Mainline (14 page)

Karuu waved a webbed paw dismissively. "Compared to the profit made on cargo picked up for free, indemnity is nothing. Customs has not personally inspected full cargo load, can't verify its contents or value. Apologies greased by credits make Customs go away. Internal Security is no problem: they have their master criminal and by then have already taken Lish to trial for her evil smuggling ways. We are all happy."

"Won't Customs give the ship some kind of escort?" Daribi frowned. "Or tell her what heading to steer?"

"Escort, yes. Interested only in making sure the
Savu
doesn't stray too far. Heading or altitude? No. They are hand-picked crews who have worked with us before." Karuu emulated a human wink. "They will understand our humanitarian need to help distressed seamen, and won't be too intrusive while we effect a rescue."

"Sounds like you have it all covered, Boss." The Dorleoni nodded decisively. "And you know what the very best part will be, Daribi? The look on Lish's face when her unscheduled import is uncovered, and she is taken away." A seal-bark of mirth escaped the Holdout. "I want to see that, and the docking schedule shows the
Delos Varte
is third in the landing roster. Let us go watch."

The
Delos Varte
settled onto another large-cargo pad at Bendin-abi, one of many freighters arriving for the Trade Fair and the second Peryton-class hauler of the day. Experienced spacers nudged their younger counterparts and pointed. It was rare to see two such behemoths in ground port simultaneously, not likely to happen again for years.

The
Delos
appeared all the more impressive because of the gargantuan cargo pod she bore. Its modular units were configured into one long contiguous space by irising open the interior bulkheads. Supplemental repulsor pads were affixed beneath the freight container, the better to support the tremendous mass of the water-filled module during atmosphere maneuvers. The lean lifting framework of the Peryton groaned as she set down, and weight and stress shifted throughout the structure.

Lish waited amid the growing crowd of onlookers as the
Delos
secured stations and shut down power. Healed but drained of energy, the steady chemical fuel of stimtabs kept her on her feet after a too-early release from the hospital. The Holdout stood alone, outwardly collected—for the sake of any observers—and inwardly nervous, as she once again rehearsed Plan A.

In a while, if things went as scheduled, the heavy freighter would be cleared to Avelar Island with other exhibition traffic, and would make her lumbering way through atmosphere. Her manifest claimed she was carrying a sample aqualogy, a self-contained ocean environment to be toured by Fair-goers. Any Customs inspection conducted in a breather would confirm as much. The borgbeasts, after all, knew to hide within the container's artificial terrain, and the venloy lining of the waterproof compartments had been specifically chosen because of its slewing effect on sensor readings. Short of swimming up on a borgbeast that didn't want to be found in the bottom of a lake, no ordinary Customs inspection was going to pin down the nature of the real cargo inside the
Delos Varte'
s gigantic container. If an inspection was more thorough than that, Lish had other problems, and Plan B to address them with.

Once the module was in the water, the beasts would exit; later, tourists could, indeed, come in. They might not find the aqualogy very impressive, except for its sheer size, but that was alright: by then, the container pod would have done its work, and public approval at that point would not matter in the least.

Finally the deck elevator dropped the length of a gantry leg, and the ship's Captain emerged on the pad. The port authorities had not yet arrived, and Lish wanted to talk with the officer before they did. She pushed out of the crowd, and walked toward the tall, middle-aged man reviewing ship's records on his datapad.

"Devin!" she called out. The officer smiled warmly, Rus'karfa battleslash and the silver at his temples lending his face a look of distinction.

"Lish!"

The pair met and embraced, old friends renewing their acquaintance. To Lish it was something more: if Plan A didn't work, this might be their only chance to talk.

Yet she couldn't resist the temptation to stand back, grip the Captain's arm, and grin admiringly at him. He shifted, uneasy at standing inspection in the trim gray jumpsuit he wore, what passed for uniform dress among Free Traders. It was his standard garb since he, like Lish, had taken an independent path from his Shirani clanmates.

"Thanks." Lish had to say it.

He brushed the words off. "Couldn't ignore an offer from an old shipmate, could I?" Now that he had arrived, Devin was anxious to drop his contracted cargo and spend time with his kinswoman.

But it was not to be. Lish became aware of stern eyes trained upon them, and looked around. The port authorities had arrived. And a lot more, besides.

A police cordon gathered around the
Delos'
landing pad, separating spacers and ground crew from the approaches to the freighter. Nearby stood a contingent of Customs enforcers, the kind of armed guards who expected trouble from smugglers and illegal immigrants, and were prepared to squelch either with the least provocation.

Lish turned and faced three men, two of whom she recognized. They were Tammas Hevrik, Port Master; Walvert Edini, the Customs Chief; and a third, black-haired, lean, and unsmiling, in the crisp white jacket and bodysuit of Internal Security. Flanking Lish and Devin were a number of musclemen who could only be IntSec in unmarked white and gray service tunics.

Her blood ran cold. With an effort she kept a pleasant smile on her face. Plan A was out the airlock; all her hopes were riding on Plan B, now.

Devin stepped forward, behaving just as a ship's Captain should. "Gentlesirs." He half-bowed. "You have a rather large escort for a routine docking. Is there a problem? I have my documentation right here—"

The Port Master waved aside his extended datapad. "We'll get to you shortly, Captain." He addressed himself to the woman. "I take it you are the woman known as Lish?"

The Holdout stood straighter. Hevrik and Edini alike both knew her; she did enough routine and legal shipping out of this port. If they wanted to act like she was some unknown, they'd better rethink their routine.

"I am Shiran Gabrieya Lish, if that is who you mean." Though she placed subtle emphasis on her clan names, there was no flicker of expression on the Security officer's face, no response to her obvious Sa'adani rank. Sudden doubt assailed her.

"Then, madam," the Customs Chief drew himself up importantly, "your vessel is impounded."

Lish concealed the equally sudden relief that flooded through her, and put on the face that made her so deadly at Shaydo. She
ignored the pompous Edini and addressed the Port Master. "I'm sorry? I don't believe I heard that right."

"You did," Hevrik said tartly. "Your vessel is impounded for inspection, and you and your Captain are in the custody of Internal Security."

Lish let bafflement play across her features. "There must be some mistake," she protested, then had to bite her tongue to avoid smiling. Here came Karuu, too excited to stay away, pushing as far as he could to the forefront of the onlookers held back by the Grinds. He stopped there, his thick mustache pulled up in an incisor-revealing grin.

"There's no mistake," growled Edini, in no mood for coy smugglers. "You are Shiran Lish, you've admitted. And this is your ship, the
Delos Varte.
You are under arrest for—"

"You're wrong," Lish said sharply, her voice carrying to the spectators who were pressing closer to the curious encounter. It was time to make her insurance pay off. "This is not my ship, gentlesirs."

The Port Master and Imperial Security man exchanged glances. The Customs Chief grew red in the face. "This
is
your ship, and you claim you are carrying—"

Devin spoke up and cut the burly man off. "A simple inspection of my documents will confirm what the domna is saying." No matter what Lish was up to, he thought, they could at least get their facts straight. Once again he extended the datapad. "This most definitely is not her ship."

The Security officer took the pad, examined its contents with keen gray eyes. Chief Edini stared at her accusingly. "How can this not be? What are you doing here, then?"

She smiled up at the Captain and moved a step closer. "Why, we're old friends, aren't we, Devin?" She reached out, rested her hand on his arm in an intimately familiar way. The ship's officer played along and leaned a little into the embrace. Lish regarded her inquisitors, and said, "When I heard he was going to be in port for a while, I came to meet him. That's allowed, isn't it?"
3

The Port Master avoided her gaze, while Edini turned a deeper shade of red. The Security man looked up from the ship's datapad, and fixed Port Master Hevrik with a stern glare. "What data does a ship beam you in its docking request?"

"The standard, Commander." Hevrik cleared his throat. "Port of origin, port of destination, ship's master, debarking passenger list—"

Edini sputtered at the unexpected question. "Last port, outbound destination, quarantine status, manifest declarations. That sort of thing."

Security frowned at the two. "You don't check ownership, mastery, or home port against Imperial ship registries?"

The Port Master was taken aback. "That's not an official requirement, Commander Obray! We'd have to check with Central Registry at Neville, and by time our queries cleared and returned, most of this shipping would be long gone anyway. We watch the hotlist for stolen ships, of course, and if those vessel ID numbers come up-—"

"I don't care about stolen ships," Obray cut him off. "I care about this ship, and its owner, and its cargo." He motioned the ship's Captain over, held out the datapad's edge to him. "Give me your thumbprint," he ordered. "I think we need to confirm some data around here."

The ID panel glowed green, a confirmation that Shiran Teskal Devin was indeed the contracted Captain of the
Delos Varte.
"Now you." He crooked his finger at Lish. She pressed her thumb on the datapad. The ID check glowed red. She was not mentioned or authorized in any way in the ship's registry or contract papers.

The Security officer's brows drew together. Edini stood with mouth agape, and Hevrik had the grace to seem mildly embarrassed.

"Do you know the owner of this vessel, Captain, or are you a blind hire?" the Imperial investigator asked him.

"We've never met in person, but I've seen him on the holovid. He's named right there on the ship certificate—" Devin waved at the datapad, then obligingly noticed a unique face in the crowd. "If I'm not mistaken, he's standing right there, too. Good day, sir." The Captain tipped a finger to his brow, and nodded to Karuu.

Every face turned to stare at the Dorleoni. The Grinds passed him through their screen, and the IntSec men adjusted their stance to include him within their threatening circle.

"Karuu?" cried the Customs Chief in disbelief.
"You
own this ship?"

The Dorleoni stood, flat-footed, mouth open. "Of course not!" he protested. "I have never seen it before in my life!"

Captain Devin pursed his lips and looked pointedly at the ground. Commander Obray extended the datapad toward the sarong-clad Holdout. "Give us your print," he demanded.

Aghast, Karuu took half a step back. "No! I have nothing to do with this, I tell you!" A Security agent stopped his backpedaling retreat, and forcefully held out the short alien's webbed paw to the datapad.

The ID light shone green. The
Delos Varte
belonged to Karuu, the registered owner, with ship's mastery assigned on a delivery contract to Captain Shiran Devin out of Bailpoint, Corvus.

"No!" wailed the Holdout. "This cannot be!"

Obray lifted a finger, and an escort of plainclothesmen encircled the Dorleoni. Static bonds were placed on Karuu's wrists while the Commander addressed Lish.

"Domna Shiran Gabrieya, I suggest you remain on-planet until our investigation is complete."

"Sir," she inclined her head, "I'm sure the Port Master can direct you to Comax Shipping. That is where you will find me."

"I expect so. And you, sir—" he addressed the Captain. "Please see to it that your crew is off-boarded at once. A security screen will be attached to your airlock and Customs will be taking charge of your vessel. You will be coming with us for questioning."

"Am I under arrest, Commander?" Devin was worried, an earnest and honest spacer caught up in a broil not of his making.

"Not yet, Captain. Do you know what cargo you carry?"

"Only what it says on the manifest."

"That's why we're questioning you. Customs will escort you as the ship is cleared out."

An Internal Security scanner team joined them, to assure the crew sweep was thorough. Devin squeezed Lish's hand good-bye, then ascended the deck elevator with his dour companions.

Obray called the Port Master and Customs Chief over to him. "I want that lockout in place immediately. No tampering with the cargo, no boarding or other investigations until I'm here to conduct it personally. Is that understood?" He glared particularly at the Customs Chief. The two planetary officials bowed to Imperial authority and accepted his orders.