Marq was laying on the floor reaching up underneath the console. The panel flashed through a rainbow-like diagnostic. It settled into its normal status settings.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìIt?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s fixed!?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìI haven?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t done anything yet,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Marq said.
The panel was working, but the event must have triggered a major alarm dockside. Giant orange letters pulsed, ?¢‚Ǩ?ìlockdown.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìIt?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s not my fault. I didn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t do anything,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Marq said. He pocketed pieces of the disassembled lights and ground the rest into dust with his foot.
Sam climbed back into her harness and loaded the shift reports onto the panel. They had to be perfect. She couldn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t afford another citation for rounding the dock schedule to minutes instead of seconds, even if it was impossible to time operations closer than ten minute intervals. Perhaps the malfunctioning module had caused the lockdown. It could also have been a gremlin on the station side. Lockdowns were a common occurrence when docked. Most were meaningless. Still, if the tech was worried, she might use that to advantage.
The door opened. Marq said, ?¢‚Ǩ?ìSee, I told you there was nothing wrong with the panel.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Sometimes the stupidity of the techs exceeded expectations.
Sam ignored her guest, saved the last report, logged off and loosened the harness. The webbing slid into wall recesses with a muffled grinding sound. A breath of fresh air wafted through the chamber. It was not enough to overpower the stench of the tech, but it was enough to remind dulled senses just how filthy the place smelled.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìYou can go now,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù she said. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìTell your buddies on the parasite project that no one gets off this ship until they bathe.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Let them think their extra-curricular projects caused the lockdown.
The tech peeked through the door. He looked both ways, pushed his hands in his pockets and walked out. Sam reached for handholds in the ceiling and let the heavy gravity of the space station pull her straight. She did seven pull-ups before her muscles felt strained. One less than the last time at dock. She was getting weaker. She needed time in real gravity. If the problem with the control panel had no repercussions, she still had two more round trips to go before getting off this bucket and back to her old life.
Sam dropped to the floor. After making sure that everything was neat, she left the module and sealed the door with her code. Since unloading wasn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t scheduled for another three hours, she had time to clean up and visit the station?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s lounge.
Her cabin was barely larger than the command module. Beneath the bunk was a small desk and chair. Beyond was the sanitary. There was just enough headroom to stand and floor space to open the clothes locker.
Anything that could have been brought in to make the space seem like a home was in storage. One of the terms of the assignment was to bring nothing onboard. So instead of a web of delicate antique glass beads there was an assemblage of transparent bits of food wrappers heat welded together into an odd mosaic of green and pink decorating the light panel behind the desk. With the rest of the lights turned off, it made a delicate, mottled pattern on the matte white surface of the desk.
While grabbing a fresh jumper, grey green, like every other jumper on the freighter, Sam called for the lockdown reports. Instead, she got a priority summons to station security. That was not a good sign. Perhaps there was more to the lockdown than goblins.
Two tight-lipped goons escorted Sam to an interview chamber. Furnished with two chairs and a table, the ten by ten cell was spacious by ship standards. With deep gray walls that sucked up most of the light of the single lamp on the table, the place was design to be intimidating.
The balding, pasty faced interrogator studied reports. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìPlease have a seat. Brynhilde Thorensen. Unusual name.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Like the goons, he wore the shiny blue jumper that signified Security. The numbers printed on his neckband were not SD773 like the goons. His was SD055. Not from around here. He was higher in Solocor?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s echelon of corporate security. That was not a good sign.
Sam took the chair. The goons took positions behind her. Did they think she was going to attack someone?
The interrogator never looked up. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWhy did you delay the unloading of your cargo??¢‚Ǩ¬ù
This was getting weird. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìStation Control assigned the unloading schedule.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù As they always did. Lowly freighter captains had no control over station activities.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìAccording to the ship?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s log, Station Control scheduled your unloaders for oh-seven-fifty.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
No wonder there were goons in the room. This guy in the shiny blue jumper was an idiot. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWe weren?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t docked until after oh-eight-forty. Which was right on schedule,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù she added in her most temper-controlled voice.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìYes. I see that now. Thank you.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù He put the reports down and looked straight at Sam. One eye was brown. The other was gray. The grey eye seemed to be focusing on something beyond Sam?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s shoulder. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìHow much do you know about your cargo??¢‚Ǩ¬ù
Was someone trying to use her vessel for smuggling? ?¢‚Ǩ?ìMass only.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù She had to know that much to control the freighter. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìThe numbers checked when I left SD104.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìYes. Your reports are all in order. What I am trying to ascertain is your involvement in the attempted hijacking of your cargo.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù The wandering gray eye focused directly on her.
This was bad. Worse than bad. So the problems with the control panel were more than an innocent malfunction. Were the techs involved? What were Marq and the others doing mucking around in filth?
The interrogator threw a yellow pass card across the table. He went back to studying his reports. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìYour crew has been reassigned. You will remain on the station until a new crew is assigned. Thank you for your time Brynhilde Thorensen.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
She needed a drink. A good, old-fashioned, kick-your-ass under the table kind of drink. Nothing of the sort was going to be found on a Solocor station, but at least one could pretend in the lounge.
A Solocor station lounge resembled the bar on an ordinary station the way a chapel resembled a whorehouse. Both might get you to heaven, but one way was a lot more fun than the other. The lounge drinks tasted fine, but they were carefully engineered not to stimulate, depress, or alter one?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s mood in any way. Even with those limitations, customers were limited to two drinks or one hour, which ever came first. Yet it was the best entertainment the station had to offer.
The place was empty, except for the bartender, Fred. Fred was not his real name. Hardly anyone with Solocor used real names other than for doing business. Fred put a tumbler of frothy, amber liquid on the counter. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìHo, Sam! I heard you were back. First one?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s on me.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù He grinned. It was an old, old joke since no currency ever exchanged hands in the company environments.
Something that pretended to be stronger might have been more to her liking, but Sam had no difficulty polishing off the near-ale in three gulps. She smiled and pretended that the savory brew contained alcohol. Fred poured another. That one sat on the perfectly polished brass bar. Sam watched the bubbles rise and break on the surface. The head grew, then slowly collapsed upon itself.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìI lost my crew.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù On the one hand, she was happy to see them go. On the other, she would never see them again. Even if they had done no wrong, none were likely to ever see work in this sector again.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìLet me see. There was ?¢‚ǨÀúIt?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s not my fault,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Marq; ?¢‚ǨÀúI didn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t do it,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Georg; ?¢‚ǨÀúI?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ll be right there,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Bob; ?¢‚ǨÀúI don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t have time,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Lingo; ?¢‚ǨÀúSomeone took my tools,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Dan. Did I miss anyone??¢‚Ǩ¬ù
Sam giggled. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìOnly ?¢‚ǨÀúBoy, this can?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t be,?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ Evan.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù She took a small sip of her second drink.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìFace it, Sam. Even for Solocor, you had to have the worst crew on record. I say, good riddance!?¢‚Ǩ¬ù He produced a crimson rag, a perfect match to his jumper, and began polishing the bar.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìYou?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢re right.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Fred was the perfect bar tender working at an imperfect bar. He knew how to make a body feel better even if the drink couldn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìDrink up. I bet you have a nice, comfy station bed waiting for you. Everything will feel better after you?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ve had some down time.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù