Grayson Sontang in Space - Chapter 2 - Part 1

Chapter 2 Part 1

Grayson shuttled Jersey up to her ship in the wee hours of the standard night and gave him the grand tour. She was curious to see if he would guess where she carried her contraband, but when they finished the tour up on the control bridge, he threw his hands in the air. "I give up. Where is it?" he demanded.

"A girl's got to have some secrets, you know," she replied coyly, thrilled that the crafty smuggler hadn't guessed. He preferred his smuggling on flatland, but he knew ships well enough to suss out most contraband holds. And if he could figure it out, so could the Feds. Grayson popped open a hidden panel in her command console and dug through her various gadgets for defeating customs seals until she found the one she wanted. "I want you to meet someone," she told him. "Say hello to Hal."

"You're not flying solo?" he said with surprise.

"Just say hello."

"Um, hello, Hal."

"Welcome to the Breathless Dragon," the computer replied formally, on its best behavior.

"You named your computer?" he asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Or is that an acronym?"

She shrugged. "I'm lazy. One syllable versus three."

"And I suppose it's one of your vague Earther references that nobody else understands?"

"Hal does, right Hal?"

"You have expressly forbidden me to watch the movie or read the book," the computer replied stiffly.

"Computers watch movies?" Jersey asked, his eyebrow raising even further.

"Turn of phrase," she said with a wave, heading back toward the cargo hold.

"Learned everything he knows from you, I suppose," he said with a shake of his head as he followed her.

"Of course," she replied airily.

"I don't think the galaxy is ready for two of you."

"Careful. Hal might take offense," she said with a laugh. She tossed the anti-customs device to him. "You know how to use one of these, I assume. You start taking the seals off the first 30 crates and I'll be back with your brandy. We'll unload the meat and load up the brandy."

"Sounds like a lot of work," he said doubtfully.

"Nah. The inner crate for the meat is the same size as the crates of brandy. Pop one out and pop the other in. Seal it back up and turn off the freezer unit on the outer shell as soon as customs okays it on the ground."

"What will you do with the meat?"

"The small storage unit on the bottom level has temperature control. I can put it in there until I get more freezer crates." She waved at a warehouse bot as she headed to the back of the hold.

"I don't get to see where you're keeping it?" he asked, hoping to sound deeply wounded.

Grayson only laughed. "Some secrets are just meant to remain a mystery."

"I bet you told Hal," he hollered after her.

She blew him a kiss as she headed out the cargo port. "You're my lover, but Hal's my partner."

"I'm hurt," he shouted as the door closed behind her.

Grayson scowled at the warehouse bot as it insisted on positioning itself in the very center of the freight elevator. When they reached the bottom floor, she pressed the door button twice, causing the back wall of the elevator to rise, then she scowled at the bot again when it tried to go forward out of the elevator. "This way, dummy," she snapped, heading for the large portal into the engine room. Once out of the elevator, she glanced up to the middle level of the cargo hold to make sure Jersey hadn't emerged to try and see where she went. In her business, you learned to trust no one, or you didn't stay in business very long. Still, Jersey was one of the good ones. She entered the engine room and waited impatiently for the bot to follow. When it was finally inside and the door was closed, she turned to look at the massive shell of the hydrogen conversion engine. It was the standard model for the year and make of her ship. Grayson directed the bot to the port side of the room. "Open engine compartment, Hal."

Slowly, almost silently, sections of the seemingly solid engine separated and moved apart. The top half rose, stopping just short of the ceiling of the three-story room. The bottom divided into three segments, with the starboard section moving out to the far wall, the aft section swinging aft and starboard and the smallest port section twisting outward toward the aft wall, providing a roomy access for the warehouse bot and for the thirty crates of Tantalean brandy waiting to be loaded. "Load crates," Grayson ordered as she admired the compact, state of the art Soloid Hydrogen Converter that was the actual engine for her ship. Far more powerful and much smaller than the typical converter, such engines were normally found on space yachts of the rich and famous. Not on traders scraping by with loads of animal byproducts. She had done some fast talking as well as palm greasing to get the Soloid engine installed, convincing skeptical engineers that she was converting the ship into a yacht for a client with more money that sense. Then she had salvaged and installed the shell of an old engine around the smaller one, creating space for contraband as well as a ship that was far faster than any trader had a right to be. Faster even than some of the lumbering Fed ships. Unfortunately, the superfast engine also required a state of the art gravitron field to be able to compensate for the acceleration it could generate. It had taken a good deal of risky smuggling and gambling to raise the money for both.

While the warehouse bot would never rival an AI device, it did know how to load crates and made quick work of the brandy, creaking slightly under the load. Grayson backed it out of the way and ordered Hal to close the compartment, then checked a handy screen next to the portal to be sure Jersey was still in the cargo hold unloading the meat crates. When the sections were all back in place, Grayson opened the portal and led the bot back to the freight elevator, returning to the middle level where Jersey was just finishing up with the meat. They worked together to quickly load the brandy crates into the freezer shells and reseal them with the customs seals. Grayson noted the crate numbers on her paperwork then the warehouse bot was loaded again making several trips to the freight shuttle with both meat and brandy cases. As they glided back down to the moon's spaceport, Jersey gave her the information regarding his pickup men and she dutifully made notes on her paperwork. It wouldn't do to have a meat vendor open a case and find Tantalean brandy, though she suspected few would actually complain about the mix-up.

---

A couple of hours later, she had cleared customs groundside, rearranged her warehouse and already taken orders for almost half the inventory, sight-unseen, before she had even opened the doors. It seemed the unrest in the bordering Siriun sector was making traders and freighters nervous, leading to shortages. It was the sort of run that Grayson savored. She wasn't the nervous sort by any means, though she had no intention of venturing into Siriun space. She may not be nervous, but she wasn't stupid, either.

By three o'clock that afternoon, the last case was going out the door. Always good on his word, Jersey's men had filtered in and out between eleven and one to pick up the crates with brandy, neatly bracketed by and interspersed with real meat vendors. Grayson had made a tidy profit on both ventures and was breathing much easier as her galactic account began to rebound. She was just waiting to sign off on the warehouse rental when Phileas Fogg walked in the doors. She eyed him warily, wondering if he had found out that her Tantalean brandy had hit the market before his. He didn't seem angry, but then she knew how good a poker face he had from their past encounters. She climbed off the fender of the warehouse bot and stood to face him, subtly preparing to defend herself if need be. He hadn't quite reached her, though, when the warehouse manager came through the doors, old fashioned clipboard in hand. He was glancing around and checking off items as he approached and Grayson stepped around Fogg to meet him. She made small talk with him as she signed the paperwork, and was disappointed that he had no desire to inspect anything. She really hoped he wasn't in a hurry to get off work because he'd heard there was Tantalean Brandy in town. She couldn't expect Jersey and his cartel to sit on the information forever. But she desperately hoped it wouldn't get out until after she left and that would be just as soon as she could figure out how to get rid of Fogg.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to face Fogg as the warehouse manager left. "What can I do for you?" she asked with just a hint of impatience.

He shrugged. "I thought perhaps now that your business dealings were done, you might have time for socializing."

She coughed to hide the snort at the suggestion. "Sorry, picked up a touch of space lung."

He was unfazed by mention of the infectious disease. "I know of a nice restaurant. Have you had a chance to eat today?"

"I was just headed off planet," she explained, noting that he was casually moving into a position between her and the doors.

"Before your proceeds clear?" he asked in surprise.

"I only deal with buyers that I trust."

"Even for contraband?" he asked slyly.

"What contraband?" she countered without batting an eye.

"Every trader carries contraband," Fogg replied.

"Really? What are you carrying?" Grayson asked.

Fogg smiled but didn't answer. "I thought you were going to pick up some canistered gas."

"My next stops weren't interested. If you don't mind, I need to be on my way. Perhaps we'll run into each other again when I have more time." Grayson made to step around him but he reached out an arm. She stopped with a silent groan. She didn't want to have to fight him, not that she was afraid of him. Fogg depended more on his cunning than brute strength to make his way in the world, but she feared he would recognize - or at least suspect - her prior persona from her style of fighting, and that would be really bad news for her.

"You're surely not leaving orbit tonight," he argued. "After a long day of shuttling and moving crates. And a long night of love-making with your flatlander."

"I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed, under low grav."

"Then at least show me your ship. I can shuttle back over to mine after a tour."

Grayson rolled her eyes. Traders typically loved to show off their ships, especially new or refurbished ones. She pulled out the only excuse she could think of that Fogg might respect. "I may or may not have some merchandise of a particularly sensitive nature in an open area."

Fogg's lips slowly twitched into a 'gotcha' smile. "Careless. But I promise not to tell," he purred.

"I'm sure you can understand my urgency to get back to the ship and remedy the situation," she said, ignoring his innuendo.

"I can help you stow it properly," he persisted.

"As I'm sure you realize, revealing clever clandestine cargo holds means others will copy you and then the Feds catch on and pretty soon, secret isn't so secret anymore. I appreciate the offer, but sadly must decline." Before he could argue some more, she stepped around him and hurried from the warehouse toward her shuttle bay. As she climbed into the shuttle, in the distance she could see Fogg still standing in the doorway of her warehouse, hands on his hips. She was going through her checklist as someone ran up to him. When he turned from the newcomer to glower at her shuttle, Grayson abandoned the checklist and hit the engines, pushing the thrust all the way to the spaceport's posted limits. As soon as she cleared the port's airspace, she hit the afterburners and called Hal.

"Warm up the engine. We're leaving orbit as soon as I get there. I want the checklist completed before I dock, too."

"May I remind you of the requisite six hours of sleep."

"SHF, Hal. The shit is about to hit the fan."

"And which shit might this be that would meet your established parameters?"

"Someone who wants to kill me."

"Parameter accepted. Warming up engine."

Fifteen minutes later, Hal reported that Fogg's runabout shuttle had left the moon's surface. Grayson swore vehemently, which Hal was no doubt cataloguing for future reference. "Open the shuttle bay. I'll be coming in hot. Set for emergency pressurization. We'll filter and recycle later."

"May I point out the number of toxic gasses..."

"I'll hold my breath," she retorted. "I want the engine fired and the checklist done when I reach the bridge."

"Ground control will require..."

"I'll apologize later. And Hal, I will control the maneuvering exhausts."

"May I point out..."

"No. I have some tricks I haven't taught you yet."

"As you wish," the computer replied, and she could have sworn there was a petulant tone to the tinny voice.

The next hour was torturous as she watched Fogg's shuttle following their orbital trajectory on her simulation screen. She took every shortcut in the book to match orbit and velocity with her ship. Unfortunately, Fogg was a skilled pilot and knew most of the tricks, too. He was following a glide path toward her ship, hoping to slip into her bay before it could close behind her, no doubt. The man could hold a grudge like no other, and he meant to collect his pound of flesh. The question that remained was did he merely want revenge for cutting him out of the brandy market, or had he figured out her previous identity, in which case he would be after a lot more than a pound of flesh. His runabout shuttle had far less mass to push and maneuver than her freight shuttle and he was gaining.

"Hal, when I tell you to close the shuttle bay, I don't want any argument, understood?"

There was a distinct pause, before the computer finally replied. No doubt it had figured out that she was going to give the command before she entered, and had made its own calculations of speeds and clearances. But it did finally concede the point. "Understood."

Grayson glanced once more at the simulation before she shut the monitor down and gripped the controls for her final approach. She purposely overshot the ship, swinging into a wider orbit before hitting the reverse thrusters hard and skidding back straight toward the bay. "Hal, close bay!" she commanded before her nose had even entered. A lesser pilot would not have been able to control and stop the mass of the freighter shuttle in the limited confines of the bay. As it was, she bumped both the far wall and her runabout shuttle, but she settled the freighter into its berth just as the bay door sealed the opening.

Grayson lit up the simulation monitor as a maelstrom of air flooded the bay. She could almost imagine Fogg shaking his fist as he shot past her shuttle bay, locked out, and hit his after burners to head for his own ship. She didn't bother to wait for Hal's okay to leave the shuttle, though alarms screamed at her. Hal had been monitoring the bay though, and the portal opened for her as she held her breath and ran. It slammed shut behind her and she raced for the bridge.

She leapt into the control console chair and did a quick scan of the systems and proximity simulation, grinning wickedly as she spotted Fogg's ship. "Are you sure you don't want me to..." the computer started.

"Nope. I got this," she interrupted, releasing the hydrogen exhaust at the same time as she used the maneuvering thrusters to push the ship down toward the gas giant glowing below them. The Breathless Dragon arced down then rapidly back up toward Fogg's ship and the shuttle racing for his own bay. Another gentle touch on the thrusters turned the ship perpendicular to his. She released more hydrogen exhaust and her ship shot forward, slicing between Fogg's shuttle and his ship. His shuttle was forced to veer away even as she gave her engine enough throttle for escape velocity and left the gas giant in the rear view mirror - or screen, as the case may be.

Grayson slapped her hands down on the control console. "Hah! That will teach him to try to avenge a trade deal gone bad. It'll take him at least a half hour of maneuvering to get back in position to dock. By then, he'll cool off and realize he needs to go back moonside and make the best of things. We make a great team, Hal."

"Filtering air systems," the computer replied.

"Don't be cranky. Plot a course to the jump point."

"Plotted."

"Well then, put it on screen. And I'll need options for Deneb. We can pick up a hold full of legit cargo there." She looked at the screen that Hal threw up. "Okay, I'm going for fifteen gees for two hours. Then I'll want some food and coffee and I'll look at your options before we make the rest of the run to the jump."

"Understood."

---

"Hal, didn't I tell you to avoid Siriun Sector?"

"Yes, you did."

"Then why are you showing me a transit jump in Siriun Sector?"

"'Avoid' is not an absolute. 'Do not enter Siriun Sector' would constitute an absolute. Since your parameters instruct to give added weight to trip time over risk factors, I have included a relatively low risk, ten-hour transit through Siriun Sector which would save approximately six days over the next shortest route."

"Shit. That's the twin wormhole system?"

"Yes."

"Shit, shit, shit. Six days? What's the most recent traffic report from the vicinity."

"Yes, six days under optimum circumstances. The most recent traffic report is three standard days old."

"Put it up," she sighed.

Grayson threw herself back in her chair dramatically. "Great. Pirates and Siriun Confeds."

"The Siriun Confederation is stating that all ships passing between the wormholes will receive Confed escort."

"For a small fee. I'd rather deal with the pirates."

"The release does not mention fees."

"Yeah, well, they don't always put everything in black and white. What's the speed limit?"

"The published limit is twelve AU per standard day. The vortex is rated for fourteen."

"Okay, on this end it's sixteen, which might be enough that an escort wouldn't be able to match velocity before we reached the other vortex. How soon would we have to start braking to get down to fourteen on entry?"

"Two point three hours."

Grayson rubbed her forehead. "So, if it's escort duty it's probably light fighters, less mass than us, faster acceleration. Wouldn't dare follow us through, though, because that would put them in Fed space."

"May I suggest a rest period before making a critical decision?" Hal asked.

"Has Fogg's ship left orbit?"

"No."

"Maybe an hour then," she agreed reluctantly.

"Six hours," Hal insisted. "SHF bypass can be cancelled as the crisis has been averted."

"He still wants to kill me," she pointed out, using the trigger word.

The computer paused, trying to reconcile whether the parameters had been met. Grayson rose and stalked to the portal. "One hour," she said.

An hour later, Grayson stalked back into the control room, still irritated with the choices she had. In space, one called it being stuck between a rock and an asteroid. Same difference. Six extra days of floating in space was forever for a trader. She had spent the hour trying to come up with a different destination, but she was running empty and Deneb was the best, nearest place to fill her holds with cheap, desirable goods, including a certain high value contraband that was in demand just about any place she might choose to go after.

"Okay, Hal. You win. We'll take the shortcut through Siriun space."

"I wasn't aware it was a contest," Hal replied. "I was merely..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just give me the plot. We'll accelerate slowly up to sixteen to hit the vortex on this side. Turn off our beacon as we enter. When we emerge in the transit zone, we'll do a nice quiet glide and hopefully be far enough away from their mass detectors that they won't see us until we begin braking. What will that reduce our transit time to?"

"Just under eight standard hours."

"Good. Okay. We can do this." She slid into the control console and glanced at Hal's figures for the rest of the trip to the vortex. At least the gee forces would keep her awake.

---

"Normal space in 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1," Hal counted down, as the screen at the front of the room shifted from spectroscopic streaks to a recognizable star field. Grayson slowly relaxed. She couldn't help it. Hyperspace always made her hold her breath and tense up. Anybody with a clue as to just how warped time and space became inside a wormhole had the same reaction. "Mass detection," Hal reported and she immediately tensed up again.

"Who!" she demanded. It had to be a who. Even the Siriuns in their petty feuds wouldn't allow random rocks to float around in the vicinity of wormholes.

"Beacon indicates Siriun Confederation Class B Fighter ID 89564. Incoming communication."

"Unknown private craft. Identify yourself. This is SCF 89564."

Grayson thumbed the switch. "One moment please." She toggled it back off. "Hal, simulation. What is that fighter doing?"

Hal switched the main screen to a simulation, showing the vortex they had just emerged from and slightly behind both them and the vortex, two Confed fighters. The closest one showed the ID of the one that had hailed them. "Fighters are accelerating to match trajectory," he reported, unnecessarily, since the simulation showed their hydrogen exhaust. "I am reading eight Class B Fighters in the immediate vicinity of the transit jump, running intercept patterns."

"Any other traffic?"

"A large yacht to port at twelve degrees declination. It might be adrift. No engine or maneuvering activity evident."

"Power?"

"Beacon is functional but weak, possibly on battery. General power indeterminant given distance."

"It may have been attacked by pirates. Boost power to mass detection. And turn our beacon on."

She toggled her comm system. "This is Breathless Dragon out of Harmony."

"It is against Siriun Confederation law to run without beacon, Breathless Dragon."

"I know. I'm sorry, sir. I was worried about pirates."

"Notification went out that this transit jump would be escorted."

"I saw that. But I'm a woman traveling alone and I was scared." The computer made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snicker and she glared at the banks on the starboard wall. "I promise I'll keep my beacon on, sir."

"Slow to ten AU/D and prepare for boarding."

"What! Why? Just because I didn't have my beacon on? Sir," she added as an afterthought.

"You are registered as a trader. Siriun Confederation retains the right to stop and search any vessel suspected of carrying contraband. You entered Siriun space running dark. That is sufficient probable cause for a search."

"Don't you have a civil war to fight or something," she snapped.

"Not today," came the reply. "You have five minutes to begin deceleration."

Continued in Chapter 2 - Part 2

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