Morgan's Return (47 page)

He chuckled, jerked his head down in a brief nod and followed the two officers into the transit.

***

Douglas herded her into the waiting transit car, then selected a destination on the key pad.

"Just visiting, Lieutenant?" Jess said as the car rose. "We've never had a battle cruiser on our patch before. I thought they were busy keeping the ptorix hordes at bay."

His lips jerked in a smile. "The admiral doesn't share the orders from the High Command with the likes of me, ma'am."

No, he probably didn't. Admiral Ullric Hudson certainly looked like a man in charge. Those three wide bars on his shoulders denoted a fleet admiral, a very senior rank for a back-water like Nordheim. Interesting. She'd have to ask a few questions back home when she got a chance.

The transit car slowed, causing that familiar rising feeling in Jess’ stomach. The door slid aside to reveal an anonymous grey corridor lined with doors at regular intervals. A large sign between each pair of doors announced 4-D in red to the left, in green to the right. They took Santh off into one room and marched her along to another. Grey walls, sensors in the corners, a desk with one chair on the side nearest the door, and two chairs opposite, both occupied. She suppressed the sigh. These two wore Nordheim Militia uniforms. She should have known the local planetary border control would be involved in this raid.

She didn't recognize these two. The middle-aged male commander's swift up-and-down revealed suitable appreciation of her presentation but the hard-faced female sergeant looked like she'd swallowed vinegar. Knowing Longford, their commanding officer, he'd probably chosen the woman specially.

"I'm Commander Harcourt," the man said," and this is Sergeant Box. Please sit down."

Jess walked the three steps to the chair on her side and sat.

"I expect you know I'm Jess Sondijk." Jess put on an engaging smile. "What would you like to know?"

"Perhaps you can tell me where you've been and what you've been doing in this last voyage," the commander said.

"I'm sure this warship's scanners have already pulled my navigation system and my cargo manifests, Commander. And you would have had my voyage plan and cargo manifests from the space station. But … I left Nordheim with a cargo of local manufactured goods; vases, carvings, beads and jewelry, dresses, bolts of material headed for the markets at Kentor. I managed to sell most of my stock and came back with some precision cutting gear which should fetch a good price in the manufacturing sector here."

The man grunted. He clearly already knew this. She'd play his little game.

"How long were you there?" he asked.

Jess pulled a wry face. As if he didn't know? "Three days at the space station. It cost me a lot in docking fees, I can tell you."

And gave her enough time to shift the cases of fine wine and Pyrrhian silk that weren't on the manifest to the GPR ship parked in the level below.

"We have intelligence indicating you met with representatives of the Galactic People's Republic."

"Oh, 'met with' is a bit over the top. Exchanged a few words in a tavern, more like. When did that become illegal?"

"When the transaction involves smuggling."

Jess threw her arm over the chair back and crossed her legs. His gaze strayed to her breasts. "I've nothing to worry about."

"Your ship is being dismantled as we speak. If we find contraband you can expect a jail sentence."

"Yes, I kinda guessed that. I hope the boarding party has a good time. I'm an honest trader, Commander. If those people break anything on
Saintly Maid
, I'll send the Fleet admiral the bill. And a complaint to Longford."

He raised an eyebrow. "
Admiral
Longford."

She folded her arms. "Whatever. You report to him. I don't."

He jerked his lips. "In the meantime, you're under suspicion. I'll leave you with Sergeant Box," he said, rising to his feet. "She will perform a strip-search. I'm sure you'll understand."

Jess kept her face straight. A strip-search? Strewth.

The door swished closed behind the commander.

The sergeant smiled, if that screwed-up expression qualified, stood and pulled a pair of thin gloves out of her pocket.

***

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