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  Grim patted the air in calming motions. “Listen, Captain. I’m sure you don’t want the Neanderthals monopolizing new tech any more than I do. Find someplace quiet to hole up and let me contact Rampart. They’ll make it worth your while.” He turned to Jamila. “Play your cards right, honey, and you’ll be rich, too. Rampart Militech will need a translator, won’t they? An archeology expert? You could write your own ticket. Everyone will be happy.”

  She harrumphed and turned her back on him.

  Kojo turned to me. “Any ideas?”

  “From what Jamila says, it’s too dangerous for the Gavs, and for damn sure I don’t want a bunch of Terran vigilantes like Rampart to make a weapon out of it. For us, the most important thing is to find some quiet place to resupply before we’re power-stranded.”

  “Right,” Kojo said. “The first port we get to, all of you are off the ship.”

  “You can’t just drop us anywhere you want,” Grim objected. “Your contract says we choose the destination.”

  I stepped up to him, eye to eye. “In the first place, you’re not the client, she is. And the contract also says the captain has the right to take any action, including terminating the voyage, to preserve the safety of the ship and crew.”

  “I’m exercising my prerogative as captain,” Kojo said. “All three of you and that burzing rock are off my ship at the first reasonable port.”

  “And,” I said, “there’s a cost. We’ve racked up a lot of extra expenses on this run because of you.”

  Jamila stiffened. “You can’t blame me for marauding pirates!”

  “Sure I can. Grimbold’s the one who set them on us, and you brought him aboard. You lied about your identity, you tricked us into carrying fugitives, and you brought aboard a dangerous item, all in violation of your contract. Ten thousand sovereigns ought to do it. Rhollium, not credits.”

  “That’s extortion.”

  “Call it what you want,” I said. “The Cartel would pay us that much to turn you in.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  Kojo wasn’t the only one who could bluff. “Try me. Ten thousand sovereigns rhollium.”

  After Balan gave his word of honor as a member of Wind Clan to keep the peace, I let him use a small cabin that was half-filled with brandy crates. It would be more comfortable than the pallet in the engine room and now that I knew he wasn’t a runaway slave, I fully intended to bill him for passage.

  As for Jamila and Grimbold, I told Jamila that if she caused any trouble, I’d dump the tablet into space. I told Grim I’d shoot him.

  After tucking two more of Jamila’s beautiful little ingots away in a bulkhead cache, I climbed to the wheelhouse and took the seat at the watch station.

  Kojo slumped at the helm, staring into the featureless ether of the corridor. “So Miranda and our stowaway really are the thieves the Patrol’s looking for.”

  “And the Cartel. Can we get back to Selkid space, collect the Cartel reward?”

  Kojo shook his head. “We’re stuck in this corridor for another day. Once we reach the gate, there’s a small Terran colony, Calista, within sublight range. The best we can do is to shed these passengers there and let the Cartel know where they are.”

  “And hope the Cartel doesn’t think we deliberately held out on them, carrying something valuable without cutting them in. It might be best to lie low for a while.”

  “Agreed.”

  Tinker rubbed my ankles. I lifted her onto my lap, and she squirmed to make herself comfortable.

  Kojo tapped his fingers on the console. “What about that stowaway—Fandar or Balan, whatever his name is? Do you think we should lock him up?”

  “No. Balan’s Wind Clan—that’s an aristo clan with strong ties to the military. He could make serious trouble for us.”

  “Another burzing complication. Are you worried? We’re outside Gav jurisdiction, and under Terran law, you’re free.”

  “True, but in his eyes, I’m still a slave. We can’t trust him.”

  Kojo snorted. “Trust him? I’d like to launch him into cold space. He’s a lunatic. Talking rocks!”

  I took a deep breath. “Kojo, Balan’s not crazy. I’ve heard the tablet, too. Like a voice in my head.” And I hoped my brother wouldn’t decide I needed to be locked up, too.

  “Don’t mess with me, Patch.”

  “I’m serious. This isn’t like Gavoran spirits—those are family and loved ones who give comfort and advice. The tablet’s voice is different, demanding.”

  He looked at me, probably checking to see if I was joshing. I guess he saw the worry on my face.

  “For true? You heard the same thing that Balan did?”

  “Nothing about blood. Just the part where it wants to go home.”

  “Huh. Who doesn’t?”

  That made me smile. “Its home. Very insistent, like a whining baby.”

  Kojo gazed at me for a minute, brow creased. Finally, he turned back to the scanner. “With a whining baby, if you don’t give it something, it just gets worse. Where’s its home, then?”

  “I don’t know. Home is peaceful.”

  “So’s death. How bad is it, this whining baby?”

  “Just an annoyance, and it’s less of one since I locked the case in the vault.” I was getting used to it, like the drone of the engines. “The point is, Balan isn’t crazy—he’s being perfectly reasonable, even brave, in acting on what he hears. And unless I’m hallucinating the same thing, what he hears isn’t just a delusion.”

  Kojo frowned at me. “Do you feel an urge to hurt yourself in any way?”

  “None.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “Of course I would. I have a very healthy desire to live.”

  Kojo stared at the ether haze. Finally, he nodded. “Fair enough. We won’t lock him up. But stay away from the vault. And promise me—promise me—you’ll tell me if the voices you hear want anything different.”

  “I promise—if in return, you’ll promise me that once the heat’s off, we’ll go home.”

  Kojo gave me his lopsided grin. “Straight home to Palermo, I promise.”

  With all the disruption, mealtimes had become erratic. I put something together for Jamila and Grim, but when I took a tray to Balan’s cabin, he wasn’t there.

  I found him standing before the vault, his hand resting on the door. His eyes were closed, as if deep in meditation or prayer.

  “Balan, you shouldn’t be in the cargo hold.”

  He blinked his eyes open and stared at the vault dreamily, as if he could see through the door.

  “It was alone for so very long. Perhaps it has been calling for centuries, seeking someone to care for it, to return it to Nakana.”

  I began to worry. “Is it asking you for more blood?”

  “No. Not yet.”

  That wasn’t very reassuring.

  I made him leave, then reset the lock on the door to the hold.

  Archer watched me from the passage. “You should stay away from him. He’s a liar—he made me feel sorry for him, pretending to be a slave, when he’s really just another aristo.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him. He was just trying to protect the tablet. And don’t forget he helped with the drones when that raider was shooting at us.”

  Archer’s right hand and left foot tapped out a little rhythm of their own. “That doesn’t make him our friend. But maybe you have another reason to go easy on him. I suppose he’s kind of good-looking, for a Gav.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I said, but Archer had already ducked back into the engine room.

  That night, I lay in my bunk making a mental list of the supplies we needed. Jump cells, power modules. If the Calista population liked brandy, we could get what we needed without dipping into our cash. Some fresh food, whatever the Calista farms produced, would be good. Once the passengers were gone, we could all relax a bit. It would be nice to have Sparrow to ourselves again.

  “Danger.”

&n
bsp; Papa’s voice was so clear, I startled awake, looking around for him. My little cabin was dark and empty, desk stowed and lockers closed. The only decoration was an image of Papa and Hiram, taken in their young mercenary days, cocky and grinning and ready for anything.

  I lay back down, but the uneasy feeling lingered. Finally, I dressed and went to the wheelhouse.

  “Can’t sleep?” Kojo asked.

  “Something’s wrong.”

  Kojo looked at me questioningly.

  “I dreamed of Papa again. I think something bad is ahead.” Tinker batted at my ankles and I picked her up for comfort.

  Kojo looked at me skeptically. “Any idea what?” he asked.

  “He didn’t say.” I closed my eyes and let the feelings wash over me, trying to pin down something definite. Now that I was among lights and company, the feeling of unease eluded me.

  “People,” I said finally. “Danger from people.”

  “Ain’t it always? Where? Calista? Palermo?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  Kojo sighed. “Well, whoever it is, we don’t have many options about where to go. Once we get to Calista, that thing and these passengers won’t be our problem. Next time, tell Dad to be more helpful. And give him my love.”

  I rumpled his hair and went back to bed, but I didn’t sleep. There were too many problems looming. All I wanted, at that moment, was to go home.

  The next morning, as we neared the jump gate to the Calista system, Kojo and I met with Jamila in the wardroom.

  “From this gate,” Kojo said, “we have a day’s sublight journey to the planet Calista. You’ll disembark there. That fake implant should get you past the port gate and I’ll escort you and the dingus to the local sheriff.”

  “Won’t the sheriff just turn me over to the Patrol? Balan will go running to them as soon as the hatch opens.”

  “I’ll keep Grimbold and Balan aboard,” I said, “and ask the port officials to take custody of Balan. I’ll take my time explaining about him stowing away and hiding his identity and tell them he’s hearing voices and needs medical care. By the time he convinces anyone that you should be arrested, you’ll have had time to call Galactic.”

  She turned melting eyes on Kojo. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for. Kojo, I am so very grateful for all you’ve done.”

  “Just wish I could do more.” Kojo touched her hand and returned her smoldering gaze.

  I herded Jamila back to the salon before Kojo could make any foolish promises.

  To celebrate the end of the voyage, I made as fine a luncheon as I could, and was graciously thanked by Jamila. I brought a plate to Balan’s cabin, together with a bill for his passage. He disdainfully keyed his payment into my datacon, with a grimace like something smelled bad.

  As we neared the Calista gate, I daydreamed about getting home to Palermo and using Jamila’s rhollium to pay the crew and some of Branson’s loan. There would be time to relax a little before beginning the journey to meet Ordalo. Once we were ready to sail, it wouldn’t be too hard to find some cargo and passengers to Kriti—there were always some lowlifes with ready cash who wanted to head out to the fringe sectors.

  In the interim, the crew would enjoy the pleasures of Palermo. Kojo would seek out some gambling den and spin yarns with other captains over chinko. Hiram would haunt a homey bar with a soulful balladeer and find some brawny space lad for companionship. Archer would comb the shops for the complex games and wailing music he favored. And I would find endless fascination in watching the people from faraway places. Maybe I would even find some rugged wayfarer interested in a dalliance with a big, odd-looking, curly-haired lass.

  The voice of the tablet had become a background rustle in my mind, easy to ignore. I wished it well, hoping it would find peace, whether with Terran scientists or in the unknown world of Nakana. Some part of me would miss the strange voice from the relic, but it would make a fine tale to tell when we got home.

  Home.

  The familiar slide and bump told me that Sparrow had arrived at the jump gate. Only a day’s sublight journey to go before we would land on Calista.

  I had a notion to go and say a farewell to the artifact. I started toward the cargo hold, but just then, Hiram called on the com. “Kojo, Patch, we got trouble!”

  Ahead of us—a ship of unmistakable Gavoran design, sleek and powerful, with the insignia of the Corridor Patrol.

  Waiting.

  CHAPTER 10

  Prepare to be boarded

  Kojo stared through the canopy at the sleek ship. “Patrol vessel, corvette class. Complement of twenty or so.”

  It was fast and beautiful and filled with people who would gladly put us in the brig.

  A hail reverberated throughout the com nodes. “This is the Corridor Patrol cruiser Betanda. Selkid cutter, heave to and submit to search. Prepare to be boarded.”

  “Outpowered and outgunned, boy,” Hiram murmured.

  Kojo nodded once and hit the com. “This is Captain Kojo Babatunji of the cutter Sparrowhawk, registered in Palermo. Permission to board granted. Always happy to cooperate with the Patrol.” He ordered Archer to power down and the passengers to wait in the salon.

  My stomach churned as the cruiser’s grapplers reached for Sparrow.

  Kojo patted my shoulder. “Let’s go meet the boarding party. And don’t worry, Patch. It’ll be fine.”

  Kojo. You can’t be a gambler if you’re not willing to bluff.

  On the way to the passenger hatch, I checked the salon. Balan paced between the couches and rubbed his hands; Jamila and Grimbold sat in a corner, conferring in whispers.

  While Betanda married her passenger hatch to Sparrow’s, I tried to quell my nerves. Surely, once they had the tablet, the Patrol wouldn’t bother with anything more than a cursory check for contraband? I didn’t think they’d care about the lack of stamps on the brandy—the Patrol cared about smuggled tech, not Selkid taxes. A standard search might find the hidden caches of rhollium ingots, but not the synthreactor components. Unless…

  Unless they were suspicious enough to bring on sophisticated imaging equipment. Or to put enough pressure on Hiram—or me or Kojo—to talk.

  And then there was me. Under Gavoran law, I was contraband, too. In theory, as long as I was outside Gav space, my Terran implant should be enough to protect me. Still, any Gavoran seeing the raw scar over my damaged brand would know I’d been born a slave. And any technicality that provided an excuse to drag me into Gav sectors would have me back in slavery for the rest of my days.

  First to step through the hatch was a tall Gavoran who identified himself as Gurin, captain of Betanda. Other officers—all Gavs, of course—followed and immediately moved into Sparrow to search her.

  Gurin wore the badge of Cloud Clan, one of the lesser warrior clans. His gray-streaked pelt, wary eyes, and a puckered scar on his neck suggested a lengthy and varied experience.

  Kojo bowed formally. “Welcome aboard Sparrowhawk, Captain Gurin. I’m Captain Kojo Babatunji. This is the ship’s business manager and steward, Pachita Babatunji.”

  Gurin’s gaze passed Kojo and aimed straight at my face. I stared back at him with friendly interest, as no slave would dare. We presented our shoulders to an officer to check our implants.

  “We’re glad to see you,” Kojo said. “We had a terrible scare, had to run from pirates. Barely escaped.”

  “Where are you sailing from, Captain?” Gurin’s tone was polite, even bored.

  “Our last port of call was Santerro and our cargo is Santerro brandy. We’re carrying two Terran passengers, plus a Gavoran male who came aboard as a stowaway.”

  Gurin scowled. “Assisting runaway slaves is prohibited.”

  My fists clenched, but Kojo just shrugged. “He’s not a slave. You’ll have to talk to him about the reasons why he boarded our ship.”

  “We will. The names of your passengers?”

  Without hesitating, Kojo said, “Miranda Tai, traveling with a man named Gr
imbold. The Gav gave his name as Fandar when we found him hiding in the engine room.”

  Gurin checked his datacon. “The registry confirms the charter. Departure from Santerro seven standard days ago. Destination”—he paused, glowering—“Palermo in sector 184. You are far off course, Captain.”

  Kojo spread his hands engagingly. “Like I said, we had to run from brigands, sail the currents. Too bad there weren’t any Patrol vessels around then. We could have used some protection.”

  One of the officers stepped up and reported in Gavoran, “All secure, Captain.”

  I had to look twice to believe my eyes. The officer was a truly ugly man. His ears stuck out like flaps, his nose jutted like a beak, and his square chin thrust forward. His long arms extended from thin shoulders and his wrists and hands were nearly hairless. His head was covered with curly, reddish-brown hair—clipped short, but darker than typical Gav coloring and definitely hair and not fur. A scar near his left eye did nothing to improve his looks.

  A hybrid.

  “Three passengers, two Terran and one Gavoran, in the salon.” It was odd to hear the upper-caste Gav accent coming from his misshapen face. “Two Terran crew members. And, Captain, the female Terran’s implant has been modified—she admits to being the fugitive Patil, and the Gavoran admits to being Balan of Wind Clan.”

  Gurin grinned. “Excellent, Sergeant Danto. Relay to base that we have intercepted the fugitives without resistance.”

  Gurin turned a stern face to Kojo and switched to Terran. “Captain, you are carrying wanted fugitives. All the checkpoints have broadcast alerts about Patil and Balan.”

  “Fugitives?” Kojo made a good imitation of astonishment. “Captain, if they’re wanted, we had no way of knowing it. We had to sail off-corridor. We didn’t pass any checkpoints or pick up any Patrol broadcasts.”