Ships of My Fathers (34 page)

Crap.

He tried Isaac Rubin anyway, and it offered up six Isaac Rubins, none of whom were the right Isaac. Besides, none of them were in port anyway. He went through the list of
Sophie’s
old crew: Wendy, Henry, Liam, James, even Marty who had been gone for over a year. The only valid result was Wendy who had passed through last month.

He tried to think of some other friends of Malcolm’s, but the problem was that even if they were here, they would not have any real authority. If only he knew someone in the Navy. They could wield real authority, especially on a station like Arvin, but the only naval officer he could remember had been that recruiter on Tortisia. And he could not think of any that Malcolm had known either.

Except… he had met one himself somewhere along the line.

Michael tried to remember. He had come to the wake, said his ship had been passing through the system when he had heard. Monty something, of the
Alger
?
Algiers
? Or was it
Alva
? He switched to the naval directory. He did not have much to go on, so he asked for an alphabetical list of ships based at Arvin.

There it was, a third of the way down the first screen: the CFS
Alvarez
, listed as being in port, dry dock seventeen. He clicked on the ship’s icon to pull up the details. It was listed as down for repairs, something about a generator alignment. He knew a thing or two about those and figured that the
Alvarez
was not going anywhere for a few weeks. The screen also listed the dockmaster and the senior officers.

Second on the list was Lt. Commander Montgomery Wheaton. He brought up the picture, and he could remember him now. “Don’t believe all the stories,” he had said. “He was as solid as they come.” He had also said to look him up if he ever needed a favor. Well, today Michael could really use one.

He punched the call link, but it was not Wheaton who answered. “Naval operations, how may I help you?”

Michael swallowed hard. Commit and focus. “I’m trying to reach Lt. Commander Montgomery Wheaton of the
Alvarez
. Can you patch me through?”

“One moment please.”

That was easy, he thought, but the next man was not Wheaton either. “
Alvarez
comm, Martins speaking.”

“Hello, I’m trying to reach Lt. Commander Wheaton.”

“Sorry, he’s not on board at the moment.”

“Can you tell me where he is?”

There was a pause. “According to his schedule he’s meeting with the yard master.”

“Is there any chance you can forward me to his link?”

“No can do. He left very explicit instructions not to be interrupted. He’s breaking balls if you ask me.”

“Please? It’s kind of an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

He thought about it. Adopted son of a long-lost friend emergency? That was not going to get far. “Family emergency.”

The icon for video request lit up, so he turned it on. The sailor on the other end of the line did not look much older than Michael, but at this point, Michael had no idea what he looked like. But however he looked, it was clear from the other’s reaction that Michael’s desperation must have been obvious on his face. “Family, eh? Look, buddy, I want to help, but old Monty said that if I…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Look, here’s what we’ll do. I’m going to forward you to his mailbox. You record a message, and I’ll flag it as high priority. I can’t guarantee he’ll look at it right away, but he will see that it’s there.”

Michael tried to think of what could change his mind, but came up with nothing.

“Sorry, bud, it’s the best I can do.”

The screen shifted to a recording interface, so he pushed start and hoped he was going to make sense.

“Lt. Commander, my name is Michael Fletcher, and I sure hope you remember me. We met at… my skipper’s wake… on Taschin a few months back. His name was Malcolm Fletcher. You said if I ever needed a favor, I should look you up, and I’m in trouble. So I looked you up.

“Umm, anyway, I got onto a ship that I probably shouldn’t have. It’s the
Blue Jaguar
, and we’re here at Arvin station now. I had to sneak off the ship to even call you, and I’m sure they’re looking for me. And that’s the other thing. It looks like station security is looking for me too, but I don’t know why. I’d rather turn myself in than go back to the ship, but I don’t know what they’re after. They may want to send me back to my uncle, and the whole point of this was to get back to Taschin.

“I know it all sounds very complicated, and I guess maybe it is, but I could really use some help. I’m at a bar… I didn’t catch the name, but it should be on the message id. I guess you can try to get hold of me here. Just…” he trailed off, not sure what else to say. Summing it all up for Monty made his plight seem that much worse. “I hope to hear from you soon. Thanks.”

He disconnected and went back to the bar. “Do you have any orange soda?”

The security guard still sat in a chair outside his normal station. Elsa was still issuing commands from his little room.

“Are you sure he’s not on board?” she asked.

“I cannot be sure,” Bishop replied, “but I’ll stake my reputation that if we can’t find him, no naval inspector is going to find him either.”

“All right. Tell Mr. Nieru to let them in. Cooperate, but get them off my ship. No more than one hour. That should be more than enough for them to satisfy their curiosity.”

“Aye, ma’am. Did Leo and Maya find you?”

“Yes, I’ve got them out searching for the boy.”

“Pardon me, ma’am, but won’t that attract attention?”

“No,” she replied. “No attention at all.”

Collins let the station security detachment go in ahead of him. They had been given a basic schematic of the ship, and the regular men could search all the obvious places. With a final nod to the Schneiders waiting beyond the dock, he went in. It would be up to him to search the less obvious places.

He started by going directly to deck one. He went into each of the store rooms of the quartermaster and paced the floor. The then did the same in the hallway. At the aft end, he came up two paces short. The wall looked like any other, but what lay beyond was not the quartermaster’s storage. He started to run his hands around the edge seam, looking for purchase but found none.

“May I help you, Commander?”

He turned to see an iron-faced man. His name tag read R. Bishop. “Yes, Mr. Bishop. You can open this compartment.”

“I don’t understand. What compartment?”

Collins sighed. “Mr. Bishop, I am familiar with this class of ship. I know it down to the placement of bulkheads and the alignment of struts. There is an empty space on the other side of this wall. You will open it for my inspection or I will call in a cutting team to take it apart.”

Bishop grumbled but tapped out a command on his data pad. The wall moved out into the corridor smoothly before splitting in two to slide back across the adjacent wall sections. Collins peered inside and saw crate after crate stacked floor to ceiling with a narrow aisle running down the center.

“This certainly looks interesting,” he said. “I’m curious as to how this cargo shows up on your manifest.”

“I’m sure you are, Commander,” Bishop replied, “but as your inspection warrant is for a person and not cargo, I think you will leave the captain’s private cargo alone.”

He peered in, taking a step forward, but Bishop matched his step with two, cutting him off at the shoulder. “You must agree, sir, that none of those containers is large enough for your man.”

He nodded. They were not large enough by half. Turning, he then faced the wall on the opposite side of the corridor. “And this one? More cargo? Perhaps a brig?”

“No, sir.”

“Arms locker?”

Bishop hesitated.

“Open it.”

Bishop complied. The wall opened to reveal long racks of rifles, handguns, and heavier powered weaponry.

“Quite the collection, Mr. Bishop.”

“The captain and crew… you see, we like to vacation at hunting preserves.”

“Hunting preserves?”

“Yes, sir. Talloway, for example, out past the spinward border.”

“I see.” He turned back up the hallway. “And this is your security office?”

Bishop followed along and opened the reinforced hatchway. Beyond it was a small office with monitors all around and two seats on either side. On the monitors he could see throughout the ship where station security was walking the halls, looking into various rooms, taking up positions at key intersections, and being generally useless.

Collins eventually settled himself in front of the monitors opposite the secure door. “I like what you’ve done here,” he said. “The active monitors do a lot to erase the suspicion of a space beyond, but I know there’s at least twenty meters of usable volume ahead of us. Open it.”

Bishop’s shoulders sagged, but he complied. With a few keystrokes at the left console, the wall moved forward and separated. Beyond it laid a stainless steel corridor with rubber skids spaced along the floor.

“Secure cargo,” Bishop offered, extending his hand forward.

Collins looked him in the eye. “I know a brig when I see it, Mr. Bishop, and I know better than to step into one without the jailer in front of me at all times. Are you going to give me the tour?”

Bishop stepped forward into the hallway, while Collins kept back at a distance. A dozen windows lined the hallway, six on a side. Collins recognized them as cell doors. In fact, it felt eerily like a Naval brig block like he had seen on a number of cruisers.

“Any occupants?” Collins asked.

“No, sir. We are not carrying any secure cargo at this time.”

“Open them, one at a time.”

They did, and each time, Bishop walked into the cell so that Collins could safely step up to the door and look around. These were exactly like the navy’s brig cells. In fact, they were some the harshest ones he had seen: steel walls, floor, and ceiling, with rounded joins, and no furniture. There were only three breaks in the walls: an air vent coming in, an air vent going out, and a drain at the bottom of the floor. He had personally put a number of people into cells just like this one. The fact that this freighter had a dozen of them made him want to lock Bishop in right then and there.

But even the twelfth cell was empty and spotless. Bishop smiled coolly at him from the far side of the cell. “Where else would you like to look, Commander?”

Ned sat outside his aunt’s bar and watched the people go by. It was the typical mix of crew and dock workers, but today there was a surprising amount of station security. He had already put his usual ready-to-sell wares back with his larger stash in the office, but security did not seem to be hassling anyone. They were mostly passing by.

He finally spotted a couple that were moving more slowly, sometimes stopping to ask a question. The man looked pretty mean, even for security, but the woman was a hot little morsel. From the way her jacket hung tightly across her shoulders, she must have been built for action underneath it. Hopeful, Ned waved her over.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she said. Close up, Ned found her even more attractive. He would have liked longer hair, but her short-cropped bob would probably feel nice against his chest.