. Absolutely not.”

“I insist.”

“You can insist until the stars go cold. No. If you want your own Station Security—and I will check their Familias citizenship—to prowl around looking for God knows what, that’s one thing. But the Benignity will never set foot on my decks, and that’s final.”

“That’s unwise, Captain.” Now the person the Stationmaster had been glancing to moved into pickup range. An officer of some kind, in a uniform Goonar didn’t recognize. Not the usual Benignity naval uniform, which he did know. “It will save you—and us—and others—a great deal of trouble if you will only permit that search now. Otherwise—”

“Threatening civilians in the Familias?” Goonar did not have to simulate anger. “What—have you hidden an invasion fleet in the edge of the system or something?”

“We don’t need such crude methods,” the man said. “You will never leave this station alive if you don’t let us board.”

“Hey—wait a minute!” The Stationmaster reached for the man, but sagged suddenly. Goonar had seen no weapon, but he had seen enough. He glanced over his shoulder at the Security team commander, who looked as startled as he felt himself. “Sorry,” he said, and gave the Terakian signal.

Even as he did, he thought of Georg, poor Georg who was about to find out if the Oversoul was any more real than his own imagination.

Terakian crew had only the usual sort of riot training, but they were more than capable of disabling the search team which had, after all, expected nothing to happen. As Goonar said, they’d seen Terakian ships before, and Terakians didn’t cause trouble.

“You can’t do this,” the search team’s commander said indignantly, when he was wrapped in tangletape.

“I’m sorry,” Goonar said. “But I’m not about to let a Benignity team aboard this ship. They’re foreigners, and it wasn’t that long ago they invaded Xavier. I’m not going to let them take this ship and use it to infiltrate Familias space. Everybody knows Terakian ships—”

The commander’s eyes widened. “Is that what you think they’re up to?”

The excuse had come upon him like a random hit from space debris, but Goonar knew a good idea when he found one. “Why else a so-called diplomatic mission to a backwater like this? Why else would they be putting a hold on outbound traffic, wanting to search each ship? They’re looking for the right one. We’re an independent trading firm—we’ve got plenty of cubage, and they’d just dump our cargo before jumping, give themselves more room—”