We trooped through the frigid Haven afternoon, a freezing wind driving a light snow almost horizontally. Even so, it was hard to miss Valkyrie. Her fat, cylindrical 400-meter body towered twice as high as the few rim tramps on the field. Once aboard, Rawl dismissed the security escort and released our bonds. I eyed him curiously. He was only about 160 centimeters tall and probably massed no more than 50 kilograms. He was dapper, but totally inconspicuous — the kind of man who can disappear into a crowd of three.
Silence dragged. Finally, he said, "Well, Commodore? Shouldn't we be making sail or hauling anchors or getting underway or something?"
His comment broke the ice, and both Hari and I grinned. "Or something," I agreed. Hari chuckled. "I'll get down to Engineering, Capt… uh, Commodore, and start hauling on the anchor."
I shouted at his retreating back to check on our other crewmen, and get them to lift stations. Then I rounded on Rawl. "All right. In a moment, my Astrogator and Comm Officer will come through that hatch, and they know nothing about this whole thing. Since it seems to be important for us to get off-planet, I don't want to spend hours explaining and arguing with them, so I'm simply going to continue this deportation story until we're in space. Cord and Tomys mentioned Outback, so I assume that's where we're going. Is there anything else I need to know before Jax and Con get here?"
Rawl shook his head just as Hari called on the intercom to inform me that Con was passed-out drunk, and wouldn't be doing any astrogating anytime soon, but that Jax, our Comm Officer, was on his way up. In a few moments, a furious Jax came boiling onto the bridge.
Jax was young, nineteen standard years old, seven on his home world of Pascua. He was also new to spacing. This was his second voyage, and he was busy loving every minute of his visits to new planets — even Haven. Jax was tall and gawky. His youthful face was merely typical, and marred by an acne problem that he was fighting valiantly. Somehow, his clothes always seemed a size too small, his shoes a size too large. Even the weathered tan that farm life had given him was beginning to fade. But his features were strong and well formed, giving promise that in a few years, he would be an attractive man. His face was suffused with a simple wholesomeness and lack of guile that inspired confidence. He reminded me of a puppy; he displayed an enthusiasm and a sense of wonder that made the rest of us feel jaded and old.
Now, though, Jax was furious. He glared at Rawl, and then turned to me. "What's going on, Captain? A security squad grabbed me in the middle of a meal, cuffed me, and dragged me back here. A few minutes later, another squad came in carrying Con. All the cops'd say was that my captain would explain!"
I glanced at Rawl. "It seems we're being thrown off Haven. Mr. Rawl, here, is coming along just to make sure we really leave. They seem to have decided we're smugglers. We're going to a planet called 'Outback' to ground while we try to figure out what to do next. You don't have anything to tell me, do you?"
Jax snorted in disgust and turned to his console to complete the liftoff formalities.
By the time Hari had the reaction drives on line, Jax had completed our clearances. Liftoff was uneventful. I began setting up our sublight course and delta-vee to our jump point. With Jax present, I couldn't talk freely with Rawl, but I couldn't think of a way to invite him to leave. His anger took care of the problem for me. As the silence became uncomfortable, Jax glared at both Rawl and me, then jumped up and stamped off the bridge, his fury unabated. Rawl and I exchanged uncomfortable grins.
Chapter II
Rear Admiral Micah Jonas was well aware that he was widely disliked. It no longer bothered him, though he still didn’t understand it. But the unconcealed hatred in the eyes of the man across the desk was annoying. It wasn’t as though Captain Jamin Van-Lyn's hands were exactly clean. In fact, it had taken Micah almost three years and a great deal of money and effort to make sure they weren’t.
Van-Lyn’s eyes blazed with anger as well as their ever-present disgust, but his shoulders were slumped, now. Once they had been broad and erect. Once, Jamin Van-Lyn had been one of the finest Captains in the Empire Fleet. Now, he looked like just an old man in a too-large Captain’s uniform. But Van-Lyn was a highly decorated and highly respected officer. That’s why he had command of one of only six dreadnoughts in the Fleet. That command was also why Micah couldn’t simply relieve him. Dreadnoughts were retirement posts for the most senior Captains in the Fleet. Command of one was an honor, and was always accompanied by a promotion to Commodore upon retirement.
For Van-Lyn, the honors assignment as the Captain of the dreadnought Nemesis and Flag Captain to the Commander, Rim Sector had been a disaster. For three years he fended off Admiral Jonas’ attempts to seduce him into Jonas’ shady and often outright illegal dealings. Then, somehow, his favorite grandson had found himself facing disgrace and even criminal charges. The boy swore to Van-Lyn that he was innocent, and Jamin believed him. Actually, he suspected that Jonas had something to do with the situation. Certainly, the Admiral had learned of the boy’s difficulty quickly enough.
Jonas’ oily attempts at sympathy had been transparent, and almost as hard to swallow as the boy’s situation. But if the boy was to avoid having his life ruined, Van-Lyn had to accept the Admiral’s help. Of course, the “help” meant that Jamin was forced to compromise his honor and his honesty. It also meant that Jonas had a hook into the Flag Captain, and had been able to slowly drag Van-Lyn deeper into his web of operations. Van-Lyn hated Jonas for that, with a passion equaled only by his contempt for the playboy Admiral.
Van-Lyn’s frown was annoyed. “You know it’s only a matter of time, Admiral. With a Fleet Investigative Service investigation under way, it's inevitable they find something. And we’ll be headed for a prison planet in disgrace.” He regarded the man across the desk. Micah Jonas had obviously been a handsome man in his younger days. The remnants of his body-sculpted features showed that, as did the mass of still-thick, wavy red-blond hair now lightening to gray.
In the years since his assignment to the rim, however, Jonas had let himself go. He’d added more than fifty kilos to his already large frame, and given up all efforts at trying to conceal the ravages of time.
Micah relaxed and smiled. “I don’t think so, Jamin. In fact…”
“You might not be worried,” Van-Lyn interrupted irritably, “But I am. I wish I'd never met you, Admiral!”
Micah’s smile faded. “Have a care, Captain. Like you, circumstances have caused me to do things that aren’t precisely legal. And the people I’ve been forced to associate with…” He shuddered
Van-Lyn's expression was skeptical. “You come from one of the wealthiest families in the Empire, Admiral. What circumstances could possibly force to you to criminal acts?”
Micah shrugged. “I may tell you sometime. But at the moment, we have more pressing matters to discuss.”
Van-Lyn snorted. “Like how to avoid spending the rest of our lives on a prison planet?”
Micah's smile resurfaced. “Actually, yes. But only as a side issue to something really important.” He dialed his desk screen for a moment, then swiveled the viewer, motioning Van-Lyn to look.
Van-Lyn stepped around the desk wearing a doubting expression. Micah dialed through the scrolling images, and pointed at one message. “After a lot of effort and an appalling amount of money, my agents were finally able to get to a subspace communications tech in the palace on Prime. This was intercepted between the palace on Prime and Cord's office on Haven.”