[05] Elite: Reclamation (16 page)

Clearly Octavia had some special interest in part of the haul. What that was, neither he nor his predecessor knew. The rest of the cargo was secondary. He’d not make the same mistake in determining her priorities.

Unfortunately he had only bad news to report, but he felt confident he’d done everything he could. Octavia should see things in the same manner. She’d always been a supremely effective leader, organised, her attention to detail almost legendary. She never suffered fools for long. Cold and unemotional, harsh but strong.

Yet in recent months …

Something was awry. He took a deep breath and announced his presence.

The door to the suite opened immediately. Octavia was waiting for him. She faced outwards, looking out of the composite windows to the distant stars. She turned as he entered, striding across to him.

‘Progress?’

‘We’ve been unable to locate the vessel,’ he replied. ‘The hyperspace trace was inconclusive by the time we reached the jump-out point.’

Octavia stiffened, but said nothing. He continued.

‘I sent scouts to all the nearby jump points and systems. Active scans show no sign of the ship. None of our listening posts have seen any comm traffic or unauthorised travel. I’ve advised our contacts in all the major trading ports to watch for the ship.’

Octavia looked away for a moment, thinking it through.

‘He’s gone dark.’

‘That would be my guess too, Domina. He could be nearby, but until he moves …’

‘He can’t hang out there indefinitely, but a small ship like that …’

‘Might slip through our surveillance.’

Octavia nodded. ‘Who is he?’

The guard gestured and a holofac image of a young man with dark skin and long lanky hair appeared in the space between them.

‘Hassan Farrukh Sharma,’ the guard recited from memory. ‘Reads as a simple trader. No previous. Basic ship, nothing special. Mostly harmless. An opportunist I’d say.’

‘And just a boy,’ Octavia murmured. ‘The recklessness of youth. I want him found and brought back here.’

‘I’ve taken the liberty of putting out a contract …’

‘Bounty hunters?’ Octavia said with distaste.

‘It’s the fastest way to find him.’

‘Be clear that he must be alive and the cargo … unmolested,’ Octavia said, her gaze intense.

‘It might help if I knew what the cargo was.’

Octavia shook her head. ‘It is valuable and it is mine. It is not to be touched. That is all that should concern you. Keep me informed.’

The guard retreated, relieved to still be in one piece. He was wise enough to know it would be a temporary state of affairs unless that canister and the boy were returned soon.

***

Hassan decided he couldn’t just leave the woman in the cargo bay. She hadn’t regained consciousness. She might be sick or dying. After some consideration he decided to move her to his quarters where there was some basic medical equipment.

It mostly went to plan. She might not weigh very much in such low gravity, but she still had mass; something he had never really appreciated before having to manhandle an unconscious body through his ship. It was not a graceful operation.

 Having wrestled her into place on the spare bunk, he turned his attention to the on-board medicomp. It was able to diagnose and treat a limited array of uniquely space oriented maladies. Radiation treatment was one, along with a series of wide-spectrum antibiotics, anti-nausea drugs and pain killers. He clipped the monitors on to the woman’s finger tips and was rewarded with a display of diagnostic information on her health. It all looked pretty normal to him. He cleaned her face with antiseptic wipes and left her to the medicomp.

The machine ran an identity scan as a matter of course. Hassan waited for the results with interest, keen to know who his stowaway was and if she was ok.

Error! No tag, memrec or subcutaneous identity found.

Warning! Biometric record not on file.

Warning! No Galstandard bio-immunity present.

Status. Vital signs nominal. Blood sugar and fluid levels low.

Hassan sat back and blew a long strand of hair out of his face. She was healthy enough, but this was a puzzle. No tag, no chip, not even standard bio immunity. If she were a slave, she’d have been tagged with her owner’s identity, but he’d already guessed she wasn’t a slave. And no chip meant she couldn’t be a Federation or Imperial citizen, not an ordinary one at any rate. Alliance maybe? But no standard bio? All space travellers had the jab as a matter of routine. She wasn’t a passenger, she wasn’t a slave and this must be her first trip into space. Stowaways were an occasional fact of life, but he’d never heard of one who came with her own storage pod. Or for that matter, without clothes. Her hair was neatly trimmed, her skin soft with nails perfectly manicured. She was no stowaway.

Hassan patted the Cowell ‘55 at his side. Best to be prepared, she could be anyone.

He was spared any further speculation. She came to with a choking cough, her eyes opening and quickly latching onto him. This time the gaze from her grey eyes was steady. She stared at him for a long moment before looking around herself.

‘It’s ok,’ Hassan said gently. ‘Just take it slow, ok?’

The woman seemed to recognise him from before.

‘Where am I?’ she demanded, fixing her eyes on him once more. This time he immediately noticed that her voice had a strong Imperial tone with its characteristic musical lilt. It was clipped, precise and tutored.

So much for the Alliance world.

‘You’re aboard the
Talon
,’ he replied.

She looked around again, taking in the dingy cramped cabin.

‘I was …’ she shook her head, a frown creasing her forehead. ‘A what? A
Talon?
What is a
Talon
?’

‘It’s a ship. You’re on board a ship.’

‘How did I get here?’ Her face bore a completely innocent expression for a moment, but then distrust grew and spread across her features. ‘A ship? What am I doing on a ship?’

Hassan shrugged. ‘That … is a very good question.’

‘Who are you?’

‘Name’s Hassan. I’m the Commander ...’

‘A Commander?’ She looked unconvinced.

She sat up slowly and then became aware she wore nothing aside from the blankets that Hassan had covered her in.

‘Where are my clothes?’ she demanded, pulling her sole blanket up around herself and then glared accusingly at Hassan. ‘What is this? How dare you …’

‘Nothing to do with me, lady.’ Hassan grabbed a spare pair of flight overalls and chucked them in her direction. ‘Here, knock yourself out.’

She took them, turning them around appraisingly for a moment. She gave them a cautious sniff and then wrinkled her nose in disgust.

‘These are … eugh! They won’t do, find me something else.’

Hassan shrugged and folded his arms. ‘It’s all there is, make do.’

‘I am not a servant that you can dress me in rags, you will find me appropriate attire …’

‘No, I won’t.’ Hassan was enjoying her discomfiture. ‘Wear those or wear nothing. Either way works for me.’

She looked shocked. ‘You dare speak to me in such a tone?’

‘My ship, my rules, lady.’

The woman inspected the flight suit at arm’s length with an expression of haughty distaste before looking up at him.

‘I require privacy. You are dismissed.’

‘Oh, I am, am I? Real generous of you.’

‘Go.’

Hassan considered explaining how he’d had to manoeuvre her naked body across the deck but thought better of it. He left the living quarters, climbing back up into the cockpit. He gave her a couple of minutes and then returned. She was sitting on the edge of the bunk now wearing the overalls, looking around her. She sat straight, shoulders back and head erect.

‘So,’ he said, sitting across from her on the opposite bunk. ‘Just what are you doing on my ship, lady?’

She fixed him with an arrogant look and started speaking confidently in her haughty accent. ‘You will address me in the proper manner. I am …’

She faltered and a look of panic crossed her face before she looked down in puzzlement and tried again.

‘I’m …’

She looked back at him.

‘I … I can’t remember.’

‘Uh-huh,’ Hassan said. ‘And I’m guessing you don’t know where you’re from either.’

‘Of course I do, I am not a fool.’

‘Go on then.’

‘I come from …’ She stopped again, anger rising in her voice. ‘What’s happening? Why can’t I remember? What have you done to me? All this nonsense about being on a ship; you’re lying! You’ve kidnapped me, you’ve …’

She jumped to her feet and swung clumsily at him. Any doubts in Hassan’s mind as to whether she’d really been off planet before were cleared aside. She lurched forward, overbalancing in the low gravity, trying to stop her forward motion before ending up sprawled at his feet after a slow bounce.

‘That’s not …’ She looked around her in bewilderment. Hassan laughed at her predicament.

Mass aint the same as weight, lady. How many times did they drum that into us in flight school?

Hassan held out a hand, aiming to steady her. She grasped it and then twisted instinctively. Hassan found himself thrown back against the bulkhead wall, a blast of acute pain shooting up his arm. Before he could stop it her other hand raked across his face, nails gouging his skin. She made to escape, but miscalculated how quickly she could move; without gravity boots she had no purchase on the floor.

It was too much for Hassan. He punched her hard, sending her reeling back across the narrow space to fall back onto the bunk with a yelp. He pulled his 55 out and trained it on her.

‘Shit, woman!’ he yelled, dabbing at the traces of blood welling up from the cuts on his face, wincing at the throbbing pain in his right wrist. ‘I should pitch you out the fucking airlock.’

‘Let me go,’ she answered, getting back unsteadily to her feet, warily watching the gun, a bruise already forming on her cheek.

‘You can breathe in a vacuum, can you? Airlock’s that way. Be my guest. It’ll be nice and quick.’

She frowned, considering his words, looking around the cabin again. ‘I’m really on a ship?’

‘Yeah,’ Hassan said, gesturing with his 55. ‘My ship. If I could let you go I would, but there’s no way out right now. Got it?’

‘I get it.’

‘And next time you try and attack me you get a whack upside your head, we clear?’

She nodded slowly, sitting back down on the bunk.

‘Glad that’s settled.’ He reholstered the 55 and then wiped his face with one of the medipads, looking cautiously at her.

‘Can we stop with the violence thing already? Bullets do bad things inside a ship.’

She nodded, rubbing her own cheek.

‘I didn’t mean … I just don’t understand …’ She looked lost and confused.

‘All right. Sorry I hit you. We’ll figure it out, yeah? One thing at a time.’

He stretched out his hand.

‘Pax?’

‘Pax,’ she answered uncertainly. They warily shook hands. He helped her to her feet and she took another look around at the stained and tired interior of the cabin.

Hassan took a pair of boots out of a locker. ‘Here, put these on, they’ll help.’

She took the proffered footwear. They were ungainly, heavy-looking items. As she slipped her feet into them they tightened and shrank. She placed her feet on the floor and the boots clicked into place.

‘Mag-boots,’ Hassan explained. ‘Stops you floating off. Come on, this way.’

He led her to the rear hatch and they stepped through, ducking through the narrow egress. She looked quite comical as she struggled to adjust to the sharp clamp and reclamp of the boots on the metal flooring.

The hatchway led into the bay. He saw her stare around this larger space. She seemed unable to recognise what she saw. Imagining it through her eyes, he was struck by how grimy and timeworn it looked, full of tarnished machinery, pipes, connectors and all manner of controls decorated with the occasional light. He saw her react as the faint reverberating thrum of activity reached her ears. In front of her sat the massive container with a hatchway open at one end.

‘Is this really what the inside of a spaceship looks like?’ She sounded disappointed.

‘This is a working ship, not a pleasure craft,’ Hassan said in an aggrieved tone and then pointed around at various areas. ‘Cargo bay. Cargo canister. Exit ramp and airlock. Do not touch when we’re in space otherwise you die horribly. Any questions?’

She shook her head.

‘Back the other way.’ He turned on his heel.

She looked at him as he signalled for her to follow him back through the hatchway into the cabin. Once there he jumped onto the ladder, the only other way out of the room.

‘Follow me. Do exactly what I do and take it slow. Any funny business and I brain you. Got it?’

She watched as Hassan slowly climbed up the ladder out of the living quarters. As his feet rose above her, he gestured for her to follow. She stepped onto the ladder and moved up behind him.

The ladder led up a short distance through another circular hatchway in to the rear of an even smaller space. As she climbed up she could see two complex metal chairs in front of her, bolted to the floor. They were positioned one behind the other. Hassan had already swung himself into the one at the front. Around the chairs the room was festooned with a bewildering array of instruments, displays and controls, backlit with a comforting soft orange glow. They framed a large canopy through which …

Oh ... !

She stared, her mouth dropping open. She hadn’t really believed it until now.

Beyond the window was a backdrop of absolute darkness, spangled with thousands upon thousands of tiny points of light, some bright and sharp, others faint and dim. It was crystal clear, without a hint of fuzziness. Each point was cold and hard, with not even the barest flicker. As she began to take it in she made out patches of faint colour, filaments of wisps of tenuous material between the stars.

Space. Infinite space. It was cold and harsh, but somehow mesmerising, enchanting, bewitching. Even the air in the cockpit was cool. She shivered.