“What about the piracy?” Lochan Nakamura asked.
“Technically,” the executive officer said, “Earth law applies here and everywhere in human-occupied space. But, in practice, there’s no one to enforce that law. Local regulations push for whatever they can get away with, and unincorporated star systems like Vestri can get away with a lot. If they actually attacked a ship from Brahma like ours, then Brahma would do something. But they’re too smart for that.”
“Brahma might do something,” the security chief grumbled under his breath.
Carmen nodded. “You’re right. Brahma would probably send a complaint back to Earth, and maybe a year later you’d be told to take care of it yourselves.” She turned to Lochan. “But Earth law can help you somewhat. When the way station charged you those exorbitant prices for services, did they download all of the charges through the universal wallets you carried?”
“Yes,” Lochan Nakamura said. “How else could they do it? We had all our savings on those wallets.”
Carmen smiled. “Under Earth law, you have the right to cancel and dispute charges you believe are unjustified. Get out your wallet. Enter EULS 281236.17722.”
The man pulled out his wallet, entered the string of characters and numbers, then stared at what it displayed. “It says I can cancel those downloads and get all my money back. How is that possible? I came from Franklin, and bought this wallet in that star system. The laws on Franklin allow me to dispute charges but not to cancel them.”
“Earth Universal Legal System does permit it,” Carmen said. “And, as noted by this ship’s officer, Earth law still technically applies anywhere in space. That cancel and dispute charges capability is in all the universal wallet software. The initial versions written on Earth required it, and all subsequent versions everywhere else have retained it—because in most cases, they didn’t even know it was in there. The corporation running the way station can respond to your dispute, filing a legal claim for you to pay up. But they’ll have to file it in Earth courts to unlock the charges you downloaded at that way station.”
The Mononoke’s executive officer laughed. “How long would a case like that take?”
“By the time everything was done and appealed and resolved and communicated across so many light years? At least ten years.”
“I just enter this?” Lochan Nakamura asked, looking between his wallet and her, as if Carmen were a genie who had just appeared before him to grant a wish.
“Yes. At that point, the funds are back in your wallet. The ship can relay the cancel/dispute to the way station, where receipt of it will immediately lock the payments you made and prevent any use or transfer of them.” Carmen smiled wryly. “Sometimes, knowledge of Earth law comes in handy.”
“We can all do this?” Lochan asked. “Citizen Ochoa, this is going to make my fellow travelers very happy. Some of them were completely cleaned out by that way station’s outrageous charges.”
“I’m glad that I could actually help someone,” Carmen replied, feeling better than she had in months.
“We’ll be happy to relay the cancel and dispute notification to the way station,” Mononoke’s executive officer said to Lochan. “Make sure everyone has done that so we can send a single bulk message. That way the station can’t block receipt of subsequent messages from us. We’re obligated under Brahma’s space law, as well as Earth law,” he added with a nod toward Carmen, “to take you on to the first safe destination. We have sufficient room for that, but some of you will be crowded.”
Carmen eyed Lochan Nakamura, waiting to see how he would react, but he simply nodded. “We are more than grateful for that. Since it seems we’re going to have money in our wallets again, can any of us who want to do it buy passage farther onward?”
“Certainly. We’re going as far down as Kosatka.”
“I’ll spread the word and get the wallet cancellations done by everyone,” Lochan Nakamura said. “Citizen Ochoa, we owe you. I owe you. Let me know if there is ever anything I can do for you.”
She smiled at Lochan Nakamura, sizing up the man and deciding that he did have potential as an ally. “There might be something. I’ll look you up later.”
• • •
Rob Geary stared at the new defense subcouncil for Glenlyon, consisting of Council Members Kim, Odom, and Camagan. “You want me to command the cutter we captured, but the council doesn’t want to officially give me any rank?”
“The council,” Odom said sternly, “believes it is best to retain you in unofficial, temporary status.”
“That belief is not universal,” Kim said, glaring at Odom.
“It was voted on,” Odom said. “By all members of the council.”
“You are authorized the temporary rank of lieutenant,” Leigh Camagan told Rob. She had the resigned look of someone who knew they had to give out bad news that was the fault of others. “Glenlyon is still trying to feel its way through an unanticipated crisis, and some members of the council need more time to consider options. There is nothing we three on the subcouncil can do to change that in the immediate future though I will be working on your behalf for the long term.”
“You’ve all read that intelligence report, haven’t you?” Rob asked. “The one based on the data that Ninja pulled out of the captured ship’s data files and what Danielle Martel told us?”
“Why should we believe anything that Martel says?” Odom demanded. “She was one of the officers on that ship!”
“It was her first mission for Scatha, she didn’t know what she was getting into, and her information was confirmed by what was in the ship’s files,” Rob said. “Scatha Star System has two other warships. Former Sword Class destroyers. And substantial ground forces, at least substantial compared to our nonexistent ground forces. Scatha isn’t going to be happy that we captured that Buccaneer. And even if we hadn’t dealt them a blow, Scatha already has a demonstrated policy of aggression toward nearby star systems. The documents on that ship showed that Scatha’s leaders believe they have the right to dominate this region of space, justifying it by arguing that Scatha is attracting a superior kind of settler, appealing to people who think they’ve been mistreated on Old Earth or in the Old Colonies.”
Odom shook his head. “Nearly everyone heading down and out has some grievance against their lives on Old Earth or the Old Colonies. We can’t be suspicious of all others because of that. We dealt Scatha a strong rebuff when they threatened us. They will most likely turn their attentions to less risky ventures in the future and perhaps seek cooperation.”
“That is how bullies act,” Kim said, voicing rare agreement with Odom.
Rob paused before replying to try to ensure his voice remained calm. The last thing he needed was to have his arguments disregarded on the grounds that he was being too emotional. “With all due respect, Scatha is clearly organized for aggression. We are not organized for defense. Not with one minor warship that has a skeleton crew and problems with its power core.”
Kim looked at Leigh Camagan. “Corbin Torres has been contracted to bring the power core controls up to safe standards, hasn’t he?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“But Torres won’t be along when that ship leaves orbit for a mission,” Rob argued.
“He’s training a volunteer,” Kim said, as if specialized knowledge born of years of work was easily passed on to someone else in a matter of weeks.
Rob felt the old, familiar helplessness that he had in Alfar’s fleet when someone with experience and expertise offered their opinion, only to have it dismissed because it was inconvenient. He had often been in the middle then, a junior officer trying to get more senior officers to listen to skilled enlisted specialists. “I’m not sure I can commit to the assignment that Glenlyon is offering,” Rob said. “There do not seem to be sufficient resources dedicated to the task. That would put not only me, but everyone else who
volunteers to serve on that ship, at unnecessary risk.”
“What do you need?” Leigh Camagan asked before either Kim or Odom could reply.
“A permanent assignment would give me better leverage to get the resources I need,” Rob said.
“We are reluctant to create a professional military class at this early stage in the colony’s development,” Odom said, his voice taking on a stern quality. “We prefer that our defenders be part of the society they are defending, not separate from it.”
“I don’t want to be separate,” Rob protested. “I just want to know that my work is being treated seriously, especially since it involves personal risk of physical harm.”
“Of course your work is treated seriously!” Kim said. “The government is not yet ready to take the necessary steps.”
“We do not agree on what is necessary,” Odom objected.
“I’m not happy about this, either,” Kim continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “But you know how important this is. If you don’t do this, we don’t have a good alternative. We’re asking you, for the good of everyone in Glenlyon, to dedicate yourself a little longer to the defense of the colony.”
Did they know that the original job Rob had been lined up for, supervising construction work for one of the colony’s companies, had been given to someone else when he had been “absent” to deal with the warship from Scatha? If he turned down this assignment, he would be stuck looking for new work in a colony where every job had been signed for prior to the colony ship leaving Alfar. Maybe the police force . . .
Hell. He wouldn’t be happy doing anything else knowing that whoever the colony got to run that ship wouldn’t have the background to do it. And what would happen to the volunteers for the crew if their captain didn’t have any experience at all? “All right,” Rob said. “But I will put on the official record what is needed and what we don’t have. The council has to decide whether to hope Scatha does nothing else or to be at least a little prepared when Scatha does something else.”
He saw the slightly smug reactions from Kim and Odom, who had both apparently known he wouldn’t leave others hanging, and a slow nod from Leigh Camagan, who from the way she was looking at him had expected the same but wasn’t happy that he had been pushed into the decision.
“Lieutenant Geary,” Leigh Camagan said, “since you have accepted the assignment, and I thank you for that, I’ll inform you that the council has decided to name the cutter the Squall.”
“The Squall? You mean like the weather event?”
“Yes,” she said. “In the past, small warships have occasionally been named for violent weather. Since the council couldn’t agree on any other name honoring individuals or places, we chose something that no one could object to.”
“It’s a proud name,” Kim objected. “There have been many ships carrying the name Squall in human history.”
“Yes,” Leigh Camagan repeated. “That is true. We trust you and the crew of the Squall will be sufficiently inspired by the heritage of its name.”
He couldn’t tell whether she was being sarcastic or not. “I’m sure we’ll do our best.” Rob made his farewells and walked out, heading for the shuttle landing area so he could get back up to the captured warship. The Squall. It wasn’t a bad name. It was an honorable name. And as far as Rob was concerned at the moment, it was much better than naming the ship after some politician.
Ninja was waiting outside. “Have you got a job?” she asked, falling into step beside him.
“Officially, no, I think,” Rob said. “But unofficially, yes.”
“You should have told them no,” she said.
“Yeah, but I couldn’t.”
She looked off to the side as they walked together. “So you’re going back up into orbit?”
“Yeah,” he said again, feeling torn inside. He liked talking to her, and seeing her waiting after the meeting had given him a definite lift. “I’m . . . sorry I won’t be around.”
“I’ve got plenty to do.” She waved off his words.
“I know, but . . . Ninja . . .”
“What?”
“Um . . . I’ll be thinking of you.” He knew how lame that sounded.
She finally looked back at him. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t get another contract where you might be considered to be my boss?”
“I can’t tie your hands,” Rob protested.
“I can’t make decisions when you can’t make up your mind,” Ninja said. They had reached the shuttle pad. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too.” He left her and went to the shuttle, angry with himself for words unsaid. But would he have truly meant those words? He was going to be stuck up on the ship again, for who knew how long. He doubted that Ninja would want to accept that sort of relationship, assuming that she really wanted a serious relationship.
As the shuttle lifted off, Rob contemplated the irony of finding it easier to deal with the countless challenges and stresses of commanding a warship than it was figuring out what he wanted with Ninja.
Seeking distraction, he thought about Scatha. Two destroyers. If even one of those destroyers showed up at Glenlyon, defended only by a single Bucket with a makeshift crew, his path of command might be a short one with a dead end. Ninja would be better off if he didn’t get involved with her.
Damn. He was thinking about her again.
• • •
Carmen Ochoa sat back, rubbing her forehead, worn-out from researching the latest data available in the Mononoke’s files on the new colonies. Maybe part of what she felt was the discomfort created by being in jump space, but there was more to it than that.
She decided she needed a walk, and a drink, and somebody to talk to about all this. She just wasn’t sure who. Carmen had not socialized much with other passengers from Old Earth for fear that some betraying word or action would reveal that she had been born and raised a Red.
Having lost track of ship’s time, it turned out to be much later in the ship’s day than she realized. Still, the lounge she stopped to look in had every table occupied because there wasn’t much else to do in jump space. Carmen started to turn away, then paused and squinted at one table with only a single occupant, a man she recognized.
She had wanted someone to talk to.
“Hi,” Carmen said as she stopped by the table.
Lochan Nakamura looked up, startled. “Oh. Hi. The Old Earth lawyer, right?”
Carmen laughed. “Old Earth, yes. Lawyer, no. I passed the ethics exam, so they booted me out of law school. Are you in the mood to talk?”
“What about? I mean, sure.” Lochan Nakamura gestured to another seat at his table.
“I wanted to talk about what happened to you,” Carmen said, “and what’s happening everywhere down and out.”
He gave her a rueful look. “You’re the second person I know who has brought that up. I’m realizing that’s a subject I know too little about. Maybe if I had known more, I wouldn’t have ended up trapped at Vestri.”
“I actually want to bounce some ideas off you, if that’s okay,” Carmen said as she sat down. “Your original ship got taken by pirates, then you got fleeced on the way station, and finally you were nearly shipped off for forced labor.”
“Yeah. Except for that, it’s been a great trip so far.”
He had a sense of humor. She liked that. “What are you planning on doing now?”
“I was thinking about filing a complaint, maybe bring charges,” Lochan admitted. “But who would I complain to? Who would actually do anything? Is there anybody?”
“No,” Carmen said. “Which was why you had to risk your life escaping on that shuttle.” She looked down at the table, trying to decide what to say, then back at Lochan. “Do you know what the ship’s officers have said about you?”
Lochan shrugged. “Did the words ‘stupid??
? and ‘crazy’ come up? They did, right?”
“No. They said you had a lot of courage to do what you did, and that without your leadership none of you would have gotten free of that ship from Apulu.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t do that much. Without Mele Darcy we wouldn’t have made it.”
“Mele Darcy? She’s . . . ?”
“The former Marine from Franklin.” He paused, looking down at his drink. “For some reason, she thought I was worth something.”
Carmen realized he must have been drinking for some time. “Excuse me?”
He laughed again, but the sound held an undercurrent of old pain this time. “I haven’t had a lot of success in life. Maybe I had something to do with us escaping on that shuttle, but if so it’s a . . . what do you call that? An anomaly.”
“Then why did that Marine trust you? The other refugees from the Brian Smith all said you were their leader.”
He twisted his drink one way then another in his hands, not replying for several long moments. “Maybe. Do you think this new-start stuff is true? That in the down and out, we can find a way to start over again and maybe not repeat the same mistakes?”
Carmen shrugged slightly. “Do you mean we as individuals or we as a species?”
“Oh, hell, I’ve got enough to do with trying to start over my individual life. How could I make any difference to the species?” He frowned as if remembering an earlier event or conversation. “If other people were trying to do something . . .” Lochan added, his voice trailing off into uncertainty.
She leaned forward toward him, her elbows on the table. “There are other people who want to do something. I’m one of them. Maybe you could be, too, if you’re the kind of leader who could help the others escape from Vestri.”
“Two people still isn’t much.” He frowned again, this time argumentatively, but Lochan’s words seemed to be aimed at himself rather than Carmen.