His first indication that the ship had stopped was Cameron’s voice over his commlink. The gravitics and other modifications needed to carry the crab ship had required a physical connection for any communication signals when in drive, hence the setup in the shelter.

  “Harrington, are you ready to go?”

  “Yes, Captain. They are just now getting Radersent back in his suit.” It looked like the crabs had repaired that, too.

  “Good. Meet us outside.”

  Harrington stood up, and the crabs' big heads swung around to look at him. “It’s time,” he said to Perwaty. They worked out a message on the translator for the crabs, which seemed to work since they arranged Radersent in the jury–‌rigged crab stretcher and hoisted him up.

  The interior of Frankenstein hadn’t changed, and he saw with relief the familiar—‌but now surprisingly tiny—‌suited human shapes. He grappled with his share of the communication equipment, carefully not glancing at the figure removing some devices from the exterior of the crab ship near the supports. Gren and his little doomsday devices, and how fortunate they had not needed to use them. Cameron had been very blunt about the whole thing, but it was still a shock to see them in the flesh, as it were.

  Harrington was quite surprised to see the giant crab leaving the ship with them. She moved with some awkwardness to the opening in the cargo bay leading to Radersent's quarters, followed by the stretcher crew. The massive head turned around, seeking, and then she pointed at him. He swallowed, then realized he was carrying the translator setup. He hurried up to where the giant crab was waiting. Facing her was Cameron.

  “I’m not sure what she wants, Captain.”

  She gave him an amused look. “Well, I want to tell her how we’re going to do the handoff. The operative word is ‘quickly,’ and they probably want to stay suited up just in case.”

  The screen was in place and displaying another set of cycling graphics. Harrington was madly using his vid camera as much as he could, while there was light. The crabs were paying attention to the messages being sent through the translator, occasionally staring at the graphics on the screen. Harrington got closer and saw Cameron sending the message CRABS FIX RADERSENT YES. HUMANS MOVE CRAB SHIP YES.

  The giant crab leaned forward. Unlike the other crabs, she had only three tendrils on either side of her long head, and they were longer and thicker. She trailed them over the crab side of the interface, apparently conferring with her crew on how it was used, and sent her own message. YES YES. FIX YES. MORE FIX.

  Her head lifted, and the giant crab and Cameron stared at each other for a moment. Then the crab turned ponderously and returned to her ship, the rest of her crew following. Radersent was safely ensconced in his shelter again, and the humans were working on the framework that had been holding the crab ship in place.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Harrington asked when they were all back inside. “More fix what? Their ship?”

  “I have no idea,” Cameron said absently. “Not our problem anymore, once we drop them off.”

  “I want to watch,” Harrington stated.

  “Of course.” She grinned. “And record, but if you keep this up you owe me some high–‌capacity datacubes.”

  He scrambled to drop off his suit and finally change into some fresh clothes, then ran for the bridge. He did his best to stay out from underfoot once he had set up the exterior vid—‌everyone was tense and alert.

  At last the readout hit the setpoint. Cameron slapped the dropout and the ship alarm within an instant of each other, and Harrington felt a slight shudder in the deck.

  “They’re clear!” Kilberton yelled from the scanner, and Cameron lunged at the controls.

  Then she sat back with a sigh. “Back in the web. See anybody waiting, Kilberton?”

  “Not that I could tell, but…‌there was something big out there. Not moving.”

  Harrington turned to the vid display. Barely ten seconds of recording. He switched it to replay.

  “My God. What is that?” he finally managed to say.

  Whatever it was, it was bigger than the biggest human station he had ever seen, and not a natural formation. It also didn’t look like the construction of a crab ship.

  “I think they got where they wanted to be,” Cameron said dryly, staring at the screen. “What kind of signal intercepts, Yolanda?”

  “Not,” Menehune said with a sour expression. “Nothin’. Dead. Nobody home.”

  “Nothing? Look at that! That’s got to be a base of some kind!”

  “Perhaps it is no longer in use,” said Kilberton, who had joined the group crammed around the screen. “Look, there. That is an impact crater. This is very old. And more debris damage near that structure at the end. I do not think they would leave that if they could fix it.”

  It made sense. The whole thing had a worn appearance, and now Harrington could see more craters, and other scrapes. And then, just at the end of the clip…‌

  “Look. Something moving. Just under that immense cube that sticks out from the main wall.”

  Yolanda pushed forward and fiddled with the controls, increasing the magnification. It was indistinct, but clear enough to see it was a crab ship, moving from behind the giant structure.

  “Well, that’s a relief. Somebody will get to them before they freeze there,” Cameron said. “Now, where were we before all this hit the fan?”

  “Where do we go now, Captain?” Harrington asked, mentally noting the strange phrase for later research.

  “Back to the sargasso. All the ship repair equipment is there, and if those damn crabs know how to trace us already I don’t want them following us to Sequoyah,” she said grimly. “Now did we have another ship picked out for—‌”

  Harrington heard angry voices approaching the entrance to the bridge. Two of the crew were hauling the woman he had first seen on the docks of Kulvar wearing cuffs. She was struggling and terrified.

  “No. No, please! Don’t hand me over to those things!”

  Cameron gave them all a frosty look. “What’s happening, and why did you bring her up here where she has no business being?”

  “She’s already seen it,” said the redheaded, bearded crewmember. “Heard her scream, see? Went in to see what’s up. She got a snoop–‌loop somewhere, and she saw the whole thing. Visitors,” he said, shifting his glance. “Here.”

  He handed her what looked like a thin datapad. With unashamed curiosity, Harrington peered over Cameron’s shoulder. The screen was showing a still view of the scene that had recently taken place in the hold, with the giant crab, but at a strange, low angle. He frowned, trying to remember what had been located at the proper place to take that shot.

  “It’s the comm unit. She got into the vid of the comm unit,” he gasped. “I didn’t know you could do that. It’s my fault—‌I should have left the vid off. I’m sorry.”

  Cameron went up to the woman. Her face was tired and sad. “Mr. Harrington, you are not at fault. She’s the one who hacked into the unit. That offer I made to set you free, Inathka? I’m afraid it’s on hold for a while.”

  Chapter 7

  To Seek New Friends and Stranger Companies

  Peter Vadnov fumbled with the keytab, glancing nervously over his shoulder until the door clicked open. He scrambled in and slapped the door closed, activating the security lock. Even someone with a keytab couldn’t enter now.

  “Vadnov. You are late,” said the mechanical voice of Kolpe Anders. Vadnov slumped against the wall and slid down, his knees suddenly weak. Adrenaline reaction, the calm remnant of his mind diagnosed. “What is wrong? Did you succeed?”

  He had to swallow before he could speak, his mouth was so dry. “I succeeded,” he whispered. “They had the compounds you need.” The thought was enough to move him shakily to his feet. His patient needed care. Of course this hellhole wouldn’t have the drugs in the correct port–‌lock packaging for a containerized patient, but he’d anticipated that. Vadnov went to the storage trunk and rummaged around for the box of converters.

  As he pulled one out, he saw the splash of blood on the back of his hand and had to fight back a surge of bile. Dropping the converter, he dashed to the tiny bathroom and scrubbed frantically at his hand. When he looked up at the mirror and saw more blood streaked across his face, he vomited.

  Finally he was able to clean himself up and return to his task, but his hands were shaking so badly he tried twice before getting a good connection to the drug port. Vadnov carefully checked the dosage readout and the secondary residuals in the container fluid. He didn’t want to lose the patient now, after all he’d been through.

  Medtech Peter Vadnov was not having a good day. He hadn’t had a good day since leaving Ben–‌Zachurian in the medical waste pod with his strange container patient. He thought about it sometimes when he couldn’t sleep—‌which was more and more frequently—‌wondering where it had all gone wrong. He wasn’t sorry for helping Kolpe escape, or even for erasing all the records. Kolpe had known how to get at the copies the medical board had, so now there really was no trace of him on the medship. He wondered how Kolpe had known how to do that.

  They had gone to Kulvar. Vadnov had heard of the place as dangerous and full of criminals, but Kolpe had insisted…‌

  “I…‌I think we should leave Kulvar,” Vadnov said hesitantly. “We can find a way to conduct your…‌business from another place.”

  “No. I must be here,” Kolpe said immediately, just as Vadnov had known he would.

  “What I mean is…‌it is too dangerous for me. And you. I don’t know how to live in this place, and if anything happened to me…‌well, I don’t think they have many medtechs here that can care for a containerized patient. If they have any.”

  Silence for a moment, then the mechanical voice spoke again. “What danger?”

  Vadnov had learned this was how Kolpe thought. Facts, and only facts, interested him. “Someone was just killed right in front of me,” he said, swallowing hard. Fighting not to see the severed veins, the open trachea, the brief white glint of bone all swallowed up in gouts of scarlet blood.

  He’d worked on patients with massive trauma many times, but it was different, so different, seeing it happen and knowing there was nothing he could do. Not when the killers were right there, weapons in their hands, dragging the body away. They’d seen him, of course. They didn’t care. Just made some cryptic comment in their thieves’ argot—‌something about a “blue–‌noser”—‌and left.

  Vadnov shook himself. “That wasn’t the first time, either. Two people were shot just outside the hostel the second day we were here. This is supposed to be the safe level! And you want to go where the real criminals hang out…‌I don’t even understand what they are saying half the time. What if they get annoyed with me asking for translations and kill me?”

  More silence, and Vadnov noticed with bitterness that Kolpe hadn’t disagreed with him. “Hire help,” Kolpe said finally. “Guards, and guide. Get access to Zandovar.”

  Vadnov struggled with himself. It would be much better to have people who knew how to operate in Kulvar working for Anders, but they would have to be criminals themselves. Besides, if Anders had other people available he wouldn’t need Vadnov as much. No, he still needed his medical skills. They had left the ship before Anders had fully stabilized.

  The real danger would have been if Kolpe had insisted on getting the comp mods added to his interface that would allow him to access networks. Fortunately he had been in a hurry to leave, and Kulvar didn’t have the facilities. Vadnov’s job was safe, for now.

  “No reply?”

  He knew what Kolpe was asking about. Vadnov had been carefully instructed in transmitting a data packet to the semipublic address of the main crimelord, Zandovar. Kolpe seemed to think this would get him access.

  “Nothing yet. It might not have been…‌useful to him.”

  “I have more information. Much more. I will find what he wants, and then he will give me what I want. He can find her! He will do it! I have information!”

  Vadnov said nothing, using the room’s tiny comp to search for likely bodyguards. Sometimes he wondered what Kolpe Anders was planning. He didn’t have enough for his medship yet, or he would be thinking of leaving. He should leave. This was dangerous, too dangerous for him. But first he needed the funds for his medship.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Ennis glanced around the corridor for clues. The commercial sector of the docks was not as well laid out for confused visitors as the passenger areas, but there had to be some signage. Finally he caught a glimpse of a fragment of the more usual sign; where the rest had been he saw a faded paintpen scribble: “Bths 1045–‌1087” and an arrow.

  He took out his datapad, both to check the berth number and to use the reflective screen surface as a mirror. This had been a quiet trip so far, and he wanted it to stay that way. Nobody following now, either. He’d made sure to remove anything that would give him away as Fleet; even the datapad he was using was a civilian model instead of his usual military one. At each stop he had switched out clothing via the trade–‌up shops.

  Arriving at the correct berth, Ennis pressed the annunciator next to the door. Nothing happened, so he pressed it again.

  “Mmmm?”

  “This Lady of Leisure? Cargo delivery.”

  “Whaa? I already got all the—‌Oh! Gottit! I was wonderin’ when…‌comin’ right down.”

  Ennis raised an eyebrow, wondering if the rest of the crew was like that. Still, this was the ship Moire had sent him, so she must have checked it out somehow. Right?

  He heard a series of muffled thuds through the door that could have been hurried footsteps or someone falling down stairs, and then the hatch flew open. The man opening it was short, stocky, and looked like he made a habit of falling down stairs. His nose had been broken at some point and still deviated from its original heading; there was an extensive patch of new, pink repair work under his jaw; and he currently sported a pair of fresh, colorful bruises. He grinned at Ennis.

  “Hey, now yer here I can get paid! Name’s Palmer. Welcome aboard! Um, you got gear?” Palmer asked, suddenly noticing Ennis wasn’t carrying anything.

  “Storage locker. I’m hoping you have a float–‌pallet or something. It was too heavy walking around the station.” Ennis also wanted to be able to run in an emergency, especially if his “contact” was a setup.

  “Oh yeah, I gotcha covered. So, you a big pal of Grimaldi’s, eh? She sayin’ she’d do anything ta help you, and what’m I doin’ for work these days?”

  Ennis stared at him. “Are you serious? Lorai Grimaldi? I admit she hasn’t actually shot me, but I could see her thinking about it more than once.”

  The manic cheerfulness in Palmer’s eyes calmed down. He grinned, but it was a slow, real grin. “Yeah, pretty much what she said. Sorry, tov. Hadda check you out. She said you got some nasties on yer list and don’t listen ta any fairy tales ‘cos they might have switched places with ya, read?”

  Looked like he wasn’t the only one with suspicions. “And what is your connection with Grimaldi, if I may ask?”

  “She crewed on the last run to Criminy, ‘fore it blew up. She was lookin’ for someone. Found him, too, and dragged him back inna airbag.” Palmer shook his head, briefly somber. “Glad she was there. Ship full of wounded, had my hands full gettin’ in and out. So she sends a spew ta get my attention—‌I ain’t gonna ignore that. Plus I was needin’ work. Pick up this dope for my friend, she says, and the pay’s good.”

  “OK, but what prevents you from grabbing the money and leaving me here?” Ennis asked.

  “You nuts!? She’d hurt me!” Palmer protested, eyes wide. “You don’t know what she’s like when her core overloads. Damn near chews through bulkhead and spits out rivets. Not crossin’ her no matter how much I’m paid. Pure compressed foolishness, as Mamma would say.”

  “Not good for your health, I agree. I’d better get my gear so we can leave as soon as possible.”

  Palmer rubbed his chin. “Seems ‘ta me, less you go out the better. An’ it’s just me on the ship an’ I don’t care ta leave her in this kinda game, you got me?”

  “But I need it!” protested Ennis.

  “Nah, nah, ‘sall good. See, I crew this ship solo most times. Gets old runnin’ yer own errands. Got some good salvage, and a bit of downtime, made me up some helpers, guess you could say. Gonna send Mehitabel for yer gedunk, an’ we can stay in–‌ship an’ safe.”

  Mehitabel proved to be a medium–‌size, float–‌pallet modified with a remote manipulator and a human–‌shaped frame on the back that Palmer covered with scruffy clothing and a loose hood. In the shadows it would be sufficiently convincing to not attract attention, but it would not pass any kind of direct scrutiny.

  “You’ve done this before?” Ennis asked, dubious.

  “Sure! Now, not in the middle a' prime cycle or anythin’. See, I got the vid all set up, so if I see there’s trouble I just call the blues from right here.”

  It was not exactly a polished console, but Ennis was impressed. It even had a signal transponder that could pick up or transmit security codes, like the one on the storage locker. A few detours from the direct path kept the float–‌pallet unobserved. The transfer occurred without difficulty and the gear arrived back at Lady.

  “When can we leave?” Ennis asked, doing one last paranoid search with his pocket security scanner.

  “Um, right now,” Palmer said, watching him with doubtful fascination. “But ya gotta decode 'em for me. The coordinates, that is.”

  Ennis stared at him, confused. This hadn’t been part of the plan. “Perhaps you should show me the message you got.”

 

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