Vanguard

Chapter 4

“They’re adjusting vector,” Mele commented. “Isn’t that what’s happening?” she prodded the pilot.

The pilot opened her eyes, scanning her display with growing wonder. “Yeah. About twenty minutes ago they started coming over and down toward us. But they couldn’t have gotten your message yet when they did that. Why would they do that?”

“The distress beacon,” Lochan said. “It’s been transmitting for hours, so they would have heard that as soon as they arrived at the jump point, right? They must have reacted to it.”

The pilot’s hand flew through her controls. “We might make it. If they keep coming over to close on us. We might make it.”

“I’ll tell Cassie to keep us alive until we meet up with that freighter,” Lochan said. He stumbled back to the passenger deck, feeling weak from more than the foul air. “There’s a ship on the way to pick us up!” he called. “A big, new, beautiful ship!”

Twenty minutes later, Lochan was back on the flight deck when a message came in from the new ship, one that must have been sent soon after the ship arrived at Vestri. “This is the Mononoke, Brahma Star System registry. We have received your distress signal and are altering vector to meet you.”

Carmen Ochoa sat on one side of a small, square table. She had been asked to be in this meeting because the ship’s files had revealed her past experience at conflict resolution. Seated opposite her was the Mononoke’s executive officer. To her right was the Mononoke’s security chief. To her left was a rumpled-looking man named Lochan Nakamura, who had been leading the refugees from the shuttle. He had a pained expression that occasionally transitioned to a wince.

“Are you all right?” the executive officer asked.

“Yes, sir,” Lochan Nakamura replied. He raised one hand toward his head. “Your ship’s doctor said the headache is because of the life support problems on the shuttle before you picked us up. It should go away soon.”

“The freighter Harcourt F. Modder has demanded that we turn you over to them to face charges for hijacking their shuttle,” the security chief told Lochan.

“We told you what happened and why we did it,” Lochan replied.

“The available evidence, thin as it is, supports your account,” the security chief said. “We have complaints and warnings on file about the way station at Vestri. And we downloaded enough from the shuttle’s systems before letting it go to confirm that it and the freighter both came from Apulu as you say, and not from Varaha as they claimed. That’s enough for me to recommend to my captain that we not surrender you. But none of that is enough to build any sort of case against either the way station or the freighter, even if there was somebody who would act on that evidence. My recommendation is that you all write this off as an expensive detour that could have been a lot worse.”

“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.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “But maybe even just a few people with the right skills, doing the necessary things while everything is still in flux and everybody else is still making up their minds, could influence a lot about what is happening out here. That would be a new start worth making, wouldn’t it?”

He looked at her again, skeptical. “A team effort? I have to admit that my sole success in life so far involved that. What things are you considering necessary?”

“I don’t know exactly. The question is, Lochan… can I call you Lochan?”

“Sure.”

“Can I be personal?” Carmen asked. “You’ve told me that you know what failure is, on a personal level. I’ve seen it on a planetary level. Experiencing failure is important.”

“I’m glad to know it served a purpose,” Lochan said, sounding half-amused and half-bitter.

“People who’ve never failed, never beaten their heads against something that won’t be fixed, tend to think that their own success in whatever they’ve tried is due only to them,” Carmen said. “They don’t realize the external factors that mess with the best plans, and they don’t realize how aspects of themselves can contribute to problems.”

The frown was back, causing Carmen to wonder if she had pushed Lochan too far. “You haven’t talked to Mele Darcy?”

“No. About what?”

“Never mind.” Lochan smiled wryly. “Let’s just say I see your point. I know how things can go wrong when everything you’re doing should be right. But even two people who understand that wouldn’t have much influence.”

“Not back on Old Earth… or Mars. Or in the Old Colonies,” Carmen agreed. “Once a system gets fixed in place, all settled, it doesn’t want to move, it doesn’t want to change. But if you can catch it while everything is still in motion and make a few small shoves, maybe you can change how it settles out.”

He grinned. “A little like Newton’s Laws of Motion applied to human organizations? That’s a weird idea.” Lochan Nakamura paused to think. “It might have a lot of truth to it, too. It can be that way with people, right? Nudge them in the right direction before they make up their minds. But what does that have to do with me?”

Carmen chose her words carefully. “You know how it was. Old Earth kept the law in space for the Old Colonies. What happened in Vestri couldn’t have happened a few decades ago because without the jump drives places like Vestri that are just on the way to somewhere else wouldn’t even have been visited, and because if anyone set up something like that Old Earth would send someone to deal with it. It wasn’t an empire, more like a very loose association of star systems that let Old Earth do the heavy lifting when it came to keeping the peace.”

“That’s true of down,” Lochan objected. “Up, they cut themselves off. They don’t want anything to do with Old Earth or the other colonies.”

“Right. So now humanity is expanding very quickly, all of it apparently down, and there’s nothing keeping any law in those regions.”

“I don’t know enough about it,” Lochan Nakamura admitted again.

Carmen sighed heavily. “I’ve been trying to find out more about it. There’s so much information, so many new colonies springing up in new star systems. And the amount of information lag varies all over the place. Some of the data are only a month or two old, and other bits are several months old or older.”

“Is there anything about Apulu?” Lochan asked.

“That’s a good example,” she said. “There’s almost nothing about Apulu in the files. They registered a colonization plan with the Old Earth authority that people are still registering with, I guess out of habit, and that’s all there is. Apulu is keeping real quiet about itself. Then there’s, um, Scatha. Scatha Star System reads like a perfect little utopia from what it has reported to other places. But then I find information about Scatha buying surplus warships and ground weapons from Old Colonies, and that doesn’t sound quite so much like a utopia, does it?”

Carmen gestured widely. “And there have been some colonization expeditions that just disappeared, apparently going so far down and out that we’ve lost contact with them.”

“Why would anybody go that far?” Lochan wondered.

“I don’t know. A few of those ships were owned outright by business leaders who made no secret about being tired of what they called interference by governments. Maybe they wanted to be able to operate without laws and regulations that restricted their options.” She nodded to herself as a memory came. “There used to be things on Old Earth and on Mars called company towns. A big corporation owned everything, the houses and the stores and the businesses, and everybody worked for the corporation in one way or another. Mars still has places like that though the owners could be considered more like gangs than corporations. Something like that setup could be what the people who went very far out wanted.”

“A whole planet for their playground? I wonder what promises they gave their workers to get them to buy into that?”

“I don’t know,” Carmen said. “They went so far out that it will be a while before the expansion of new settlements encounters them and finds out what came of their experiment in corporate rule.”

Lochan shook his head. “We all wanted some form of freedom from what we’re leaving. But we’re also leaving behind laws and rules that protected people like us and the workers who took their families to those corporate colonies. What the hell is happening?”

“Things that are going to shake out for centuries,” Carmen said.

A man at the next table got up and glared at her. “I couldn’t help but overhear. You’re trying to make a case for some great landlord to keep us all in line, aren’t you? We’ve had enough of that, on Old Earth and on the Old Colonies. My people are finally going to have our own home, at a star we’ve already named Eire. And we’ll thank you to keep your hands away from our home!”

Carmen, having dealt with gang enforcers as a little girl, gave the man a flat, unintimidated look in return. “And what if someone else breaks into your home? What will you do?”

“Tell them to leave off, or fight if we must!”

“Fight? With what? And how well did that work on Old Earth when it was just you by yourselves? Your home was never conquered?”

The man’s glare held a moment longer, then he shook his head. “You know nothing of our history.”

“I know more than you think,” Carmen said, having identified where he had come from on Earth by his way of speaking. “Would you be a happier people with a happier history if you’d had strong friends to call on for help when invaders struck? And if others had known you had such friends, would they have ever invaded?”

He paused to think. “That depends on what price the friends demanded.”

“A friend wouldn’t ask for more than you’d be willing to give, right?” Carmen said. “I’m not interested in trying to force anyone into anything. But it wouldn’t hurt for everyone to know who their friends are, just in case they need them. And to agree on any price before someone is in desperate need.”

“I’ll give you that,” he said in a quieter tone. “Where are you from?”

“Albuquerque.” If she told him the truth, he would probably walk away in disgust and check to make sure he still had his universal wallet.

“Oh?” If he suspected the answer was misleading, he gave no sign of it. “And where are you bound?”

“Kosatka.”

“Kosatka? At least that’s easier to spell.” The man nodded to Carmen, then to Lochan, who had sat silently watching, before leaving the lounge.

Lochan gave her an appraising look. “You are one cool actor. I’d hate to play cards against you.”

She shrugged. “I’ve learned how to deal with people. But my experience in other areas is limited. I can talk one-on-one, but when it comes to groups, I’m not as good.” Carmen rested her chin in her hand as she gazed at him. “It would be nice to have someone working with me, someone I could count on if things get too hot, who could work with groups like I work with individuals.”

He looked down again, grimacing. “I may not be the guy you think I am.”

“Are you the guy you think you are?”

That brought her a smile from him. “You sound like Mele again.”

“And that sounds like a compliment,” Carmen said.

“It is.”

“Are you two…?”

“No.” His smile shifted, becoming wry. “Just good enough friends to be honest with each other. You know, I learned one of the reasons politics is so ugly is because people aren’t honest with themselves. They want things, but they often don’t want to pay whatever price those things demand. So they elect people to do the unpleasant bargaining and trading and trade-offs and compromises for them. And then they look down on those doing the dirty work.”

“You don’t think that’s fair?” Carmen asked.

“Not if you’re one hundred percent honest as a politician,” Lochan Nakamura said. “Not if you cut the best deals you can for the people you’re representing. I know everyone thinks there are never enough politicians like that. And I can’t claim I was perfect. I made a lot of mistakes. I deserved to lose that election. But my recent experience in Vestri showed me I did learn from that, even if it did take a Marine to pound the lesson home for me. Still, if you want a partner in this stuff, you should know who you’re getting.”

“You’re being honest with me?” Carmen asked.

“Yeah, I’m—” He caught himself, grinning. “What kind of a politician am I?”

“The kind I need. The kind that the new colonies may need.”

Lochan Nakamura took a drink, then paused in the manner of someone about to attempt something new. “What are you thinking we should do? How were you planning to do things?”

“We need to start with one of the growing colonies,” Carmen said. “Get in on the ground floor and use what we can do there as… as a lever! That’s why I’m going to Kosatka. It was settled about five years ago and already has a couple of cities and a scattering of towns, growing fast as new immigrants flood in and businesses serve the people and ships going farther down.”

“Are they having trouble yet?” Lochan asked her.

“Some sort of domestic problems, at least as of the date of the information aboard this ship, and it’s going to get worse. If we come in confident and authoritative, people looking for answers will listen.”

“That sort of thing can be misused,” Lochan observed. “I don’t think you’re the sort to do that. Why do you think I won’t?”

“Because someone willing to manipulate others for their own benefit wouldn’t have risked their own life helping everyone else escape from Vestri,” Carmen said.

“How do you know what I was thinking?” Lochan insisted.

“I know everyone was on that shuttle,” Carmen told him. “If you’d just been looking out for yourselves, you and the others could have hijacked the shuttle and left the rest of the passengers behind, instead of risking having the life support fail before everyone got rescued.”

Lochan’s frown was back. “It never even occurred to me to leave the others behind.”

“Yes. That’s the point. That tells me what I need to know about you.” Carmen nodded in the general direction of Mononoke’s bridge. “The captain and I spoke earlier about what happened at Vestri, and she was candid with me. Her bosses at the shipping line are getting increasingly nervous about running ships down into new colony areas. The profits are great, but the chance of major losses just keeps going up. There is going to come a point when ships like this aren’t going to be making runs anymore between the Old Colonies and new places in the down, and when that happens not only does the flood of new people into the newly established colonies like Kosatka get choked off, but so does all the trade.”

He nodded, eyes hooded in thought. “All right. Sign me up to the, uh, team. Here’s to Kosatka and saving the… galaxy?”

“This small part of it,” Carmen agreed. Before she could say anything else, one of Mononoke’s security officers approached the table.

“Lochan Nakamura?” he asked.

“That’s me,” Lochan confirmed. “Is there a problem?”

“We have a passenger in confinement who gave your name as someone aboard who could vouch for her.”

Lochan slapped his forehead. “Mele Darcy?”

“Yes,” the officer said. “Could you come with me? The ship’s executive officer would like to speak with you before you assume responsibility for Darcy, assuming you are willing to do so.”

“I owe her that much,” Lochan Nakamura said. “Citizen Ochoa—”

“Carmen.”

“Carmen, I’m sorry, but I need to see to this.”

She nodded, thinking that this was an opportunity to learn a bit more not only about Lochan Nakamura but also Mele Darcy. “Do you mind if I come along? To provide legal advice if necessary?”

“Would you? Thanks!”

About half an hour later, after a brief talk with Mononoke’s second-in-command, Lochan followed the security officer into the utilitarian part of the ship that a tiny private police force operated out of, still wondering exactly what Mele Darcy had done.

He had also wondered how Carmen Ochoa would handle being in an environment of confinement cells and security officers. Carmen, as best he could judge, was wary, alert, and cautiously polite. Her attitude around the private cops reminded him of someone he had once known who had grown up in a high-crime area on Franklin. Was Albuquerque like that? Lochan suspected that it wasn’t, that Carmen, like his former acquaintance on Franklin, avoided mentioning wherever she had actually acquired that guarded behavior around police officers.

It didn’t bother him. He didn’t want to be judged by his past, either. Wasn’t the whole point of going down and out to get a new start, free from the mistakes of the past?

The officer they were following paused at one door, unlocked it, then gestured back the way they had come. “The paperwork is already processed. You can just walk out with her when you leave.”

“Thank you,” Carmen said for both of them.

Lochan tapped the control pad next to the door and watched it slide open. “What happened?” he called, as much to announce his presence as to ask the question.

Mele Darcy, seated on the small bunk against the far wall, her skin and clothing bearing the marks of fighting, grinned at him. “A bunch of bums in one of the bars were making fun of Marines. I asked them politely to stop.”

“Politely?”

“Well, sort of politely. And then they got very insulting, and I had to defend the honor of my former comrades, right?”

Carmen had stayed back, out of the line of Mele’s sight. Lochan leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms. “How many were there?”

“The bums? Ten.” She paused, scrunching up her face in thought. “Maybe eleven.”

“And you took them on by yourself?”

“Even though I’m a former Marine, that’s still fairly even odds,” Mele explained. “So we discussed the matter among ourselves, no bystanders injured, then ship security showed up and asked me what was going on and I asked if I could finish my beer and they said sure so I did, then they arrested me. Who you got with you?”

“Carmen Ochoa,” she called from outside the cell. “Did security arrest the other eleven in the fight?”

“Maybe later they did,” Mele called back. “You’re that lawyer, right? Doesn’t someone have to be conscious to be arrested?”

“I’m not a lawyer, but I think you’re correct.”

Lochan shook his head, desperately trying not to smile at Mele’s story. “The ship’s officers aren’t happy. The next star system the Mononoke is going to visit is Taniwha. The executive officer told me he would really like to see you leave the ship there along with the passengers already planning to debark.”

“Taniwha? Do you know anything about Taniwha?”

Carmen Ochoa answered. “First settled about six years ago. They have three cities on their primary world and a completed habitat and dockyard orbiting that planet. A lot of ship traffic heading down and coming back up goes through Taniwha.”

“It’s not a dead end, then?” Mele made a face as she thought, rubbing her jaw. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Lochan questioned, surprised at the speed of her decision.

“I needed to get off somewhere. I probably won’t stay at Taniwha, but it’ll give me a chance to look at my options.”

“All right, then,” Lochan said, trying not to look disappointed. “Um… you’ve been released into my custody. I’m supposed to make sure you don’t get into trouble again before Taniwha.”

Mele’s smile turned mischievous. “I could make life hard for you until then.”

“But you won’t,” Lochan said.

“Nah. You’re not so bad. How many days until Taniwha?”

Carmen Ochoa called out the answer. “Three more days in jump space, then three days heading in-system before a transfer shuttle is supposed to meet us.”

“Almost a week?” Mele scratched her head. “Staying out of trouble that long is going to be difficult. Maybe you ought to tell them to leave me in here.”

“Mele,” Lochan said, unable to stop his smile this time. “I think if you wanted to stay out of trouble for a week, you’d manage it without breaking a sweat.”

“You got me, boss.” Mele stood, stretching. “And thanks, uh…”

“Carmen.”

“I’ll pay you guys back for having to handle this. Are the bars still open? It’s on me.”

“They’re serving breakfast,” Lochan said.

“No beer?” Mele asked.

“Do you ever drink coffee?”

“Do I ever drink coffee?” Mele grinned again as she walked out with Lochan. “Hi, Carmen. It’s good to know I’m leaving Lochan in responsible hands.” She waved good-bye to the security officers they passed. “No hard feelings.”

“Just don’t do it again,” one replied.

“I’m good. I wouldn’t do anything that would cause this guy trouble,” Mele said, indicating Lochan. She kept talking as she, Lochan, and Carmen Ochoa headed to breakfast. “Where was I? Coffee. Let me tell you guys about the time I had to stay awake for a week, and there weren’t any official go drugs available. I did it, too. No, really. This actually happened.”

Six days later, Lochan escorted Mele Darcy to the loading dock where the shuttle would mate with the Mononoke.

Mele hoisted her bag as the passengers debarking at Taniwha started filing into the air lock. “Thanks for seeing me off, boss. How come you’re so gloomy?”

“I was hoping you’d stay with us all the way to Kosatka,” Lochan admitted. “You’re the one who told me to start thinking about working with other people instead of trying to do it all myself or giving up.”

“Guilty as charged, but no. Kosatka looks okay, but I’ve got a feeling I should go on a little farther into the dark. I’ll know where I belong when I find it.” She gave him a questioning look. “You and Carmen are both going to Kosatka?”

“Yeah,” Lochan said.

“Personal reasons or mutual business, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Lochan smiled. “Mutual business. Something I haven’t failed at yet.”

“Huh. Remember everything we talked about. It’s not about running it all yourself, making every decision, and making sure you’re the only one who gets credit. That’s not what got us out of a one-way trip to Apulu. Give other people a chance to screw things up just as badly as you can.”

Lochan nodded. “I’ll need to see if other people are as good at screwing things up as I am. Being forced to let you handle things showed me that by insisting on controlling everything, I wasn’t giving others a chance to show what they could do.”

“So what have we learned?” Mele asked him.

He smiled ruefully at her. “That I’m not in this alone. To make the big decisions alone only when I have to, and ask for advice, and to choose people I trust to handle things?”

“And let them handle those things. There, you see? Not so hard. You might even succeed at a few things on Kosatka.” Mele hugged him tightly, then stepped back again. “It was fun serving with you, Lochan Nakamura.”

“Likewise, Mele Darcy. It’s going to be pretty dull without you around. Take care of yourself, Marine.”

Mele grinned. “I’ve got a feeling it might be more exciting than you think if you stick with that Carmen Ochoa. She’s got the look of someone who’s used to being in situations where she has to watch her back.”

Lochan frowned. “You don’t trust her?”

“That’s not what I said. I think you can trust her to watch your back. You’re going to need someone like that without me around.” She gave him a casual salute. “See you later on a ’gator.”

Not sure exactly what her farewell meant, but certain of its friendly intent, he watched Mele walk into the air lock and disappear from his sight. After waiting until the shuttle launched, Lochan headed back to the room he was sharing with some of the other refugees from the Brian Smith. He had a lot to think about.

After Taniwha, the next jump took them to a still-unnamed star that was only visited because it, like Vestri, was on the way to other places that people actually wanted to go. Another red dwarf, the planets orbiting it varied from way too close/way too hot to way too far/way too cold, varying mainly in the color differences between their surfaces of rock or ice.

Which made the presence of a new, small facility orbiting one of the frozen planets all the more surprising. “Another way station looking for suckers?” Lochan wondered out loud to some of the other refugees from the Brian Smith who were eating lunch with him. The Mononoke had arrived in the star system nearly seven hours ago and continued on her way through normal space toward the next jump point while passengers and crews speculated about the purpose and origin of the new facility.

“Maybe worse,” Carmen Ochoa said.

Lochan turned to see that she had just walked up, looking unhappy. “What is it?”

“I just spoke with some of the ship’s officers. Mononoke has received a message from that facility. It said that this star system has been claimed by Apulu and named Turan.”

“They can’t do that,” Lochan said. “Can they? Just lay claim to a star system?”

“Under interstellar law as set forth by Old Earth, no. But who’s going to stop them?” Carmen asked him. “Not Old Earth, I can tell you that.”

“But why would Apulu bother claiming a star system like this? There’s nothing here.”

“Yes, there is.” Carmen pointed outward, beyond the hull of the Mononoke. “There are jump points that ships need to use. The message from the facility said that ships passing through this star system will have to begin paying transit fees to Apulu.”

“Can’t ships go around? Use other stars?” one of the other refugees from the Brian Smith asked.

“Going around would mean a lot longer trip, a lot more time, and more money. If Apulu is smart, and they seem to be playing things pretty smart so far, their fees will be big enough to make this space grab profitable but small enough that ships will pay rather than try to go the long way around to stars like Kosatka.”

Lochan finally understood what Carmen Ochoa was driving at. “Which means the ships will have to add that fee to the cost of heading to stars down from here, which means prices will go up on passenger fees and any cargo carried. Every star down from here is going to end up paying for Apulu’s transit fees.”

“And what’s to stop other star systems from setting up the same toll deal at other unoccupied stars?” a bystander asked.

“Nothing,” Carmen Ochoa said.

“This could choke trade all over the down regions of space,” Lochan said. “The Old Colonies will have to—” He stopped as realization hit.

“Have to what?” Carmen Ochoa asked.

Lochan laughed, the sound low and bitter. “I’ve been a politician, and I’ve been in business. You know what’s going to happen? Everyone is going to look at their bottom lines. How much would it cost to deal with this, and who is going to pay for it? More taxes? On who? The politicians aren’t going to want to touch that for something so far away, not the way things are now. And the big businesses are going to look at short-term expenses and the costs of mounting a military effort to clean out places like this, and they’ll balk.”

“But in the long run—” someone started to argue.

“The long run?” Lochan demanded. “Do you know how hard it can be to get some major business owners to look past the next stockholders’ meeting? This is something that would require just about everyone with a big voice in an Old Colony to be behind it, and too many of those voices won’t want to. Don’t look for help there.”

“Where can we look for help then?”

“Out here,” Lochan told the crowd listening to him. “This is our problem. We have to deal with it. And if we don’t, why should we expect someone else to?”

An easy question to ask. How to get anyone in the fiercely independent new colonies to work together and invest limited resources in ways that benefited others would be a much harder question to answer.