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2507: The Star Trader Chronicles

Episode 2: Friend or Foe?

Freeport was an unusual center of commerce. It was the only city on a barren moon orbiting one of the most productive colonies in the UE worlds. Traders from every world, and from every class, eventually passed near Freeport, and so it became an unofficial clearinghouse for goods from around the universe. It was said that if you waited long enough in Freeport you would eventually see yourself passing by, and probably being sold.

Indies liked Freeport because the administration willingly turned a blind eye to any strikes they had against their ship that would have kept them from being able to dock at many UE ports. Anyone could land at Freeport if they were willing to pay the docking fees. For Indies, of course, those fees were especially high, but at least it was a solid place to land, restock, and find work.

It was a logical place for the Aurora Lady to set down and rest. Her crew was eager to get a complete restock of everything they had had to leave Earth without when they blasted out of Nashville ahead of schedule. Nova Nevels, nursemaid and engineer of the Lady, would use all the time she could get planetside to put the Lady to rights after the sabotage that had been done to her back on Earth.

The crew was also looking forward to spending some time outside of their small ship. Zahirah had left hours ago to search the markets for supplies. She was already back and stocking the galley. Rose gave Winter some of the dwindling unis that they still possessed to go and buy a few things for the wardrobe that Brock had promised her. She had left all her personal belongings behind except for what had been in her medical bag when she came aboard. The doctor eagerly set out for the variety of shops in the vast market of Freeport. Rose decided to do a little exploring of her own. 

Ian volunteered to stay with the ship and keep a lookout while Nova did repairs. He was a logical choice to stay behind since he could also help Nova if she needed a hand. He was no mechanic, but he knew enough to be useful with most repairs.

Before she left the ship with Brock and Cowboy, Oro gave Ian a speculative look. Her gut was telling her that there was more involved in Ian’s decision than just his technical knowledge. She suspected he was hiding from something, or someone.  For some reason the ship was his safe place. She filed the thought away for scrutiny later.

Meanwhile, Brock had to find them work. He was meeting a man that Zahirah said was a good lead for a payload. When she had worked at the café back on Earth, Zahirah had met captains and crewmen from many different ships. In the market she had met someone she knew and had brought news to Brock. Oro hoped this meeting was useful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Oro Fierro turned with her cold mug of ale in hand, and leaned back to rest her elbows against the bar. She knew that the position stretched the fabric of her dress a little tighter across her chest. The pink silk draped across her golden skin and highlighted her sun-streaked hair. Quite a few thirsty glances were directed towards her area of the bar, and most already had a drink in hand.

 McSorley’s was the sort of dockside pub that the transport crews liked to frequent. It was dimly lit and smelled like good ale. Sometimes raucous Irish music could be heard spilling out the front door onto the dusty streets of the port town. Drinks were cold and cheap, food was hot and at least palatable, and a card game could always be found for a few hours diversion before they had to be back on board their respective ships. This was a huge draw since most captains forbid gambling on board their ships because of the problems it could cause between crewmembers, but off the ship, everyone was free to try his or her luck. Best of all, at McSorley’s everyone minded their own business.

 Cowboy sat at a table along the back wall with a group of men. His beat-up cowboy hat was tipped further back on his head, making him look more like a little boy than a man. His dimple flashed as he gave a grin and shuffled the cards before him. Oro couldn’t quite believe the innocent expression on his face as she watched his hands deftly deal the cards around the table. She looked his fellow card players over carefully.

 Two were dressed in the gray overalls that were worn by the dock workers. They were broad shouldered and their hands were large. They wore their strength like an extra piece of their uniforms. A third player was short and haggard looking. From the way he held his cards he looked like his hands were stiff and pained him. She wondered what kind of work he could do on a ship in that condition. His clothes were not fashionable enough for him to be a First or anyone of importance, but they were new and his shoes were polished. He wasn’t in need of work. It made her suspect he might be a professional gambler.

 “Cowboy had better watch out,” she thought to herself.

 The fifth player at the table wore a vest with a ship’s insignia on the front. He also had an air of authority about him. She assumed he was either a captain or first mate on one of the official cargo liners or passenger transports belonging to the Firsts.

 At another table Brock was talking to a couple of men he had met at the dock, hoping to get information about opportunities for a payload. One was a hand on the Norse Wind, a large and well-equipped cargo liner. The other man was a captain, but Oro had not heard what ship he was from. He glanced over his shoulder often and watched the front door to the pub. Oro didn’t have to have good instincts to know this man was nervous and expecting trouble.

 She tipped her drink up and took a long, slow swallow of the dark liquid in the glass. A droplet of condensation from the outside of the glass dripped onto her chin and slid along her sharp jaw line. She let it continue to trickle down her neck for a second, then softly stroked it away with the back of her fingers.

 She decided to check and see how many eyes were watching her movements. She gave a yawn covered by a hand that looked too delicate to hold weapons. No one would guess that the beautiful blond was the security officer of the Aurora Lady. After a split second she noted that almost a quarter of the men in the room suddenly had the urge to yawn. She smiled secretly. It was nearly impossible for a person not to yawn when they saw someone else do it first. It was a strange human reflex, and one she knew she could count on. She now knew exactly who was distracted and who was concentrating on other things.

 That was the purpose of the dress and seductive air. In her mind it was part of her arsenal at her disposal to use to protect the crew. While Brock fished for information, and Cowboy tested his skill at winning a few unis, she could watch the entire room with confidence that she had at least a portion of the men under her control.

 And that’s when it happened.

 A loud bellow was followed by a blow on the table where Cowboy and his group had been playing cards. Oro saw one of the burly dock workers reach across the table and snatch the cards from the hand of the man she had marked as a card shark earlier. He looked shocked and terrified. The captain looked like he was going to try to calm the situation down and sort things out. Oro knew what was coming next and didn’t wait.

 She was halfway across the room when the table was flipped over and unis went flying. Cowboy was rolling out of the way as blows and accusations began to fly. Oro grasped his collar and helped him spring up from the floor. She noted that he managed to scoop up a large part of the game’s spilled pot that had scattered on the floor as he moved.

 “You ok?” she asked, backing out of the way as the fight began to spread throughout the room.

 Three well-meaning men had tried to help the captain pull the two dockworkers off the smaller man accused of cheating. For their trouble they had been struck and knocked about. Others began to join in- some to come to the rescue of their friends, others just to fight. Oro herself would have joined in with glee if she were not here to keep an eye on Brock and Cowboy.

 “Yep. Thank you, ma’am,” Cowboy flashed her a smile and a wink from his hazel eyes, “but I think it’s time to excuse myself.” He pulled his hat down snugly on his head. She was amazed he hadn’t lost it as he rolled out of the middle of the fight.

 The front door burst open and two dockside security officers stood silhouetted in the sunlight from outside. At first Oro thought they were there to break up the fight. She was surprised that they had bothered to come, and was even more surprised at how quickly they had arrived.

 “They must have been right outside the door,” she said curiously as she gestured in their direction with her chin.

Cowboy jumped away from a flying stool and looked at the door she had indicated, his eyes widened in surprise at the appearance of security officers over a simple bar fight.

 “Uh oh!” they both expelled at the same moment as realization sunk in. They both looked over to where Brock had been sitting with the other two men before the fight started.

 If the security had been right outside the door when the fight started, they had not been coming to break up the fight. The hair stood up on the back of Oro’s neck. Brock was wanted for crimes on Earth and for evading arrest. And by now, he was probably wanted for at least a dozen other charges that had been added because of the events that took place during their escape. For all she knew there was a warrant out for every member of the crew.

 Brock and one of the men were no longer sitting at the table. The crewman from the Norse Wind was still sitting there, but he was now sitting in Brock’s seat, facing the door where the security detail was now entering the room. Oro looked around the room and could not see Brock or the other man. Even their drinks were gone, though she noted some spilled glasses on the floor near the table they had left.

 People were beginning to stop their fighting as they realized that representatives of the law were now present. Some were even helping their opponents to stand up from the floor where they had knocked them only seconds before.

 “What’s going on here?” shouted one of the officers with a deep and authoritative voice. His voice cut through the remaining noise and all movement suddenly came to a stop.

 Most of the men and women in the room wore looks of general confusion. “He cheated!” one of the original combatants finally said, breaking the silence.

 The security officer looked disgusted. “Get the hell out of here!”  he ordered the dock worker and the accused cheater. He looked around the room more carefully now. His partner pulled a handheld scanner from his belt. Oro was certain now that they were searching for someone specific.

 “You tagged?” Oro whispered to Cowboy from the corner of her mouth, not taking her eyes off the men who were starting to organize the crowd so that they could scan them. She noticed that they were ignoring the women.

 “Nope, was never branded,” Cowboy drawled.

Tags were microcircuits the size of a grain of rice that were implanted in most citizens of United Earth at birth. On colony worlds the tags were said to be needed to make recording births and deaths easier, for tracking population statistics, and for planning future resource needs. On Earth the tags were said to help businesses track employee records to reduce fraud, and to reduce crime. It was true that identity theft was nearly impossible since all common citizens were tagged and all Firsts carried biometric identification, BIDs.

 The tags were more often used as a means of enforcing the unofficial class system. The poor were not allowed to live in middle class areas. Middle class citizens were not allowed to advance into the realm of the firsts. The educated were used by the government and industries to grow their profits. The uneducated were used for manual labor or support jobs, and never allowed to advance. Tags were the leashes that held the common people in check.

 But tags could also be used in a security check to identify someone who was wanted for questioning or arrest. Oro doubted they were looking for Brock with a tag-scanner. Brock came from First stock. He wouldn’t have a common tag.

 Her brow creased in rapid thought. “Or maybe they’re looking for the absence of a tag,” she said to herself.

Brock was still nowhere in sight. She hoped he had made it out a back door during the confusion before the fighting had broken up.

 “You’d better try to find a back way out of here,” She said softly.

 Cowboy gave her a puzzled look, “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Then with a grin he amended his statement, “that they know of. And like I said, I don’t have a tag.”

 “But if they are looking for someone without a tag, using the scanner to weed him out of the mob here, then you will be suspect. You don’t have any ID, and you can’t tell them which ship you are signed on to,” she explained. “At best you will be arrested as an indigent, but worst case scenario you could somehow lead them back to the Lady.”

 “Hey, I would never give up Brock and the crew,” indignantly Cowboy raised his voice above the careful whisper they had been using. Oro glared at him.

 They had caught the attention of the two security officers now. They glanced at Oro but did not let their eyes linger on her curves. Cowboy was getting a careful scrutiny however.

 “You want to scan me, Officer?” Oro said in a soft little voice as she managed to insinuate her own body between the two officers and Cowboy. She looked down at her shoulder and used the excuse of sliding her dress off of one shoulder as an excuse not to look up and see them shake their heads in a negative response.

 There was no reason to slide the thin material off her shoulder. The scanner could penetrate cloth easily. The tag was a passive transmitter, not even giving off a power signature until it was pinged by a scanner, but an active scan powered the miniature transmitter and read all the information recorded there. In a second they could know her place and date of birth, parents’ names, major health records, citizen registration number, even her employment history and military record. But until the moment when the scanner pinged her tag she remained anonymous. What she wanted was their eyes on her.

 She gave a laugh and tried to sound as if she were a little drunk, “Are you looking for someone who’s been,” she let her voice become breathy, “naughty?” She giggled.

 Three Adam’s apples bobbed, Cowboy’s included. She could almost hear them gulp and a satisfied smile quirked her lips.

 “Uh,” the officer taking the lead seemed to fight to gather his thoughts. “No, we don’t need to scan you. Have you seen this man here tonight?” He pulled a Compact Information Device, a CID, from his belt and showed her a picture of a man on its screen.

 Oro was surprised that the image was not Brock. It took her only a second, though, to realize it was the missing man he had been sitting with. Apparently he had had good reason to be looking over his shoulder.

 She looked at the picture a little longer, knowing that if she glanced away too soon they would suspect she was lying when she denied having seen him. “No. Is he someone dangerous?” She was able to gaze into the man’s eyes without lifting her head.

 “We want to talk to him,” he said with a reassuring tone, “and also to the man he was seen leaving the port with. We don’t have a picture of him yet. He’s tall, six foot four, fair complexion, dark hair and eyes, muscular. Have you seen anyone like that here?”

 “Tall, dark, and handsome? No, I would have noticed someone like that,” She gave another silly giggle. “But why were you scanning other men? They’re nothing like the ones you are looking for.”

 “We’re looking for some others too, Sweetheart.” It was the second officer who interjected this. He was holding the scanner, and now he was moving around her to scan Cowboy.

 Oro could have happily knocked Cowboy on his jean-clad butt. Why hadn’t he taken advantage of the distraction she had created and slipped away like she had told him? She promised herself that, if they got out of this, she was going to skin him alive.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 Brock followed the man in front of him down dimly lit alleyways. Without the other man to follow he would never have been able to find his way through the maze of back streets. His sense of direction, though, told him they were generally heading towards the main port.

 “Do you mind telling me what that was all about?” Brock asked when they were a good distance from McSorley’s Bar.

 Brock replayed the timing of events before their hasty exit out the back door in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more he was certain that the fight that had broken out had been planned. He wasn’t sure how much to trust this man, even if a friend of Zahirah Sayar’s had recommended him.

 He would trust his new ship cook with his life, but had she unwittingly delivered him up to a dangerous character? Ever since the events on Earth where he had been framed with the help of one of his own crew for a crime he did not commit, Brock was losing his trust in his own instincts about people.

 As he recalled, Cowboy had been playing cards with a group near the back wall. Oro had been leaning against the bar in that dress she had insisted on wearing. He had been sitting with Arn Kaasli, second mate of the Norse Wind, and the man Arn had introduced him to, John Richards. Richards was the one who had insisted they come to McSorley’s to talk business. They had been drinking ale and talking about the situation Brock found himself in. And Richards had kept checking the door, as if expecting something to happen.

 Had Richards planned to deliver him to the port authorities? Brock shook his head at that thought. The man would not have helped him exit unseen if he was trying to turn him over. Richards had clearly wanted nothing to do with the port authorities.

 Brock had been feeling very suspicious of Richards’ behavior, then the fight broke out at Cowboy’s table. Almost simultaneously Richards had swept two glasses off the table in front of him onto the floor and grabbed Brock’s arm.

 “If you don’t want to answer questions from the authorities, you’d best follow me!” Richards had spoken urgently.

 Brock’s gut instinct had been to pull away from Richards, but then the security officers had appeared in the doorway. That was what bothered Brock now. The guards had appeared after Richards had made his move. Richards had known they were coming!

 “Quickly!” Richards had insisted.

 Now Brock found himself blindly following the man down alleyways. Brock fingered the small pulse pistol in his pocket. He wasn’t going any further without more explanation. Brock reached out and grasped the man’s shoulder to bring him to a halt. He wanted answers. “I mean it Richards, I want to know what is going on!”

 John Richards was a lean, tall man. He turned and faced Brock eye to eye without flinching. “I’ll be happy to answer your questions, but not here. We have to move quickly or a security team will catch us. I, for one, do not want to be found.”

 “Why, what are you hiding from?” Brock insisted, not willing to move on yet.

 “Let’s just say that the UE and I are not exactly the closest of friends.” He refused to say anymore. Brock was left watching his retreating back.

 In spite of the way Richards was behaving, Brock was not afraid. The way the other man had met his eyes without wavering had left Brock with the impression of someone who did not intend to do him harm. He would follow the man a little further and wait to see what happened next. But just to be on the safe side, he rolled the cuff back on his sleeve and checked to make sure his communications device, called a TIC, was still adhered to the back of his wrist so that he could call the ship for help if needed.

 Concern for his crewmates back in the bar dug at his gut. He was pretty sure though that his crew was not in any danger from Security. So far he had been the only one implicated in any crimes back on Earth. He was also fairly certain that the identity of most of his crew remained anonymous. Oro and Cowboy were better off with him out of the picture.

 Richards didn’t take them all the way to the space port. He led Brock up a flight of wooden stairs at the side of a warehouse. Brock tried not to stumble on the uneven spacing where treads were missing from the staircase. Once inside, they stepped out onto a catwalk that circled the upper wall. Below stacks of crates were neatly packed in rows, nearly as high as the catwalk. The warehouse was filled.

 Brock searched for the name of the shipping company on the side of the boxes. Most were unmarked or the marks had been painted over, but he made out one partial name on a high crate, “Hewes Ltd.”

 Joseph Hewes was one of the wealthiest men in the shipping industry. He was one of the few men in history to have worked from the middle class up to being an equal in wealth and position with the Firsts. Were these goods stolen from the Hewes line, or were they some sort of illicit goods that Hewes did not want his company associated with? Either explanation was plausible, but neither was comforting.

 Richards lead him down some stairs and into an office, flipped on a light, and moved to the desk that dominated the small room. Brock was about to repeat his demand for answers but Richards forestalled him with a raised hand and a speaking glance. Richards pulled an electronic device out of his vest pocket and scanned the room.

 “Ok, it’s clear. We can talk,” he said as he sat in a chair and indicated Brock take a seat across from him. “I know you must have a lot of questions by now. Which do you want answered first?”

 Brock folded his arms across his chest and ignored the chair. “Was the fight a set up?”

 “So you noticed that, did you?” Richards raised a surprised brow, “Yes, the fight was set up as a distraction in case I needed to get away quickly and unnoticed. A few of the men who were sitting at the card table work for me. I had another man on the outside of the bar watching for security patrols. I had reason to believe that I may have attracted some attention when we met at the port. Arn is a good man, but he shouldn’t have brought us together while we were in the open like that.”

 “Why not?” Brock demanded, “What are you hiding from?”

 “That is a long story,” Richards said with a trace of humor in his voice, “and not one I am prepared to tell you today. Suffice it to say, the authorities are apt to want to question any ship’s captain who is seen in my company for any length of time. This is why Jannula used his first mate as a go between, and didn’t bring you to me himself. Someone must have spotted our meeting and followed us to McSorley’s.”

 “So you posted a lookout?” Brock prompted him to continue.

 Richards nodded in agreement, “So I posted a lookout. He sent a silent signal that was relayed to myself and to the men at the card table as soon as he saw patrols heading towards the bar. My men started the fight and we made a quick exit that, we can hope, went unnoticed.”

“What about Arn, won’t he be picked up for questioning?” Brock asked in concern.

 “If he is, he has legitimate reasons to be talking to men in a space port. He’s second mate of the Norse Wind, a ship with one of the best reputations in the merchant line. They won’t hold him.” Richards spoke with certainty and Brock had to take his word for it. “Reputation is everything out here, Brock. If people see you as respectable and legitimate, then that is all they see about you. Likewise, if they see you as something dangerous, something outside the boundaries of society, then they see only suspicion.”

 “Reputation?” Brock replied with heated indignation. “My father ran one of the best shipping lines from Earth that…”

 Richards cut him off, “You are not your father. You aren’t even flying for the line he built. You,” he emphasized the pronoun, “are an Indie. You have no official company to stand behind you, to take the blame for your mistakes, or add your accomplishments to their own. You stand or fall by your own actions. And so far, your actions aren’t enough to build any sort of reputation on.” He shook his head sympathetically as Brock wrestled with the truth of his statements. “You have some people who are speaking up for you, letting others know that you are worth giving a chance to, but you can’t afford to live with the illusion that your past accomplishments mean squat out here. You’re not the son of a First anymore. You’re the captain of an Indie ship, which is next to nothing anywhere in the UE worlds.”

 Brock resented the implication that he had been leaning on the circumstances of his birth to give him an advantage in life. Brock had always worked hard to be seen as an individual. He had earned his own rank as a pilot and had worked right along side all the other pilots in his father’s company, accepting no favoritism from anyone based on his relationship with his father. Brock hated the artificial class system that existed in the UE. He had never let himself be a player in the social games of the Firsts, and he had never used his birth to gain an advantage over anyone.

Brock decided to turn the conversation back to their business. “Arn said you might have a cargo for the Lady. And before we were interrupted at the bar, you seemed interested in talking business. A cargo bound for Halcyon? Was that a set up too?”

 “No, of course not,” Richards waved his hand in emphasis. “Originally I had arranged for someone else to take this cargo. They are no longer able to take care of this for me. I would not trust just anyone to take this load for me. It needs,” he paused for a second, “special handling.”  

 “What is it?” Brock waited for Richards to give him an explanation, but none was forthcoming. “I think I have a right to know what I will be taking on my ship if I accept the offer,” he insisted.

 “No, you don’t,” Richards tone was cold and emphatic. “You are not in a position to be picky about the jobs you take. What you need to know, is that I am paying good unis up front for this run, and if you prove yourself to me, there will be more jobs like it in the future. There’s even a bonus if you are able to deliver before the 30^th.”

 A fist was clenching in Brock’s gut. He would be taking this cargo on blindly, trusting to some extent in this man who had not shown him any reason to trust him. On the contrary, Brock had some good reasons already not to trust him.

 On the other hand, his crew needed this job. His own funds were completely tied up, probably permanently. He couldn’t even start to untangle that legal mess as long as he was wanted for crimes he had not committed on Earth. For now he was operating off of the savings of his cousin Rose, and they would not last long. Ian was already making noises about offering his hoard of unis to keep their operation afloat a little longer. How much more charity could he take from his crew, his friends?  The Lady had to start making her own money, and this seemed to be the only offer they were going to get.

 “When can you deliver the cargo to the Lady?” Brock asked in resignation. If this was a mistake he could only hope that they could handle any consequences down the line. For now he had to deal with the problem at hand, getting them work.

 “A third party will deliver the goods along with half of your pay tomorrow morning. You will receive the rest when you arrive on Halcyon and the goods are verified.” Richards was smiling with satisfaction. “I suggest that you stay out of sight until your ship takes off after it is loaded. It is likely that they are circulating a description of you around the town and docks by now.”

 “We leave tomorrow as soon as your cargo is stowed,” Brock informed him. “And Richards, one more thing,” he said from the doorway as he was leaving, “if this cargo of yours hurts my crew in any way,” he paused to pin the other man with his eyes, “I’ll be back to make you pay. And I won’t be accepting unis.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 As the officer holding the scanner moved behind Oro to scan him, Cowboy’s brain seemed to kick into gear. It wasn’t likely he was going to be able to talk his way out of this one. He should have slipped out when he’d had the chance, but his sense of chivalry had gotten him into trouble once more. He couldn’t have left Oro to face these goons alone even if it meant his life. Leaving a woman with trouble just wasn’t in Cowboy.

 Oro moved so fast that he never saw exactly what she did. One second there was a security guard in front of her and one beside him; the next, the officer in front of her was rolling on the floor holding his groin with one hand and his nose with the other. The officer at his side swung to confront Oro and the man’s jaw met her fist as she twisted her body and brought her arm around with all the power she could unleash. Cowboy thought he heard a bone break. The man went down unconscious.

 He found himself being drug behind Oro by one arm, and subconsciously rubbing his own jaw in sympathy with his free hand.

 “Remind me to never get on your bad side,” he said vehemently.

 “Too late for that,” she spared him a withering glance. “Why didn’t you get out when you had the chance?”

 He wasn’t going to admit that her little act had worked so well he too had been taken in and believed she was helpless. “There were too many between me and the door. I wouldn’t have made it,” he ran as he explained, “I figured we were better off sticking together.”

 They had made it out the front door and down the main street, and were turning into a side street, looking for cover of some kind. Cowboy had grown up on the streets. If there was one thing he was good at, it was finding a place to lay low while trouble passed over.

 "This way,” he pointed into a narrow ally way.

 He didn’t bother to look behind to see if Oro was following. Fire escapes were placed regularly along the back wall of the building they were traveling behind. He knew it must be a residential building of some sort. He inspected the ladders and balconies carefully.

 “This one will work,” he said almost to himself as he jumped and grasped the bottom rung of a ladder.

 “What do you mean?” Oro watched him climb, “They’ll be looking for us any second now and we’ll be caught out in the open on those escapes. We need more distance between us and them.”

 “Trust me,” he called down as he reached the first balcony. “What’s the matter, can’t climb little lady?”

 “I’ll show you who can climb, Cowboy.” Oro jumped and reached the first rung as easily as Cowboy had. They were both the exact same height, and she was hardened from the military conditioning she had had to maintain.

 Cowboy had no idea that he had just sparked another nerve in Oro by implying that she could not climb. Rock climbing happened to be the joy of her life. Next to finding a gold strike that would rival the Fort Knox Mine back on Earth, Oro’s second dearest dream was to find and climb the ultimate mountain face in the universe. She was moving right at Cowboy’s heels now.

 Cowboy looked up and saw the window that was his goal. Unlike the windows below and around it, this window was semi-clean and empty. There was no sign of a dirty curtain or ragged blind covering it. It was the sign of vacancy. 

 When he reached the balcony with the window he pulled a pocketknife out of his back pocket and began to slide the blade under the sill. From the main street he could hear loud voices gathering. It sounded like the officers must have called in backup and were organizing a search for them. They needed cover immediately!

 The window would not budge even with all the force he could pry against the strong blade. He figured they maybe had seconds before someone started looking down the ally. Cowboy snatched the felt hat from his head and covered his fist with it. A hard blow and glass broke. He hoped that the noise didn’t reach the crowd searching for them, or that it was drowned out by their own shouts. He was able to reach in and unlock the latch that held the window shut. He raised the window and climbed inside quickly. Oro was right behind him. Glass crunched beneath their shoes.

 He ignored the angry look in her eyes and looked around the room. Dingy walls, worn floors with stains, a broken ceiling fan, some trash and boxes in a corner; it was the same as any rundown apartment on any world. Cowboy moved towards the boxes.

 “I hope this works,” he said to himself as he grabbed the biggest box and began to flatten it.
 

“What are you doing?” Oro asked in bewilderment.

 “We’ve got to cover that window, make it look like an old break in, or they will search up here.” Cowboy strode back to the window and held the flattened box up to the window. It covered the opening perfectly, blocking out nearly all light entering the small room.

It was just in time. Below he could hear a group of security goons moving down the ally. Cowboy concentrated on holding the cardboard absolutely still, as if it were nailed or tacked over the broken pane. He hoped anyone from below would believe that the cardboard was just a lazy attempt at repairing an old break in. He was sure that none of the glass from the window had fallen outwards onto the escape or the ground below. If he could hold still just a little longer it might work.

 Either no one bothered to look up, or his ruse had worked. The men moved on down the ally and he could not hear anyone below. Oro had moved into another room to see what else was there. She came back carrying a dustpan and a ragged looking broom.

“Here,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper, “maybe we can rig something with these to keep the cardboard propped up there, in case they come back.”

 Cowboy folded one flap on the backside of the cardboard blind down. It had a scrap of tape on one corner so he used that to secure the flap to the side of the box, creating an inverted pocket. The handle of the dustpan was hollow, made to fit over the end of a broom handle. He attached the dustpan to the broom and then slid the flat end of the pan into the pocket he had created. He propped the broom to see if it would stand and hold the cardboard in place against the window. For a second the cardboard slid down, and he was sure it wouldn’t work, but Oro made an adjustment in the angle of the broomstick, and it stayed put.

 “Now what?” Oro asked keeping her voice down so that no one would hear them from adjoining apartments.

 “We’ll wait a little while until they are convinced we got away. When they stop searching, we’ll make our way back to the Lady. Do you still have the TIC? We should probably check in, see how Brock made out.”

 Cowboy had seen Brock place a TIC on his wrist before they left the ship. Oro had said she would take the other. The crew was limited on how many communications devices they had. TICs were just one of the many items on the growing list of necessary equipment that they needed.

 “Ay yi yi!” Oro exclaimed as she looked down at her hand where she had worn the TIC. The small device was obviously smashed. A spate of Spanish rolled off her tongue, surprising Cowboy. He was pretty sure she was cussing in a way that would have made even a hardened street kid blush if he could have understood her. “And what are you looking at?” She demanded finally as her tirade wore down.

 “I think I’m in love,” Cowboy teased.

 “Suck vacuum!” she shot back with a glare.

 Cowboy tried to smother his laughter but it came out in a strangled chuckle. “You cuss like the proverbial sailor, you climb like a monkey, you fight like a hellcat, and you look like a princess! You’re some package Oro Fierro.” Cowboy had been kidding about love, but his admiration was sincere. “What else can you do?” He walked back towards the stack of trash while he spoke.

 “I was in the UEF. Weapons are my specialty, so I can shoot just about anything. That’s why Brock hired me.” She was carefully looking at the TIC, trying to see if there was any way to salvage it. “But I was never good with electronics. I hope Nova can repair this.”

 Cowboy flattened a couple more boxes, sat on one, and indicated that the other was for Oro if she wanted to take a seat. “In spite of how you handled things during our exit from Earth, I thought Brock was crazy when I saw that he had signed you on as security. Either crazy, or he was taken with your looks,” he admitted.

 “Let’s get something straight, Cowboy. This,” she swept a hand down her front indicating the silk dress and the way it flattered her body, “is a package. I dress it up, I maintain it, but it is not who I am. It comes in handy as a tool, a distraction. But don’t let yourself ever believe that because I look helpless that I’m harmless. I’ll protect our crew with everything I have.”

 He’d made that mistake already, but he wouldn’t make it again. Oro was more than capable of taking care of herself and the crew in any combat situation. Brock had chosen a better security officer than he probably knew at this point. “I won’t ever doubt you again,” he conceded. “Of all people, I should know better than to judge on appearances.”

 “Why?” she asked as she dropped down onto the box he had laid out for her. “Why you ‘of all people?’”

 “I’ve lived on the streets my whole life. I know that appearances are deceiving. I’ve often made my way by counting on the fact that other people will be deceived by what they see and assume. Even now,” he admitted, “Brock assumes that I’m a hero type because I rescued his cousin Rose. He shouldn’t be so trusting.”

 “You’re not worthy of trust?” Oro asked directly.

 Cowboy shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean I would never deliberately do anything to Brock or the crew, but I’m no innocent. I’ve done some things in my past that I’m not ’specially proud of. Brock took me on without any knowledge of who I really am as a person. It seems naïve. If he’s not careful, someone is really going to take advantage of that trustin’ nature of his. Shoot,” he waved his hand emphatically, “they already have. Look at that Arturo hombre that helped frame him for robbery. Brock is too trusting.”

 Oro smiled, “Then he’s going to need all the friends he’s got. We’re going to have to keep an eye out for him.”

 “We? You still trust me after what I just told you? Doesn’t seem very security-minded of you.” He waited to hear what she thought about his confession of sorts.

 “What you were in the past is not what you are today. You’re an Indie now. Part of a crew who needs you, depends on you, and trusts you. Your actions in the present make you who you are now.” She looked away, uncomfortable with the serious turn their conversation had taken. She changed the subject, “If they search a standard grid pattern, in a half mile radius then broaden out, it may take them a couple hours to give up, depending on how many men they have searching. And how determined they are to catch us.”

 “If it was me you kicked in the crotch, I’d be pretty determined. Best get comfortable. Wanna play cards to pass the time?” he said as he reached into a shirt pocket to pull out a worn deck.

 “Not on your life! I saw the way you deal. You’re no innocent, and I’m no princess,” she teased.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 Ilari Jannula was co-captain of the Norse Wind. He and his brother Viljo took turns captaining the large cargo liner that belonged to their wealthy father, Aleksi Jannula. The Jannula family had longstanding ties to many of the other First Families. The Brockman Freight Company that had belonged to Brock’s father had been one of their chief competitors. Yet they had always been on good terms with the old man, Lyle Brockman. Ilari hated to see Brockman’s boy pushed around. Vil and Ilari both had a strong hatred for bullies and they both respected the way Brock had earned his own rank as pilot in his father’s shipping company.

 There were a lot of rumors floating around about Keith Overlinger and how he had maneuvered the company so that he gained full control. Even the timing of the death of Lyle Brockman seemed a little too convenient by Ilari’s estimate. It made him doubt that the charges against Brock that he had heard about were true. It was also why he and Vil had decided to try to funnel work Brock’s way.

 Brock was a proud man and he would not have taken an offer of direct help, but legitimate work was another story. Ilari hoped Brock was smart enough to accept work from Richards. Arn Kaasli, his second mate, had said that he had brought the men together. With any luck, the events at McSorley’s had not frightened Brock off. Brock didn’t strike Ilari as a man easily frightened off an opportunity. Just to be sure, though, he was going to have a talk with Brock.

 Ilari spotted the Aurora Lady berthed on the West Tarmac, well away from the main, and desirable, Mercantile Docks where the goods bound for the First’s settlements were handled. The Norse Wind was berthed there. She would get preferential treatment unless a private ship currying for a First showed up. In contrast, the Aurora Lady looked like the rejected stepdaughter, abandoned in a corner.

 A soft rain was falling, and the moisture was clinging to the short curls of his hair and dulling the golden sheen to a dark blond. Ilari hoped that the rain might make his visit to the Aurora Lady less visible to anyone watching. He pulled his jacket collar close up around his neck and made his way around the tarmacs to where the Lady stood proudly, ignoring the water dripping off her hull.

 Zahirah Sayar was standing at the main hatch as he approached. She wore a side in a holster at her waist. He was glad to see that Brock’s crew stayed alert and that they were prepared for trouble. Here in the outer sectors you could never let your guard down.

 “Hey there, Zahirah Sayar,” he shouted up a greeting to the dark woman standing backlit in the hatch.

 “Ilari? What are you doing here?” Her voice was filled with surprise and welcome. “Come in out of the rain.”

 “Thanks,” he responded to her offer as he came up the gangway. “Vil told me he had found you this morning, that you were on the Aurora Lady. If I had not been in charge of securing the cargo and making a delivery, I would have sought you out earlier myself. How are you?” He gave her a friendly hug as he entered and she moved back to let him out of the rain. She closed the hatch behind him.

 “I ran into Vil while getting provisions, I assume Vil has filled you in about how I am though,” she gave him a knowing look. A blush crept up her cheeks in embarrassment under his penetrating gaze as she thought about the conversation that she had had with Vil when they had met earlier that day. She had actually questioned him about possibilities of making money as a bar girl entertaining the crews and dock workers.

 Ilari was reassured when he saw her cheeks color under his scrutiny. If she could be embarrassed by the idea of selling herself then she was not likely to actually try it. “Are things really that bad for you?” he asked.

 “Maybe not. I was discouraged and feeling a little desperate for a solution. I hate not being able to control what will happen in my life, having no choices.” Unconsciously she folded her arms across her chest and widened her stance, as if she were about to do battle with fate for control over her own destiny.  

 “You felt trapped,” Ilari supplied.

 “Yes, a little trapped. And I wanted to help Brock. I feel that I should do more than just cook.”

 “I want to talk to Brock, make him an offer of sorts. But before I do I want to make an offer to you, a choice.” He looked at her golden eyes and felt something soften in his belly. She was such a little thing, but so strong willed. He wanted to protect her. “If you ever get desperate again, if you need another choice, you are always welcome on the Norse Wind. No questions asked, and no expectations beyond working as part of the crew. There is always a berth open for you. I’m sorry I never thought to offer it sooner.”

 A smile lit her golden eyes. “Thank you, Ilari. It means a lot to me to know that I have you and Vil. As for talking to Brock,” she shrugged, “he hasn’t returned yet.”

 Ilari frowned. “Arn said he left McSorley’s with Richards over an hour ago. I would have expected him to be back by now.”

 Rose entered the small corridor that they were standing in, just in time to hear the last comment. “Is there trouble?” Rose asked, looking at Zahirah and waiting for her to introduce the outsider.

 “I’m not sure,” Zahirah answered with concern in her voice. “This is Ilari Jonulla. He’s co-captain of the Norse Wind. This is Rose McWerter.” Rose and Ilari nodded at one another in acknowledgement as Zahirah went on. “One of his crew saw Brock leave a bar with a man named Richards and he should have been back by now.”

 “He had Oro and Cowboy with him and between them they had two TICs. We would have heard if there was trouble.” Rose said reassuringly.

 Ilari wasn’t sure if the petite woman was trying to reassure herself or Zahirah. “Your other two people weren’t with him when he left with Richards. There was apparently some trouble with Dock Security and Brock took a back door.”

“Ian!” Rose punched a button on the ship-wide communications box, one of the many mounted throughout the ship. “Has there been any word from Oro, Cowboy, or Brock? They may have trouble.”

 “No, nothing from them,” Ian’s disembodied voice replied. “What kind of trouble?” There was an edge to his voice that even the electronics didn’t mask.

 “Unknown for sure, but Dock Security might be involved,” Rose sighed in frustration.

 “I’ll try to raise them.”

 Zahirah motioned down the tight corridor towards the galley, “Let’s go sit.”

 The galley was the only open crew space in this compact ship. Ilari was glad to move out of the cramped corridor. These two women were smaller than he was, but even their small bodies took up too much of the space. It made him feel very glad the Norse Wind was as big as she was. He couldn’t imagine spending months in space in these tight quarters with a crew.

 Ian met them in the galley, along with their Dr. Green. “I couldn’t raise Oro, but Brock answered,” Ian told them as they took seats around the table. He gave Ilari a surprised look when he saw him enter with Zahirah and Rose.

 “Ah, Murphy, I’m not surprised to see you here.” Ilari offered his hand to Ian in greeting. “I would have put money on you showing up with Brock eventually. And that horizontal trick out of Nashville, that sounded like you.”

 “Sure an’ that wasn’t my idea, not by a long shot,” Ian denied.

 “Good flying though. Damn good.” Ilari glanced at the other occupant of the galley that he did not know.

 “This is Winter Green, our doctor,” Rose informed him.

 Ilari reached across the table and shook her small hand. Humor struck him and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he glanced around at all four crewmembers of the Aurora Lady.

 “What’s so funny?” Winter asked puzzled.

 “It just struck me, Brock hired a crew of midgets for his midget ship,” he laughed harder at their expressions of bewilderment. “You two,” he pointed at Rose and Winter, “would fit in my pocket. And Ian here may be a giant among Irishmen, but he could trip a fellow like me if I weren’t watching where I was going. Zee, are you the only normal size person on this crew?” He couldn’t stop laughing for a minute.

 “I guess we do fit our ship,” Rose conceded wryly with a chuckle of her own.

 “Didn’t someone say something about possible trouble?” Winter turned the subject back to the reason for their gathering in the galley. Ian had called her from her quarters with some cryptic. statement about being ready to grab her black bag if trouble started.

“We’re not sure,” Ian explained. “I was able to get Brock on one of the TICs. He said there was trouble while he was meeting with a contact about a job. He’s fine, on his way back. But he was separated from Oro and Cowboy. We can’t get them to answer.”

 Ilari pulled a communications device from his pocket. “What do your other two friends look like?” he asked. Ilari called Arn and asked if he had seen the two crewmembers during the trouble at the bar.

 “Did I see a tall blond?” Arn replied, “Everyone saw her. She was hard to miss! As for the man you say was with her, I think he was at the card table where the fight first started. They were both fine after the first fight, sir.”

 Ilari looked questioningly at the device in his hand, as if he could read something from it “What do you mean ‘first fight?’”

 “Well, Dock Sec came in and they were looking for a couple of people. Some we know.” Arn didn’t explain, guessing that Ilari was not alone. “One minute they were questioning the two you are asking about, and the next they were on the floor.”

 “Oro and Cowboy?” Rose asked in concern.

 Arn must have heard her voice carry over the communications device, “No, not those two, the security officers. They were down and the other two ran out the door. Half of Dock Security on the planet has been down by McSorley’s ever since. They’re turning over every stone looking for those two.”

 Ilari closed communications with Arn and looked at the concerned faces around the table. He was impressed that the group had so much feeling for their crewmates. They had not been together very long. It spoke well of the group as a whole. They were going to make a good crew that watched out for each other. He wondered if Brock even knew how fortunate he was yet to have these people.

 “It doesn’t sound like they have been picked up yet,” Ilari encouraged them.

 “But why wouldn’t they be able to answer your calls on the TIC then?” Winter asked Ian. “If they aren’t in custody yet and weren’t hurt in the fights, why can’t we reach them?”

 Ian shrugged in his own puzzlement, “No idea at this point, or rather, too many ideas. There are a lot of things that could stop them from transmitting or receiving. They may be keeping silent to keep from being found. They may be hiding somewhere the signals are blocked. They may be out of range,” he trailed off in resignation.

 For a second a faraway look filled Ian’s eyes. A split second later a ship alert signal came over the communication box mounted on the wall. “That’s probably Brock coming back. I’ll go let the lad in.” Ian left to open the main hatch for Brock.

 Brock entered the galley with Ian right behind him. Brock didn’t bother with pleasantries “Ian said you had news that Fierro and Cowboy were being searched for by Dock Security. Do you know anything else?”

 “No, but it does sound like they are lying low and have not been taken into custody yet,” Ilari reassured him.

 Brock wiped a hand down his face, slicking the moisture off his skin from the rain that was still falling outside. “I’m not sure what we can do for them. Do you have any contacts with Security that would be able to give you any news?”

 Ilari thought for a moment, “Yes, but we will have to be very discreet. I assume you don’t want any attention drawn to your ship.” He paused again in thought as Brock nodded in agreement. “It may take me a little while but I think I can arrange to be notified if any information about them surfaces.”

 “Thanks,” Brock shook his hand in genuine gratitude and took a seat across from him at the table.

 Zahirah set a cup of coffee in front of Ilari and another in front of Brock then motioned to the others that they should give Brock some privacy. She knew Ilari had come to make an offer of some kind.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 Winter headed back to her quarters, and Ian moved forward to the bridge. Zahirah and Rose found themselves drifting towards Rose’s cabin.

 “How do you know Ilari Jannula?” Rose asked as she sat on one end of her bed and Zahirah took the only chair in the small space.

 “Vil and Ilari used to come into the café where I worked in Nashville. Whenever they were in town they were regulars. They are good men.”

 Rose thought she detected some tension in Zahirah that had not been there a moment before. She felt like maybe the other woman was holding something back. “I’m not so sure,” Rose said with a worried tone.

 “What do you mean?” Zahirah sat up alertly.

 Rose wasn’t sure how much to say. She was still getting to know Zahirah, and she didn’t want to create a rift by insulting someone Zahirah was close to. “I’ve heard rumors,” Rose started. She watched to see if Zahirah had any reaction and if there was any clue that she already knew the rumors Rose was referring to.

“What rumors?” A frown creased Zahirah’s brow and her golden eyes were clouded to a hazel color.

 “That they trade in guns and black market goods as a way of thumbing their noses at the Firsts.” She watched surprise and anger flit across Zahirah’s expression. It was obvious the other woman had not known the rumors and had not intentionally gotten Brock mixed up with someone who was not quite honest.

 “Do you have any proof?”

 “Of course not. But I worked a long time for Lyle Brockman, my uncle, and the Jannula’s were the main competition in many sectors that the Brockman Company traded in. Sometimes I would hear things.” Rose saw a war going on in Zahirah, a war between loyalty to her friends and loyalty to her new crew.

 “It’s possible,” Zahirah finally conceded. “I guess what I really know of Ilari and Vil is that they are very sweet men, charming, and have been very accepting of me. And now they seem willing to help Brock. If I’m honest with myself, I don’t know anything about their ethics or business practices.”

 “Well, just because they are ready to undermine the Firsts doesn’t mean they are all bad,” Rose conceded, “but I am not sure I want to trust them completely.”

 “No, they are not bad men. In spite of the rumors, or even if the rumors are true, they are not bad men. I know that about them.” Zahirah was staunch in her defense of the two men who were her friends.

 Maybe a little too staunch. It made Rose wonder if these men, or one of them, meant more to Zahirah than she was saying. Rose admired her loyalty. “I’ll have to tell Brock what I have heard,” Rose said.

 “Yes, of course. Do you think it will make a difference?” Zahirah asked.

 Rose wasn’t sure if Zahirah meant there might be a difference in how Brock felt about her, or how he would feel about the Finnish-Russian captains of the Norse Wind. “I very much doubt it. Brock always gives people a fair chance to prove who they are.” A wry smile quirked the corners of her mouth, “And who knows, before long we may have much worse rumors being spread about us ourselves. It’s not like we can cast the first stone.”

~~~~~~~~~~

 Oro and Cowboy were nearly back to the ship when they were stopped by Dock Security. Oro’s first instinct was to fight but there were five security officers holding pulse pistols pointed right at their heads. It wouldn’t be much of a fight.

 Oro looked over at Cowboy, who was already raising his hands in the timeless gesture of surrender. He didn’t look scared, just resigned to seeing what happened next.

 One of the officers used a TIC to call into his headquarters that they had caught the “suspects from McSorley’s.”  Another was stepping forward to restrain Cowboy’s hands behind his back.

 “So, we meet again, Blondie,” one of the officers said as he came close to Oro holding a pair of restraints. Both of his eyes were circled with bruising. His nose was swollen and obviously broken.

 Oro couldn’t blame him for being rough as he pulled her hands behind her back and strapped them with the restraints. He was the same officer she had struck down in the bar when they first made their escape.

 “I figured you eventually would return to the docks. Didn’t I tell ya?” he quipped over his shoulder to the other officers. “Sooner or later the birds come home to roost.” He wore a smug smile and Oro’s sympathy vanished as she burned to wipe it off his face with another good swing.

 “That anonymous tip about them heading this way didn’t hurt any,” one of his fellow officers said with heavy sarcasm. Apparently Oro wasn’t the only one bothered by his smug attitude.

 A frown of anger settled on the face of the officer who had restrained her. He jerked her by the elbow and began propelling her along in front of him as they marched towards the security transport that had been out of sight before. A sixth officer had brought it around. “Come on, you’re going to get a taste of how we deal with your kind.” He shoved her towards the transport and laughed as she fought to keep her balance with her hands behind her.

 “Watch it!” Cowboy said angrily in her defense.

 “I’m alright,” Oro said, turning her head to give Cowboy a warning look to not let his chivalry get him in more trouble. She could handle herself. Even with her arms behind her back she knew she could probably knock this goon on his butt. It was the pistols of the other officers that held her in check.

 In a brightly lit room back at the security headquarters, Oro was attached by a chain to a metal ring secured to a wall. Cowboy was secured across from her and looking around with curiosity. She wondered if anything ever bothered him. They were about to be charged with, at the very least, resisting arrest and assault of an officer. Brock could not come forward to bail them out without risking being exposed and identified as an escaped felon from Earth. The crew may not even know that they were in big trouble yet. She looked closer and noticed Cowboy had that innocent little boy expression on again, the one she was beginning to suspect was his best poker face. Maybe he wasn’t as calm about this situation as she had first thought.

 Black Eyes returned with a scanner. “Let’s see what you have to hide,” he snickered as he scanned Cowboy. When no tag was activated by the scanner the officer gave a disgusted grunt. “Figures! You an Indie, or an indigent?” Cowboy refused to answer. Black Eyes was angered by the defiance but he turned to Oro and left Cowboy alone.

 Oro’s chip immediately transmitted all of her history to the scanner. “Oro Carlotta Fierro, a.k.a. ‘The Surgeon.’” He paused to give her a quizzical look, and she glared back. She had received the nickname The Surgeon in the UEF because of her focus when she was on a mission and her precision as a sharpshooter. She had never really liked being called that. “Out of the UEF less than two months, I see,” he continued. “And what’s this, a list of prior arrests?” He gave her a gloating smile, “Won’t go so easy on you with a record like this.” He literally sauntered away down a hall to enter an office.

 “The Surgeon?” Cowboy asked from where he leaned against the wall.

 “Don’t ask, and don’t you dare repeat that!” she ordered with a glare.

 “Anything you say, Surgeon,” he looked at her with innocent hazel eyes.

 Oro just let her head hang back and thunked it against the wall. “I swear, if I get the chance I am getting this tag out of me if it’s the last thing I do. It’s just not fair people have the ability to pull your life story out of your own flesh that way!”

 “Oro Fierro?” a male voice said in disbelief from the office that Black Eyes had disappeared into. No less than the Chief of Dock Security strode down the hall to stand before her.

 “Snarl?” Oro recognized one of her ex-commanding officers from the United Earth Forces. “Captain George ‘Snarl’ Farmington? You work for Dock Security now?”

 He frowned at her use of the name troops had used for him behind his back. “Yep, retired from the Forces a year ago and settled here. But I couldn’t stay home doing nothing, drove my wife crazy. So I took up working for Dock Sec. But you, what are you doing here like…,” he paused and took in the silk dress that was considerably worse for all the wear it had been through in the last six hours, “like this?” he finished, lost for descriptive words.

 Oro tried to shrug nonchalantly. “You know me Cap, I never could stay out of a fight.”

 “Dick,” Farmington waved Black Eyes to come closer from where he stood behind the chief with his mouth hanging open in surprise. It was obvious he had not expected the Chief to know the woman he had looked forward to throwing the book at. “Dick, what are the charges against Fierro here?”

 “Interference with an investigation, two counts of assault on an officer, fleeing from the scene, and resisting arrest,” he listed out.

 George Farmington looked at her with a deep frown. “That’s all pretty serious stuff there, Fierro. I was hoping you were here because of one of your escapades. I might have been able to help you out then. But this, this is no disturbing of the peace charge. You got any friends you can call? You’re going to need a lawyer.”

 Oro thought about Brock and the crew. She knew that if she and Cowboy involved the crew it could lead to someone identifying Brock, or worse yet, finding Ian. She was certain he was keeping his presence on the Lady a secret. No one had said anything yet about why Ian never left the ship, but Oro had her own suspicions about what it could cost their pilot if he were identified by UE security. No, Cowboy and she were going to have to weather this one out together, without the crew of the Lady. “Don’t I get one appointed?”

 He blew out in an exaggerated sigh of derision. “You’ll get an ALDA, Artificial Legal Defense Advisor. It’s a programmed box that interprets your rights and the laws. You’d be better off arguing for yourself, in my opinion. Your friend here,” he gestured towards Cowboy, “he’s not even eligible for an ALDA, since he has no tag. If he can’t afford an attorney he may be in a lot more jeopardy than you are.” Oro’s hopes began to slide. “Sorry I can’t do much at this point, but I will put in a good word for you. You were one of my best troops. Other than that mess you made in Carsh, never had any trouble from you.” George Farmington walked away with regret.

 “One of your escapades? Mess in Carsh?” Cowboy was looking at her with curiosity spread across his face and a sparkle in his eyes. It was obvious he had hung on every word from the Chief about her past. “I think you have some stories to tell, Fierro.”

 “Don’t hold your breath, Cowboy,” she shot back. “Got any ideas about what we do now?”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 Nova Nevels could hear rain beating on the hull outside. She was lying in the cramped access space of the guns that were above the bridge. The access hatch was still open behind her but didn’t give her much light so she propped a flashlight between her shoulder and cheek, and managed to get a stripe of grease on her cheek in the process. She was detaching one of the Lady’s standard guns from its mount. Ian would be bringing the new replacement weapon up in a little while when she had made room for it. She wondered if she could jury-rig another mount somewhere on the ship to place the old guns. It would give them a surprise that they could pull out if needed, even if the old guns were not very powerful. Maybe she could mount them near the laser cannon on the belly of the ship. The cannon was a longer range weapon so the old guns could be used as a secondary defense at close range from the ball turret. She began to picture in her mind just how she would mount them and rig their firing controls.

 Oro and Cowboy still hadn’t returned and no news of them had surfaced yet through Ilari Jannula’s contacts. Nova could tell that the others were getting more worried as time went by, just like she was. She didn’t know her crewmates well yet, but she liked them, and she hoped nothing had happened to them.

 Brock and Rose entered the bridge and were heatedly discussing the deal that Brock had struck with Ilari Jannula for the new weapons she was installing, TY-800 impulse guns with modified mounts for use on a ship, four of them. They were out of sight, but not out of earshot. The two had probably come to the bridge for privacy and did not realize she was in the access port. She started to edge backwards so that she could lean out and let them know she was there.

 “But they’re black market!” Rose hissed.

 “Of course they’re black market. Do you think we could get any weapons that are not black market? We’re broke!” Brock said with exasperation.

 “So what did you pay him with?” Rose demanded. If anyone knew their financial status it was Rose.

 “Nothing, yet. We get the guns now, we pay him back later.” There was an uncomfortable silence. “Look Rose, we’re not part of mainstream anymore. We’re Indies and we have to be willing to bend a little. Without these weapons we are not nearly well enough armed to fight off any serious predators out here. We’d be sitting ducks for pirates. Do you think I’m going to turn down a way to protect my crew?”

 Nova was going to let them know she was there but the conversation caused her to freeze. She worried that if she spoke up now they would think she had intentionally listened in too long on their private conversation.

 “But at what price? Brock, I’ve heard rumors, and I was going to talk to you about this later, but I don’t think Zahirah knows everything about these men she’s hooked you up with.” Rose was keeping her voice down but the worry she felt was evident. “I think they do a bit of smuggling on the side of their legitimate hauls with the Norse Wind.”

 There was a pause before Brock answered her, “I was already aware of the rumors. Vil and Ilari have captained for their father, Aleksi Jannula, for a while. Like me, they didn’t want to be insulated and live in the bubble that the Firsts have created for themselves. So he turned a ship over to them. The rumors about them started a couple years back, and I know it must be their birth and their father’s power that has protected them from real investigations. I don’t know how much of the rumors are true, but I know that I can trust Ilari.”

 “How can you be so sure?” Rose asked. Her voice begged for reassurance that Brock had more than his instinct to go on.

 “Because he swore on Zahirah’s life that he was dealing straight with me. I think she means more to him than she realizes.”

 Rose accepted his statement. “Then how much do we owe him?”

 “When the time comes, we owe him a favor, whatever he asks.”

Nova almost dropped her flashlight when she heard that. What was her crazy Captain thinking by making a deal like that? Whatever this Jannula character asked? Brock and Rose went off the bridge towards their cabins, still discussing the situation Brock had put the ship in.

 Nova began to wonder if she was on the right ship. She’d been stuck back on Earth, desperate to get back into space, and Brock had offered what looked like a good opportunity, but now she wasn’t so sure.

 “If this situation turns sour,” she told herself, “there’s always another ship.”

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 It was night when the crew of the Lady finally got a call from Viljo Jannula about Oro and Cowboy’s capture. No one had been asleep. Zahirah’s strong coffee was keeping them going. The guns were all mounted, thanks to the jury-rigging talents of Nova with Ian’s assistance. Even the old guns had a place now. The crew had been just about to organize three search parties to go out looking for Cowboy and Oro when the call came.

 “They’re being held at security headquarters and are due for processing through the courts in the morning.” Viljo’s voice sounded tinny through the ship’s communications.

 “Is there any chance they’ll be let out with some sort of fine?” Brock asked.

 “Not likely. They assaulted two officers. They could get mandatory service on a colony for that.” Mandatory service on a colony world was another way of saying slave labor. Brock would never let his crew be sent off for that, even if it meant some dramatic and desperate jailbreak.

 “Damn!” Ian swore hearing the conversation.

 “Brock,” Ilari Jannula’s voice came through the transmission now. “Don’t do anything rash.”

 “I’m not sure I know what you are talking about,” Brock evaded.

 There was some muted discussion between the two captains of the Norse Wind, then Vil’s voice came through clearly. “I think we can help them, Brock, but not if you jump the gun and try to do something rash to save them. Give us a chance to see what we can do, first. If you interfere you’ll just space the whole situation.”

 "All right,” Brock answered after a long pause of thought. The remainder of his crew was waiting to see how he would respond when one of their own was in trouble. Except for Rose and Ian, they were probably wondering if the son of a First would even be upset by the loss of two crewmen. “But we are supposed to take off with a cargo tomorrow afternoon. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I’m not waiting for your permission. I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect my people from slavery. Do I make myself clear?”

“Loud and clear, Brock. I wouldn’t expect anything less of you.” The transmission was closed after Ilari’s reply.

 Ian spoke up first, “If their plan doesn’t work, what was it you be thinking on doing, boyo?”

 Brock couldn’t help but smile when Ian’s accent got that thick. “Something rash,” was all he would say. He got up and left the galley for his own cabin, needing privacy to work out some sort of plan if Viljo Jannula’s idea failed.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 “Aster, Michael Aster, of Aster and Lawrence.” A man in a dark and well-tailored suit gave the officer in front of him a small perma-plast business card.

 On the front of the card embossed lettering spelled out the name of the prestigious law firm. Aster and Lawrence had offices on every world where Firsts did business, and they only represented the interests of the cream of the First Families. The security officer looked at the man in the suit with new respect. This was no office lackey, this was one of the legal firm’s partners.

 “How can I help you?”

 “I am here to represent my clients, Oro Fierro and,” he paused as if searching for a name, “a man known as Cowboy.”

 The officer’s jaw nearly fell. Michael Aster himself was legal representative for the man and woman who had been brought in the evening before? Disbelief was almost tangible in his voice, “Fierro and the Cowboy?”

 Aster did not reply. He let his glacial stare bore into the officer.

 “I, I’ll get the Chief. He just came on duty for the day.” The young officer scurried down a corridor and returned with George Farmington, Chief of Security.

 “How can I help you, Mr. Aster?” The ex-military commander did not show any of the discomfort that his subordinate could not hide. He was used to dealing with authority figures. It did not matter to Farmington how many Firsts this man dealt with on a daily basis. To him, he was just another lawyer; which was lower than an Indie in George Farmington’s ordering of the universe.

 The lawyer reached into an inner pocket of his suit and withdrew a CID and offered him the display. “I have a release order, signed by Judge J. Davidson, for the release of Oro C. Fierro, and Patrick Sean Williams, known as Cowboy.”

Farmington took the small screen from the lawyer with a surprised and skeptical glance. He read through the orders twice before he raised his eyes. “How did Fierro and this Williams come to be your clients, Mr. Aster?”

 “Friends,” was all he would say.

 George Farmington was left wondering if the friends involved were friends of Fierro or friends of this Aster character. His gut was telling him something was not right.

 Without removing his eyes from the lawyer’s face, he handed the orders to the desk clerk who had been standing by. “Check the authorization code and get these processed. It looks like Fierro and Williams are free to go.” The lawyer’s expression never changed. “Your clients will be able to leave with you in a little while,” he said.

 “Thank you, but I won’t wait. I have other business to attend to.” Aster pivoted on his heel as he spoke. He strode powerfully towards the doors at the front of the security building before Farmington could react.

 On an impulse, the chief decided to contact Judge J. Davidson personally. The whole situation just did not feel right to him. He knew Fierro was no more than ex-UEF, and this man she had come in with seemed like a common crewman. Why would an elite law firm be hired to represent them? Even more astonishing was the fact that one of the firm’s partners had personally come to deliver the release order. What, or who, was Fierro mixed up with?

 “Yes, Farmington, I did sign those orders, and they are legitimate.” The voice sounded tired and annoyed. “Did you have problems with authenticating the security codes?”

 “No, sir. It just seems very unusual. The charges against them are…,” he was interrupted.

 “Dismissed, that’s what they are, dismissed.” The judge was not happy that his orders were being questioned. “I reviewed the evidence that the local prosecutor submitted for preliminary examination, and I find it was insufficient grounds for proceeding with prosecution. The charges are summarily dismissed. Now,” there was a tension filled pause, “if you are done asking questions about the obvious, I have work to do.”

 The transmission was cut before the Chief could reply. “Yes, sir,” he answered with heavy sarcasm. He would have to let go of this little mystery. He had no idea where the power was coming from to get Fierro and her friend off of the charges brought against them, but somehow he was sure they were not getting out of trouble. He had a feeling they were leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire, as the old saying went.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

 Morning found most of the crew of the Aurora Lady loading an auxiliary cargo pod with crates labeled for Halcyon. The third party Richards had hired to deliver his cargo had arrived at the break of light. They had offered to load the pod for them, but Brock had refused. He didn’t like anyone else handling goods he was responsible for once he signed that he had taken possession of them. His crew could manage.

 Rose was standing at the rear loading ramp of the pod tracking the crates on a CID. It frustrated her that there were no markings or barcodes that she could use for identification of each crate. All she could do was number them, with a description of the crate size, and a tallied weight of contents. They were not allowed to open any of the crates to take a visual inventory. The crates were electronically sealed.

 Nova was operating the lift and moving the crates up the ramp into the pod while Ian made sure that the crates were stacked securely inside. The machines did the heavy work, but it still took the judgment of a human to make sure there were no errors.

 Zahirah had left her post in the galley to lend a hand. She was alternately spotting for Nova on the ramp, helping her keep track of any objects in her blind spots as she maneuvered the powerful loading lift, and shouting out weights to Rose from the gage on the side of the lift near the forks.

 Brock was pacing around the outside of the ship inspecting the new gun mounts in the early morning light. He had circles around his eyes and it looked like he had not slept at all. Rose knew that she had not slept. She suspected that none of the crew had slept. She’d even heard Winter moving about the galley before Zahirah had come out of her cabin. Rose was pretty sure that the coffee that had greeted her that morning had been made by the doctor, and not by Zahirah’s expert hand. The blend of chicory just was not the same. They were all worried about what would happen if Ilari and Viljo Jannula were not able to get Oro and Cowboy released.

 Rose was also worried for Brock. She knew he blamed himself for their situation. He had trusted that Oro and Cowboy would be fine when he had left the bar through the back door. He had assumed that no one but himself was in any danger from Security. And regardless of what events had transpired after he left, which lead to them being taken into custody, Brock felt like he had abandoned his people. She knew what he was feeling and she knew he would not let it go.

 “Hey!”

 Rose, turned to see who had shouted a greeting. Oro and Cowboy were striding confidently across the tarmac towards the ship. “Howdy!” Cowboy waved.

 Oro looked anything but sexy this morning. Her hair reflected the sun like fine gold thread, but her makeup was smeared around her eyes, her dress was dirty and torn, and she was walking barefoot carrying her shoes. Cowboy looked no different than when he had left, except he had more shadow around his jaw. His hat was just as beaten as always, and he walked with his usual swagger.

 Rose lifted a hand and waved back happily. Nova shut the lift down and Ian and Zahirah came around to see what was happening. “You’re back!” Zahirah shouted when they got close.

Brock met them as the group gathered near the cargo. He gave a whistle of surprise, “I didn’t think those two could do it! How did they get you out of jail? You don’t look like escaped prisoners running for your lives.”

Oro accepted a hug from Rose and answered over the small woman’s head, “We didn’t escape. Some fancy lawyer came in and handed the chief some release order from a judge and we were out of there. What two were you talking about, that helped us?” Her explanation and question tumbled out like one long sentence.

 “Ilari and Vil,” Zahirah broke in. Her relief and happiness that her trust in her friends had not been in vain was evident in her smile. “They said they would do something to help you. We didn’t know what they had planned though.”

 “Well, they must have paid a lot of unis. The chief said it was a suit working for the Firsts that came in personally to deliver the judge’s order. And I have no idea how a judge was persuaded to let us go.” Oro didn’t seem concerned, just glad to be the beneficiary of such good luck.

Brock activated the TIC that tied him into the ship transmitter and sent a message to the Norse Wind. “I guess I owe you two favors, Ilari,” he finished after thanking Jannula for getting his crewmen released.

“Brock, we were not behind this. We were trying to pull some strings, but we didn’t hire a lawyer.” Ilari’s voice came back with a worried tone. “Aster and Lawrence wouldn’t have taken a call from us, maybe from our father, but not from us. And we did not call our father for a favor.” Something angry crept into Ilari’s voice. “He’s not one to help in a situation like this anyway.”

 Brock was too distracted to see the brief look of pain cross Zahirah’s face, but Rose noticed it and filed it away to talk to her later about.

 “If you didn’t hire Aster, who could have?” Brock frowned at the TIC on the back of his wrist as if he could intimidate it into giving him answers.

 “I have no idea Brock, but it looks like you have a powerful friend somewhere.” Not much more could be said. After a few minutes they broke off speculating about the identity of the hand behind their good fortune, but Rose could see that Brock was bothered by the mystery.

 Nova returned to the lift and Cowboy took over the CID that Rose had been using and took back his job in charge of tracking all goods brought on board the Lady. Ian moved back into the cargo pod to help out. Zahirah went to the galley to get some breakfast going for the two returned prodigals, and Oro followed her into the ship to get cleaned up and changed. 

 “I don’t like this Rose,” Brock told her when the others had left earshot. “I don’t like not knowing who pulled those strings.”

Rose shook her head in sympathy. “I know. Having someone with that much power lurking out of sight is very uncomfortable, whether they have helped in this case or not. But what can you do?” That was the worst part of it, feeling helpless while someone else had power to affect their lives

~~~~~~~~~~

 Oro wiped steam off the small mirror over the sink in the crew lav where she had showered. They were not going to be planetside much longer and once they took off, water would be restricted. But for today, Oro had been able to indulge in one extra minute under the hot water. She felt almost human again now as she looked in the mirror at her clean face. She also looked at the bare shoulder that caught her attention. The shoulder where her tag lay buried. There was no visible sign of its existence, but her experience had left her aware of it in a way she never had been before.

 She whipped a clean shirt on over her head, then shoved her damp feet through the openings in loose pants. She hated the tag. She thought about how the security officers had only had to scan her and they held her entire history; her identity, her birth, her parents’ and siblings’ names, her education, her military record, all of it. It somehow robbed a person of something deep and integral to dignity to be able to strip all of that out of them without consent.

Oro went to the galley and sat down with the plate of food Zahirah handed her. The food Zahirah made was always simple but flavorful, even when she worked with ingredients that were reconstituted, like the eggs in this case. Oro poured hot sauce over her eggs and began to savor the textures as she chewed.

“Zahirah, you even make powdered eggs taste good,” Oro said with appreciation around a mouth full.

 “Glad you like them, and I’m glad you and Cowboy are back. We were all very worried for you?” Zahirah leaned her elbows on the table and wrapped her hands around a coffee cup as she sat across the table from Oro.

“I was a bit worried about us too,” Oro smiled.

“Even the doctor had a sleepless night when we learned that you two had been taken into custody.” Zahirah took a sip of her coffee. “She made the coffee this morning because she couldn’t sleep.”

Oro raised a surprised eyebrow. Winter Green had joined them in the middle of a fire fight as they made a dramatic escape from Earth. In the short time they had all been on the ship, Oro had not yet gotten a chance to get to know the woman. She seemed quiet and reserved, almost the opposite of Oro’s own volatile personality. But Oro felt respect for the way the woman had quickly treated Brock and Cowboy’s wounds after the battle. Oro saved lives by fighting. Winter saved lives by healing. To Oro it was just opposite sides of the same coin.

Thinking of the doctor led Oro back to the troubling feelings she had been having. “Have you ever wanted to remove your tag?” Oro asked without explanation.

Zahirah blinked at the abrupt change in conversation. “Has Ian said anything to you?”

“What?” Oro was confused. “No, Ian will hardly say five words to me. I think I make him uncomfortable, because of what I was.”

“You’re both ex-UEF, why would he be uncomfortable?” Now Zahirah was puzzled.

Oro did not want to explain her suspicions that their pilot was implanted with a chip in his brain that enabled him to fly the ship with skill no normal human could. A lot of people had strong feelings against chippies, as the special UEF pilots were often referred to. Too many of the pilots had gone insane over time, especially those with early implants. Oro had even been ordered to help take some of the most dangerous cases out with her sniper skills when they had gotten loose in civilian populations.

“I was a grunt, a ground trooper,” Oro hedged, “and he was a pilot. Even within the military there is an unofficial class system.” At least that was true, she thought. “But why did you ask me if Ian had said something to me when I asked you if you had ever wanted to remove your tag?”

Zahirah didn’t answer for a minute. Finally she met Oro’s eyes. “Because I had a conversation with him about this exact subject yesterday, before all the trouble started. He doesn’t have a tag. I wanted to know what it was like to be a ghost.”

“And?” Oro prompted.

“And I am still thinking about it. It all sounds good, to be able to be a clean slate, no one able to judge you on where you come from. But as Ian pointed out to me, it is a one way road, there’s no going back once you remove it.” She gave a little chuckle, “He compared it to losing your virginity.”

Oro was thoughtful for a minute. “He’s right in saying there is no going back. You lose all rights as a full citizen. You can never get a government job. You cannot immigrate into a colony. You can’t own property on any UEF world. In the courts you have no right to free legal representation, and if you are ever taken by slavers you have no legal rights to fight for your freedom. You are fair game for the slavers to pick up if they know you are untagged. You are considered a non-person in many ways, like property that has not been claimed.”

Zahirah frowned. “I’ve already been treated like property and a non-person, in the past, because of my tag.”

“All I could think of when I was scanned in that security station is how I wanted to somehow rip my tag out myself, with my bare hands.” Oro still felt the helpless anger flare up at the memory.

“It’s not right that someone can take your identity, put it into some little circuit, and say that is who you are, then pull it out of you to judge you by, as if you are the sum of your statistics.” Zahirah echoed Oro’s feeling of frustration.

Oro pushed her half empty plate away and stood up. “Well, I’m not going to let anyone use my tag against me again.” Without any explanation she left the galley and went to see if there was anything she could do to help get their ship off planet any faster.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

 “We’re ready to get underway, Cap’n,” Nova informed Brock through the ship-wide communications from Engineering.

“Cargo secured, pod locked and attached,” Cowboy checked in.

“Fierro?” Brock prompted when he didn’t get the next go signal that he was expecting immediately.

“All crew accounted for,” she responded. That was followed by a hollow, metallic click and a grunt from Oro, “And final hatch secured. We are locked up, loaded, and ready to fly.”

“You heard the lady, Ian,” Brock said as he turned in the co-pilot seat to smile at Ian behind the controls. “Let’s fly.”

They were finally underway with their first paying job. Richards had not been lying when he had told Brock that he was offering good unis for this run. The first payment had actually been surprisingly high. Rose had been able to pay the exorbitant docking fees and still pay everyone the bonuses that Brock had promised. Brock had to assume that there was risk equal to the high pay.  He would deliver these goods to Halcyon, but he still was not sure if he would continue to work with Richards. Transporting possibly illegal goods did not bother him as much as being kept in the dark.

 Brock let his mind go back over his meeting with Richards. When he reviewed the part of the conversation with him about the importance of reputation, he frowned. Without conscious thought, his hand raised to the leather strip that held a small disk around his neck.

 The small disk was made from a metallic ore called Sorca. It was the same metal that all currency was made from. It could not be altered once it was hardened, and it was nearly indestructible. But this disk was more valuable than even the largest denomination of money. This disk was a physical recording of all his biometric data. An exact representation of his DNA was recorded on it, an image of his retinal scan, thumb prints, even a detailed recording of his brain patterns was imprinted. In addition, his family genealogy was recorded as far back as it could be traced, back to before humans had even been able to go into space. It was a recording of his identity as surely as a tag was for a normal citizen. It was called a BID, “Biometric Identification Disk.”

 Officially, any citizen of the UE could have a BID made at any time, but the expense of having Sorca molded to record all the information was prohibitive. Only the Firsts could afford to have BIDs made for their children and give them the freedom from being tagged in order to be registered as a citizen.

 Just wearing the disk proclaimed to all society that you were born to Firsts. Had he used his status to ease his way in life in the past?