No Honor in Death (24 page)

Slayton shook his head.  "No.  I just thought you should know what you're getting in to.  It'll be your funeral."

The temperature in the cabin dropped by several degrees when Siobhan icily asked, "Is that a threat?"

"No, Captain Dunmoore.  Simply a statement of fact."  He stood up and walked around his desk to pull his ship's papers from a locked drawer.  "Here is my registration, manifest, safety certification and the rest of it."

"Thank you."  Siobhan took each printout and read it carefully.  The documents appeared in order and authorized the
Mykonos
to conduct trade throughout the Sector.  The manifest listed the cargo as high-tech medical apparatus and pharmaceutical supplies.  When she was done, Siobhan gave the printouts back to Slayton.

"Your bridge, please."

Slayton nodded and led the way out of the cabin.  Vincenzo, who'd been standing guard outside, watched by a civilian spacer, fell into step beside Siobhan.  When she looked at him, he grimaced quickly, clearly conveying that he didn't like this ship and its crew much.

The bridge was well-appointed and clean.  Most of the consoles were nearly new and would not have been out of place on a warship.  Siobhan recorded everything she saw in silence, watched by the civilians.  Vincenzo nervously fingered his carbine and moved to stay between his Captain and the
Mykonos
crew.

"Foste to Dunmoore," her helmet's comm unit crackled to life.

"Dunmoore."

"Captain, can you come down to the cargo hold?  I think you should see this."

"On my way.  Dunmoore, out."  She turned to Slayton.  "I'd like to see your hold now."

He raised his eyebrows and then shrugged.  "As you wish."

Foste and Rajmurti waited just inside the hatch to the cavernous cargo hold in the centre of the
Mykonos
' main hull, a pair of civilian spacers at their side.  The trader crew were distinctly angry, but the Bosun's scattergun, nonchalantly held in the crook of her arm, kept them from doing anything stupid.

"Report," Siobhan ordered as her people snapped to attention.

"The contents of the containers do not match the manifest or the markings," Foste replied, glancing briefly at Slayton.

"Explain."

"We took readings of the containers, sir.  Rajmurti here has a pusser's special," she pointed at the supply tech's sensor, "and what he got does not match any medical kit or drugs known to the Commonwealth."

Siobhan turned to Slayton and arched an eyebrow.  "Any explanations, Captain?"

"Only what I've told you before, Dunmoore.  Take heed and steer clear."

Slayton' look and his dropping Siobhan's formal title were not lost on her and the Bosun.  But if the trader-cum-agent thought he could discourage Dunmoore with veiled threats, he had not counted on her native bull-headedness.

"In the immortal words of an ancient sea-going captain," she replied through clenched teeth, "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead.  Open any container my Bosun will indicate."

"You don't really want to do that, Dunmoore.  The consequences could be worse."

"So could the consequences of disobeying me,
Captain
.  Under Emergency Regulations, you either do as I say, or I will impound this ship and all its contents.  Needless to say you'll be under arrest."

"Fine," Slayton replied angrily, "it's your bloody funeral Dunmoore.  I'll need a certificate explaining why you broke the customs seals."  He savagely nodded at one of his crewmembers.  "Open the bloody container."

Foste pointed at a metre-high, blue crate.  "The manifest records this thing as carrying an OR table with a full suite of medical monitors.  I say it doesn't."

Under Captain Slayton' furious glare, the two spacers broke the crate's customs seals, undogged the lid and flipped it open with an angry shove.  Rajmurti, who'd remained silent until now, stepped up and peered into the crate, working his sensor.

"Strange," he said, "my readings are very clear now.  The crate must be shielded."

Siobhan smirked at Slayton, defying him to explain that away.  Shielded containers were legal only to transport radiation sensitive organics, not machinery which, by normal standards, had built-in shielding.

"Can I remove the packaging, sir?"  Rajmurti asked.  "I'd like to physically check something out."

"Go ahead."

With Foste's help, the purser's mate removed great sheets of packing material and unceremoniously dumped them on the deck.

"So?"  Siobhan asked expectantly.

"As I thought, sir," Rajmurti replied.  "This is an anti-matter/plasma flux regulator of the same type we took aboard the
Stingray
before leaving port.  The serial number is close enough to have come from the same lot.  Whether it came from Starbase 31 or not, I can't tell without accessing the central supply data base."

"Are these things available on the open market, Rajmurti?"

"No, sir.  Not the babies with this serial number sequence.  The civilian-use parts have different markings."

"Well, Captain Slayton," Siobhan crossed her arms and turned to look at the civilian with an evil smile, "can you tell me what you're doing with Starfleet supplies, or shall I take you under arrest now and claim your ship as a prize?"

Behind her, Foste, Rajmurti and Vincenzo shouldered their weapons and covered the two trader crew with clear intent.

"Damn you, Dunmoore," Slayton snarled, "I told you what I was about and this is part of it.  My job is to deliver these parts to ships working for the same employer and who can't for obvious reasons, take them on at a Government-controlled installation."

"Proof, Captain, proof is what I need.  Your word is meaningless under the circumstances."

His nostrils flared whitely as he breathed hard, struggling to control his fury.  "Very well.  Call your Battle-Group commander.  She'll verify me.  But don't say I didn't warn you about the consequences.  This will mean your command, if not your career, Dunmoore.  And once you've done so, make sure you and your crew forget all about this, or I cannot guarantee your continued health."

Siobhan considered him for a few moments, debating whether to call Kaleri or end this farce now with an arrest.  Then she shrugged.  It didn't cost anything to call, except the lag time between question and answer.  Her career was on the skids anyway.

"
Stingray
, this is Dunmoore."

"Pushkin here, Captain."

"Mister Pushkin, please contact Battle-Group HQ and ask them to confirm the status of the
Mykonos
as an undercover auxiliary.  Captain Slayton tells me Admiral Kaleri is aware of his activities."

"Aye, sir.  Time lag will be twenty minutes each way.  Are you staying there?"

"Might as well.  Remember General Order Eighty-One.  Dunmoore, out."

She turned to Slayton.  "My First Officer will confirm your story.  Meanwhile, consider yourself detained.  This hold is to be locked and sealed.  Foste, Rajmurti, you'll stand guard on what could become evidence.  Let's go to your quarters, Captain."

This time, Vincenzo stood guard at an open door, a grim look on his face.  Slayton recovered his early poise within a few minutes and offered Siobhan a cup of coffee, which she accepted, if only to lower the tension.  However, neither made any attempt at small talk and the time passed awkwardly.  About twenty minutes later, Bertram reappeared with his escort, quickly followed by the others.  Siobhan glanced at them, about to ask for a report, when her eyes met Bertram's and Rownes'.  Their expressions silenced her questions before she could utter them.  Clearly, they had information neither wanted to discuss in front of Slayton, or even over the radio.  When they saw understanding in Dunmoore's face, they relaxed.

"Nothing to report, Cap'n,"  Rownes shrugged.  "They're well armed, but I can't blame 'em."

"Same 'ere, sir,"  Nosey chimed in.  "Engineroom's clear."

"Right.  We'll wait until we get word from Starbase 31 about this ship."

The spacers nodded and casually took up covering positions along the corridor outside the cabin, as if they were simply wandering around, bored to death by their jobs.  Time began to weigh heavily on everybody except Slayton, who took down one of his books and began reading, completely ignoring the presence of the armed Starfleet personnel.  Siobhan had to admire his poise and started to wonder whether she'd blundered badly.  Her instincts said she hadn't, but why she felt that way, she couldn't tell.

When Pushkin's voice sounded in her ears, Captain Dunmoore nearly jumped out of her skin.

"We got our reply from Battle-Group, sir."

"And?"

"The Commander 31st Battle-Group orders you to cease interfering with the fast trader
Mykonos
, under command of Augustus Slayton, forthwith and release her to her business.  Nothing is to be removed from the ship, and all logs pertaining to the interception and inspection are to be purged.  The crew of the
Stingray
is ordered to forget this incident ever happened.  And the captain of the
Stingray
will explain her actions at the earliest opportunity."

Slayton had overheard the communication, and smiled sickeningly.

"There, Captain Dunmoore, you see.  I trust that satisfies you.  If you'll vacate my ship, we'll be on our way.  You've made me lose enough time as it is."

Siobhan felt wooden as anger and embarrassment numbed her.  Without saying a word, she nodded curtly and turned to her boarding party, who'd heard the First Officer's message.

"Let's go."

"You know the way to the shuttle deck, Captain Dunmoore," Slayton said to her stiff back.  "Have a good life and don't let the doorknob catch you in the ass on the way out."

Siobhan ignored the taunt and led a puzzled and angry boarding party to the shuttle.  A few minutes later, they were free of the
Mykonos
and headed back to their frigate.

Chief Foste broke the silence first.  "If I may ask, sir, what was all that about?"

Siobhan didn't reply immediately.  She was still busy swallowing her pride.  Then, she said,  "It appears we've intercepted and detained a ship sailing under SSB orders, and that she's legit in all respects."

To her surprise, Nosey Bertram snorted loudly.  "Then they're recruitin' some damn strange folk, Cap'n."

"How's that, Bertram?"

Rownes, who recognized the look on her friend's face, interjected, "Better order him to tell it straight, sir, otherwise he'll want to draw it out like a long fairy tale.  Likes hearing the sound of his own voice, Nosey does."

The general laughter broke the tension and even Siobhan felt herself relax.  "Okay, Bertram, give it to me straight, without embellishments."

"Cor, sir, ya don't hafta believe everything ol' Banger here says,"  the little man put on a mock hurt face.  Then, he suddenly became serious, more serious than the others had ever seen him.  "T'ain't no secret I was doin' some bad stuff before the war, sir, so I met a lot of bad people on them smugglin' ships.  Well, guess my surprise when I see an old mate of mine down in engineering.  A villain like you wouldn't believe.  He ain't recognized me at first, but then, he went all pale an' his eyes damn near popped outta his face.  The bastard scrammed from the engine room real bleedin' fast.  If the spooks at SSB really hired Velvet McCloud, then they's finally turned into legal pirates.  McCloud oughta hang fer what he's done in his life."

"Not like you, eh."  Rownes commented, grinning.  "You cute little choirboy."

"Why didn't you report that over the radio?" Siobhan asked, frowning, wondering how important that piece of information was.

"Simple, Cap'n," Nosey grinned.  "Them fuckers was listnin' on us.  They gots a gimmick which cracks Starfleet frequencies.  We used to have one a bit like it when I was workin' with the wrong people.  It's illegal as all damn hell.  Idiots didn't think I'd know what it was when I sees it."

Siobhan slowly nodded.  The SSB would, of course, have access to all sorts of non-standard toys including stuff with which to spy on the Navy.  Even hiring an ex-smuggler wasn't too far-fetched.  Nosey Bertram was proof of that, although he'd been broken out of his bad habits by boot camp and the Fleet School.

"So what else do you have to report?"

"Just that I thinks that barky's doin' some serious smuggling, or worse, Cap'n," Nosey replied, a solemn look on his sharp features.  "She's overpowered like all hell, could fuckin' out-run the
Stingray
flat.  An' she's got an engine room I could work in with me eyes closed, but she ain't a Navy 'ull, that's fer certain."

"Okay."  Siobhan nodded.  "Rownes?"

"Good, well maintained guns which probably started life as naval weaponry, until they got rid of the serial numbers and dressed 'em up to look like civvie stuff.  Fire control suite's top of the line, newer than ours."

Demianova nodded in agreement, "
Da
.  She is over-gunned for her size too."