Risk Analysis

By David Collins-Rivera

In the future, you always have options about a job: take it or leave it.

There's peace in the galaxy, but that doesn't mean it's safe. Interstellar treaties are signed, but that doesn't mean they're kept. A Civilian Class Gunner can be among the best in his field, but that doesn't mean he's working.

Until these things converge, and a secret comes to light that could set the galaxy aflame!

Ejoq Dosantos finds himself on a covert cruise to an out-of-the-way star system; a place where ships should not be going. With a cyborg captain, a hung-over engineer, bickering data analysts, and a mission leader who is more than he seems, doing the job turns out to be only half the job!

Space battles, international politics, and assassins in the shadows.

Times are changing...and Ejoq might not live to see what comes next!

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Collins-Rivera
• Release date: Nov 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370082964

David Collins-Rivera

David Collins-Rivera makes his home in the high desert of Arizona.

Book preview

one

---

The message caught up with me while I was on a quick stopover on Benton, in Dereeva. I was walking over to my current berth's corporate office on-station, in order to sign up for a six-month hitch. Things had been working out well as a member of the support team for the Assistant Engineer aboard Pietr Zivkov, a huge mixed hauler on an established, dedicated run. The AE and I got along, and the others on the team left me alone, so we got along. I'd been offered a half-year position, subjective time, and had decided to go for it.

The note was from a placement agent I worked with over on Circlet, in Juniper System.

SUBJECT: UH Wants To Talk -- Final Meeting, I Promise!!!

I was about to delete it out of hand, because I was well and truly sick of United Humanity, with their back-and-forth, bureaucratic crap. This would mark the third face-to-face with them, on top of two conference calls, and a separate meeting with my lawyer to sign applications, forms, and NDA's. All this, just so we could meet long enough for them to decide if I was the right guy! First they loved me; then they were undecided; then the project was scrapped; then it was on again; then they loved me...

I'd only gone this far into the process because UH was a feather in any spacer's cap -- and a job reference from them would be a door-opener. The money was attractive too -- several times the going rate for a civilian gunner of my experience, and I was near the top of the curve. But their red tape was mind-numbing, and the delays had gotten so ridiculous, I'd had to take a number of short runs to pay the bills. For the six months previous, I'd been doing in-system materials transit, one-jump passenger busing, route courier work, and even a one-off on-station gig, helping with Circlet's big atmo system referb. Anything I had a cert for, in other words.

Except ship defense.

The industry was drying up.

I could say it now -- to myself anyway.

Fleet had been focusing on piracy and inter-system conflicts for the last couple of years, and they had really made space a safer place to travel. That meant civvie gunnery, as a profession, was looking less tenable. Owners and companies alike were beginning to question the financial wisdom of installing and maintaining dedicated fire control stations on their ships, to say nothing of the expertise to run it. A few automated defense products had come out, too, which were selling big. I hated to admit it, but some of those dedicated AI's were pretty good, and if the ship could defend itself, why would anyone need me? That had been said to my face several times within the previous year, and I was beginning think there was some handwriting on the wall I couldn't read.

So I used my Class IV Systems Engineering Certification, and my Alliance Cargo Mate's Badge, and even my 2nd Degree Commercial Passenger Handling License, instead of working in the one field I considered my calling. It kept me in motion, and kept wildly-differing pay rates coming my way. It was work, in other words, and I had no right to complain.

So here was UH again, offering me a shiny gunnery carrot. Really good money; sole responsibility for ship defense; travel and accommodation differentials; and even a (vague) promise of buying out any current contracts, if it all worked out.

It was an echo!

Why should I should trust it? Passing on a solid six months aboard Pietr Zivkov was flat-out risky.

United Humanity, Inc. was a massive negotiation outfit, a go-between for hire with a track record that spanned the stars. Big corporations and government bodies all across settled space used UH for ending union squabbles, military uprisings, student sit-ins, and company takeovers. No job was too small, no cause too obscure, and they were very well known and admired. It was exactly this rep that made me say yes to the first meeting. Doris Malover, my agent of several years by that point, had mentioned a couple of freelance job notices, but she'd stressed this one as a prime opportunity. Now it was just seeming like a lot of talk.

My first impulse aside, I grabbed an espresso at a coffee bar on the far end of the docks, and opened her message as I watched traffic trundle by on B-Dock Avenue. Doris' perky, matronly face and preternaturally sculpted hair (black and blond this time), jumped into my field of vision with a head gesture. My ocular display implants (or retinals) were convenient for this sort of thing, with the associated bone conducting speakers implanted in my upper jaw providing a thin version of Doris' bold grumble. She was a real pistol, and I liked her -- but this song and dance routine had gotten wearisome, so I watched and listened with skepticism.

"Hey, Ejoq, it's me. Okay, Emaross Basta stopped by. From Meerschaum? We met him at the second meeting. He says they have the go-ahead from UH at last. I know, I know we've heard that before, but this time it's happening: I looked over the Fourth-List details of the job, and it's pure! I had to sign a confidentiality just for that! They showed me the budget outline, and I saw names. You never see names until it's real, trust me. Get yourself back here! I have until Day 227 to produce a gunner with your certifications, so it's either you or Beth Fl'torra -- and I hate her, so don't make me give her any work! Between you and me? I'm trying to get her to drop us. She's high maintenance and low profits. You, on the other hand...you are my golden boy! We love you, and want you to book this job! Emaross told me they usually recruit from Prill and Associates, but they had a directive come down saying they had start opening up their bids, and spread the love around. Prill does supply Defense Techs, so, if Meerschaum can't get what they need from Rapid Placers, they'll go right back to those guys. Where are you anyway? Get over to Circlet right now! Love and kisses!"

I'm not sure she took a breath the whole time, but that was Doris all over.

So it was really happening this time.

Or not.

Again.

I wasn't sure what to think, so I tried not to.

I spent time watching the news...

Local political squabbles. (Something about a new tariff the retailers are up in arms about.)

A stationer, here on Benton, has won the Interstellar Sweepstakes for this quarter. (Lucky so-and-so!)

Churchspace has unveiled a huge vessel, christened Ataxite, that they carved from a single asteroid. Referred to as a cathedralship, it's beautiful to look at, but ridiculously slow to start and stop; while the cost overruns have thrown their entire Territory into recession. (Idiots!)

A few new comedy vids will be hitting the nets soon. (One or two seem pretty good.)

Oh! Hailey Gardette has another album out. She looks great for her age! And without any gene-sculpting. (Or so her publicists swear.)

As I say, I tried.

As soon as Pietr Zivkov off-shifted its current load, my contract with them was complete. The ship would then be off to Stereon Waypoint, twelve light-years away. Now would be the time to re-up for a long-term position, while the ship's office was handy and the offer was fresh.

On the other hand, Circlet, over in Juniper System, was just one stop from here.

I took a sip of coffee, and made a few quick gestures in the air that the wristcomp strapped to my left arm recognized as a search command. It piped the ship arrival and departure schedule for Stereon directly to my retinals, and I scrolled through tables and announcements superimposed over my vision. Regular passenger jumps were being pushed out every single shift to Juniper (and then, on to Circlet Station, only a few hours inside the primary's gravity shadow). That would make for a fast trip in cold passage.

It would also make me lose a berth I'd been recommended for by an officer. A written endorsement from a lifer like that would easily snag a half-year hitch from the home office...

As one of seven assistants to the Assistant Engineer.

Doris, I dictated, after a gesture brought up my mail program, "I'll be in your office by late midshift on 224. I'm in!"

---

This is a Priority Account, gentlemen, Heloise Franka explained to us.

Us was a Meerschaum mission supervisor named Siddel Ayagotanii, who was familiar with the bordering star systems in Corporatespace, and me.

It was Heloise's job to make sure we wowed the UH folks: they weren't legally bound to agreements with sub-contracting services until they signed off on all the people involved. In this case, that would be after the first personnel meeting. United Humanity had a mission that needed to be performed, and Meerschaum and Associates, ILLC, a wholly-owned subsidiary of Swain-Bellows Diversified Holdings, Inc., was a mid-level sub-contractor specializing in space-based security operations.

I would also meet the crew then (or the proposed crew -- UH could ask for changes in the roster), and finally learn the general nature of the cruise. Siddel was, essentially, a field rep, and as a friend, my personal advocate for the job. He'd worked hand-and-hand with Doris, and was the inside man, putting my name forward. He wouldn't be on the actual cruise, but his help in getting the job had been essential.

I was past the NDA's, contracts, and forms by this point. My IDent verification, Cross-Border Pass validity, and professional certifications had all been confirmed. Doris, wishing me the best, was now past her own security clearance, so she was out of the picture. From this point on, it was up to me to secure the position, and help make the cruise happen. The other crew members should have been in this stupid little meeting, too, but I was the only one on-station yet. The other five were scheduled to converge here within the next couple of days, but for the moment, I had to smile and look eager for all of us.

"If Meerschaum delivers what United Humanity wants on this one, we'll be looking at a long-term relationship. UH is required to verify that all their negotiated deals are maintained. They need covert action groups, but they don't need us, specifically. Our Senior veep for Long-term Planning, Danny Grecco, took me aside and strongly emphasized the importance of this contract. Now I'm telling you boys. UH ends up happy. No other outcome is acceptable. We're clear on that?"

I affirmed that indeed I was -- doing my eager, smiley best to seem like this mattered for all the reasons she said it did, and wasn't just the first gunnery gig I'd been able to score in almost a year. Siddel simply nodded like a vaguely menacing spook, which always sold the image of complete competence and comprehension to the management types. I knew him from outside the company, and he was actually nothing like that. The cagey spy crap was a show, and the suits ate it up with a spoon. It was hard to keep a straight face when I looked at him, in fact, so I concentrated on Heloise's tie, which was hideous. To be sure, Siddel did have some experience and training, though maybe not as much as he implied to his bosses. We'd met about a year before at a general DefTech conference over on Raindrop, and hit it off immediately.

He was a Senior Field Agent for the company, and Designated Planner/Handler for this mission. He hadn't been legally free to talk details with me beforehand, but we'd gotten together at various points in the hiring process, and he'd at least been able to toss out some monetary ballparks that had made my wallet stand up and take notice.

Now, I won't be here for the meeting on 230, Heloise continued. "I have a supercorp conference on The Moors. Yes, that's right: every branch of Swain-Bellows. If I can't report that Meerschaum has UH in the bag, I may as well stay home...and I'm not staying home."

"Oh...they'll like us all right," Siddel spoke with such gravitas and implied consequences for failure that I had to cover a guffaw with a coughing fit.

Wrong pipe, I croaked, pushing my water glass away, then I muttered something reassuring, and held my face as still as I could manage.

After that, our Meerschaum manager ran down a list of other nonsense and details we were already fully versed in, then jumped to gather up her jacket and bags when her retinals popped up a reminder of her impending departure. She gave us the Tough Face, then shook our hands, wished us luck, and walked out. Siddel and I gave her a count of ten to get fully out of earshot, then burst into laughter.

Okay, he said, after our mirth, "now that we have the go-ahead from Heloise, I can give you a general overview. This is your last chance to bow out without breaking your contract. If you don't like the job, you aren't obligated to press on. If you agree to go forward, though, you will be bound to the agreement. I know you know all that, Ejoq, but I had to say it anyway. Clear?"

Yeah, yeah, Sid! Give.

All right. This is a treaty verification job. You probably guessed that much, with UH involved.

I did. The question is which side of which border?

"Corporatespace. Their side. Covert."

I'd been to Teamspace many times, on commercial runs, but never on a job like this. The tech of the military/security branch over there was uniformly high, and their weapons and training uniformly impressive. A secret mission on that side of the border would require extra care.

Suspected violation?

"I haven't been told yet, but it seems likely. The UH reps will be here by the end of the week, and they'll give us the rundown. Keep in mind, whatever this is, it'll be a legal mission -- covert or no."

I grunted in derision.

"For whatever that's worth when weapons go hot."

He nodded in agreement and spread his hands.

"If you get caught, Corporatespace authorities are supposed to just impound the vessel, and deport you all, unharmed, under a special immunity clause. Things can, and often do go wrong in those circumstances, so failure's a poor option. I was field rep for a job that went south over in Noblespace a few years back. They threw the crew in detention and beat them during interrogations. Put the Mission Leader into a coma."

Well, there's motivation for excellence.

Union regs in the Alliance, he continued, "require a Licensed Gunner aboard any cruise that has an acknowledged potential to turn ugly -- even peace missions like this one. You'll be there in case you're needed, but only as the very last resort. Both UH and Meerschaum expect you to be little more than a passenger on this trip. We have to be clear on that, Ejoq."

"You're clear to me. I'll do everything in my power to not do my job."

He nodded with a laugh, and we got up to go.

He had a lunch date with his boyfriend, but I walked and talked with him part of the way. We chatted some more about the gig, keeping details vague, since we were now in public. Even that much was a woeful breach of Meerschaum's security protocols, since we could be targeted by competing interests, and be under surveillance even from Day-1 as per the guidebook I'd been hammered with upon sign-up. This had never been known to actually happen, but it was somebody's job to come up with the rules, so I didn't fault them for making a point of it.

I didn't sweat it either.

No, I don't know any of them, personally, outside of you, he told me, in reference to the other crew members, but your Mission Leader comes down through Swain-Bellows with a good rep. We can probably have him bounced if he seems like a tool, but that would be another delay.

Wait and see, I guess.

I'm sure he's fine, he agreed, then hesitated, and posed, Ejoq, you really ought to consider leaving field work behind. It's not too late, even now. A guy with your experience could land a training position easy.

Is something opening up in Meerschaum?

"No, we don't do any in-house training, but I know a few people. If you're interested, I can ask around. I mean, let's be real: commercial gunnery might be gone as an industry in ten years time. Sure, if Meerschaum starts getting contracts from UH, we'll be looking for talent on a regular basis, but you know how these things go. One committee recommendation on austerity and all the active contracts get canceled. These big arrangements come and go on the breeze. I'm looking for new digs, myself: this field rep thing is all commission-based. And I'm tired of dancing for these suits, man!"

Maybe I'll apply for your job, then, I laughed, but he just shook his head disgustedly.

You can have it.

He was serious, I could see. Frankly, I thought the problem was exactly the opposite: I needed to get back into field work.

We parted ways at an intersection, where he caught a tik-tik cab. I'd see him every day for the next week or so, as the mission came together, but, then after that...?

Based on the conversation, he might not be with Meerschaum anymore by the time the mission was completed. That would be one less reason to stay with them, myself, even if they had more work.

Doris would have called me crazy for any ambivalence, but she was all about the payday. When I needed one, she was a good person to talk to. When I needed perspective on my career as a whole, maybe someone from the profession had a better view of things. Siddel's advice wasn't unwelcome, therefore...but the thoughts that sprang up because of it were.

---

By midshift on Fiveday that same week, we were back in the conference room. This time it was a full house.

From Meerschaum, it was Siddel, and a guy named Emaross Basta -- the one Doris had mentioned in her note. He was cut from a similar cloth as she, with the same boundless energy and friendly demeanor (his hair was okay, though).

From United Humanity, Inc., it was a Strategic Account Planner named Annia Wi'iloni. She was a striking older woman with long poker-straight black hair, and some obvious gene sculpting that made her look young -- possibly by decades. Soft-spoken, and somewhat shy at first, Annia was clearly motivated. She'd arrived with lots of data, and a goal she seemed eager to impart.

For the assembled crew, we had our Mission Leader -- one, Christmas Giordano, or just Chris. He was a man of middle years, with receding hair and a strong physique. Professional and observant, he came across as sharp and ready to work.

The pilot and commander of the ship was a woman in her thirties, named Mavis Singleton. Her head was bald, and she bore several covered ports on different parts of her skull. Pilots with neuro-cybernetics had to have a special certification clearing them as fit for flight, and I had no doubt Meerschaum had seen to this detail. All four of her limbs were full replacements, too: advanced mechanical prostheses, sporting teal bioplastic coverings that went really well with her black turtle-neck sleeveless shirt and matching shorts. Her blue eyes looked biological, but I learned later on, in casual conversation, that they were also replacements, and a real point of pride.

The mission would sport not one, but two dedicated sensor and data technicians. The nature of the job was about gathering information from a distance, so these two were really the stars of the meeting. John Barsons was a young man, maybe in his early twenties. He was short, with dark hair and a cool blandness that struck me as an affectation. He was designated as Sensor Specialist 1, or just SS1, and ostensibly in charge of that aspect of the mission. In reality, his focus was more on the hardware side of long-range surveillance, so he'd really need to be in close partnership with SS2 -- a tall woman with big hair, named Stinna M'renda. She sat at the meeting taking copious notes with a bland expression that didn't look affected.

Our engineer was a man who was, maybe, in his early forties. His name was Dieter Voxel. He sat at the end of the table, slouching back in his chair. He had on a navy blue flight suit, and was either starting on a beard, or needed a shave. He had brown, slightly tossed hair, and a narrow jaw. I would have thought him very hung over, to be honest, but he followed everything Annia said, and even asked intelligent, clarifying questions throughout the meeting.

And then there was Ejoq Dosantos, for Guns.

Everyone offered nods of greeting when I was intro'd, which I returned with a measured smile. I tried to be less testing, less deconstructing than was my usual, because it could be off-putting, and I wanted this gig to go well. After this first bit of attention, though, I must have pulled a Cheshire Cat; in short order, I was invisible. Clearly, they had no idea why I was here, and I was beginning to wonder the same.

Reaching up to the Tri-D image above the table, Annia dragged over the stellar map that was holographically displayed, until a red border marked, Montaro TransStellar Commercial Federation, appeared. She moved it passed this line, slightly, then stopped and zoomed in on a smaller area.

"Javelina Region, she pronounced, highlighting the area for a few moments, wherein it glowed yellow. A point of contention some five years back, you may recall. The Alliance and Teamspace went tit-for-tat, building up forces in secondary positions, two jumps back from the border. Publically, this was just a strategic distribution of forces on both sides, but to the Senate Fleet Committee, it was looking like a border war waiting to happen."

I thought that was resolved, Dieter put in, raising a finger. Didn't Fleet and Team forces agree to pull back?

Yes, she stated, zooming the map in further to a single star system in the region. "UH got the contract to negotiate a military reassignment treaty, resulting in The Javelina Reduction Agreement. It seemed to go very well."

The star was marked simply, 216-11B. The annotations that dropped down next to it on this level of detail described a main sequence star, well past its prime. It was 11.8 light-years under the galactic plane, and bore a single large gas giant just shy of brown dwarf status. A small cyan square under the star showed it was a system that only had basic mapping details on file. This could have been for many reasons, but the map notes indicated that 216-11B was not along any regular routes, and nothing especially compelling had been found on the first survey pass, however many years ago.

That wasn't one of the contended systems, was it? I asked, not recognizing it from any media stories I could recall. I tried to keep half-an-eye on current headlines, if for no other reason than to learn about areas of...well, opportunity for a guy in my field. This system rang no bells.

No, she confirmed, then zoomed in even further to display the stellar layout as it was known. She kept the star system focused in the center, but added movement notation to show its direction of travel in the larger star cluster that the region encompassed.

A giant hydrogen/helium planet designated PS2GG, revolved around the primary at about 400 million kilometers distance. With a flick of her fingers, Annia opened up a drop-down menu and chose an option. Instantly, bright yellow and pulsing red points of light began to appear on the outer edge of the system. Each light flared a bit, then went out as others popped up next to them, seemingly at random. Date codes accompanied each light's appearance, but the tall woman turned them off when it started getting too busy to follow.

That's a lot of traffic, Mavis commented, pointing a pastel finger at the starjump points.

For a system of no importance, yes it is, Annia added, letting us see the threat for ourselves.

"Formally no importance, Siddel said, then reached up and rewound the timeline of the jumps to the start of the sequence. Three years? Why is UH only getting interested now?"

"Well, I've been following this almost from the start, she replied, but I was still a Junior Planner with the company back then, and no one lets juniors run their own initiatives. This kind of activity gets the attention of the Senior Planning staff eventually. Since it's been my baby all along, and I have a little time with the company now, I was able to score the lead."

That makes sense, Stinna put in, evenly.

Thank you. UH upper management is watching this one closely. That's why it came together so quickly.

I couldn't help snorting over that. I got a few looks, but Emaross stood up then, and Annia gave him the floor.

Here's the mission, he stated clearly. The assembled specialists in this room will starjump across the border to 216-11B, and collect as much detailed information as possible. This system wasn't the cause of those previous disputes, but it's in a region covered by the treaty. If there is a significant presence of Corporate Security Space Branch in that star system, it's a clear breach of the agreement negotiated by United Humanity, Inc. Such a breach must be reported, and new negotiations opened immediately. In short, it would represent an agreement that didn't stick. That's bad for international relations, and it's bad for business.

It's also a potential new account, Annia added. "A violation in this instance would require a whole new treaty to be put into place, and UH management is very interested in that as well."

How much detail are we talking about? John Barsons put in. If they've moved in even as far as that planet there, amassing vessel specs from way out on the edge of the system will be a fishing expedition.

Yeah, Chris agreed. Are you sure you want this done covertly? Going in openly, and with immunity, could get the job done in just a few days.

The original treaty, she explained, "called for independent spot checks on both sides. That means private contractors for AIN and Corporate, with no forewarning to be given to either party. Since jumping into military stations unannounced is a good way to start a war all on its own, covert verification is required. It's understood by all parties to be occurring, but it's only legal in the areas of space covered by the treaty. This happens to be one of them now."

"Now?" Chris asked.

Annia hedged visibly, then dragged down a flowchart over the map, highlighting each detail as she spoke.

"When the treaty was negotiated, 216-11B was considered to be just outside the contended region, and it doesn't appear on the list of systems in that agreement. Just over three years ago, however, the AIN Survey Corps proposed an update to their mapping protocols, with new formulas and a new point-of-origin within the galactic core. It's set to go into effect in 47 hours. This is public knowledge, but its implications haven't trickled down through the levels of bureaucracy yet."

Why do the new maps put this system inside the negotiated area? Dieter asked, still slouching, still hung over. Why doesn't the area itself move with the new reckoning?

The UH rep pointed to a particular text bubble on the flowchart, marked TREATY. It opened up another map -- this one a large overview of both The Alliance of Interstellar Nations, and The Montaro TransStellar Commercial Federation, collectively making up just the tiniest portion of the Orion Arm. The small section encompassed by the treaty was highlighted, pulsing red, with vector lines radiating out towards the capitals of both Territories.

"The area in question, like with most treaties, was not based off Galactic Core measurements, but rather, Territorial ones. The claimed boundaries of the two powers don't change simply because survey methods on one side or the other do. Such things require extensive political negotiations. Here in the Alliance, the Senate is concerned with politics, while Fleet, which actually has to travel across the stars to do its job, utilizes all the latest technical improvements and innovations in navigation methodology."

In other words, Emaross clarified, the new maps, which depict a piece of the moving galaxy, have put 216-11B inside an unmoving treaty zone. If the Handshake is using this star system for the same kind of military buildup as before, the Alliance needs to know about it.

And United Humanity, Annia concluded, "wants any information the Senate needs before they even know they need it. This would position us as the only negotiation service for a new treaty that makes any sense. It would be an Alpha level contract for UH, because boundary agreements for the entire length of the border will have to be renegotiated."

Big money? I asked.

"Very big. UH would see returns for up to two decades after pulling together such a signing package. As a result, I've been given full access to the emergency slush for any verification duties associated with The Javelina Reduction Agreement. This mission will reflect that level of funding. We want this done quickly, cleanly, and quietly."

And that brought her part of the meeting to a close. As the Strategic Account Planner for this UH mission, she would be available for questions and consultations right up to the time of launch, but the actual hands-on planning would be ours. Annia shook hands all around, thanked us, and walked out with Emaross, her Customer Field Representative from Meerschaum (or assigned toady, whichever you prefer).

That left the crew alone with its own handler, and Siddel stood up to switch views on the Tri-D.

Okay folks, he said, let's get started.

OOOOOOOOOO

The nature of secure communications between national governments is quite involved. There's no magic button that puts one official's foreign counterpart, many light-years away, up on a comm screen for a friendly chat. An extensive corral of reliable starjump-enabled vessels, either manned or automated, must be maintained right at a system's jump point. Each of them are kept in continual standby mode, ready and waiting for any diplomatic or military missives that must go out.

In a modern context, these interdimensional transits are continuous, since there's always something two neighboring powers need to talk about. There are standard protocols, therefore, on both sides of any given border for facilitating and expediting governmental communications.

It's how such things as lightning fast deals surrounding misplaced property can possibly be organized. It's how all the logistics are smoothed out, and how all the people the powers-that-be want involved in such meetings can be named, summoned, and assigned priority berths in a timely fashion.

And it was how, within eight days of my return to the Alliance, I was on my way back to Corporatespace.

OOOOOOOOOO

two

---

I smelled the lingering ozonic scent of cold passage long before waking up. It was a comfort: an odor I had come to associate with travel, with moving. And movement was life.

I dozed, or so it seemed, because I had a vaporous little dream concerning a ship I didn't know and a vidstar I couldn't make out, but they were one and the same, somehow. The ozone was her perfume. In my mind, I was witnessing it all from within one of those awful refridgerant sleep boxes you could still find on some of the cheaper ferries over in Noblespace (I could see and smell right through the white enamaled metal). It made sense in the dream, but by the time I opened my eyes, it was all just fading shadows.

Blinking stupidly in the subdued light, I listened to murmuring voices that drifted from somewhere forward. I closed my lids deliberately after a bit, rapidly moving my eyes in the pre-defined pattern that brought my retinals online. The wristcomp was in my locker nearby, so all I had was optical data for the moment.

I was on my back, staring at a few segments of the dark polynium roll-top lid, now retracted, that covered my bunk whenever suspended animation was required. An innovation in compact travel, integrating a cold passage unit into a crew member's sleeping space was very slick indeed.

The ship was special on a number of fronts, and the aggressive knowledge that I was part of a mission with international ramifications, even in the midst of freeze tube confusion (fading fast), brought me to a very...shall we say, professional frame of mind.

Regardless of mental faculties or work ethics, my limbs weren't responding well yet. It was too soon to get up, but I wanted to anyway. I'd crossed far more light-years via cold passage than I had by waking trips over the course of my career, and most of that was going to and from interviews, scrambling after vague appointments, and dashing across vacuum in order to make call times. Actual work constituted only a small percentage of my career, travel-wise. In fact, I was looking at the million light-year mark coming up soon.

That, and hard credit, would buy me a cup of joe anywhere.

They were all awake up there, talking easily. It sounded mission-related. That struck me as rude, not waiting for the Licensed Gunner on the cruise to join them before starting on the job, but I wasn't going to complain. Getting up with a crabby attitude was hardly endearing. Anybody who'd ever worked as a spacer, or travelled much between the stars, had invariably shipped with people like that. The eternal goal was not to be one of them.

My head was a little poundy, and I felt dehydrated, but otherwise this had been an easy one. Eight weeks frozen, combined subjective and real time. That was forty-eight weeks of life support saved on, when you added everybody up. That gave our mission an extended Action Life, as the phrase went. Assuming, of course, everything had gone to plan while we'd slept.

Mavis and Chris were supposed to always revive at the same time, with the captain of Shady Lady going off to see to her vessel and the status of our mostly automated journey, while the Mission Leader saw to his people. In point of fact, this should have been the second time they'd both been revived by computer systems, with a quick spell of consciousness for a day or so right after arriving from starjump. This, so as to be sure we were on-target and undetected, way out there on the edge of the star system.

At that time, and at Chris' discretion, he could have revived any of us if he saw fit. The intended plan, though, had been to also wake up one or both of the Sensor Specialists in order to take a closer look around. Assuming there was nothing amiss, they would all then re-enter cold passage, and wait until the ship travelled -- mostly ballistically -- to a point near the solar orbit of PS2GG, the gas giant, much deeper in-system. We should have now been on the far side of the primary from its only natural satellite of note, so as to be in a position to creep around the star and observe.

Our bunks were aligned on both sides of a cramped companionway, interspersed with personnel and equipment lockers, as well as control panels for various ship systems. Aft a bit was a wide spot that opened onto the ship's sole exterior hatch on port side, with the fresher opposite, on starboard. Further back, the companionway terminated in two small spaces with lockable hatches: Engineering and Gunnery.

To the fore, was a larger multipurpose space designed for meetings and mission prep, as well as recroom and relaxation duties, meal prep and consumption, and whatever else we needed. A round central table could be raised from the floor, and chairs for it could be unlocked from a rack on the bulkhead. It made for cheek-to-jowl conferences, and intimate dining. A small, but very capable Tri-D was installed here, so this space was mostly given over to SS1 and SS2. The holographic display made for an advanced interface to the impressive suite of passive and active sensors packed into Shady Lady. This tool allowed various data perspectives to be presented and studied, including an animated system map that I could see John reach up and manipulate with precision.

Beyond the Common Room was the cockpit. One seat. Mavis' duty station. As captain, the entire ship was her responsibility, but most everything was automated, and she'd have little to do elsewhere -- if all went well.

Crammed into every conceivable spot between these places were access panels, control pads, and storage lockers of various kinds. These compartments contained such things as pressure suits, frozen and dehydrated meals, emergency medical equipment, specialist gear, extra parts for the ship, extra flight suits for the crew, and a whole lot more.

It was cold...or I was.

With a slow, rocking effort, I managed to sit up on my bunk, very nearly bumping my forehead on the rolltop lid, still partially extended, and begging me to attack it with my face. A look up the companionway showed everyone sitting or standing around the table, except Mavis, whose shiny head I could see further on. She turned this way and that, scanning instruments. At least one cable draped down from above, plugged into her skull. A series of ghost-like holographic images of scrolling computer code and maps, hovering over the table in the Common Room, made it a little hard to see her.

Stinna, sitting there and interacting with the holograms, was facing aft. She noticed me getting up, and stared long enough to draw John's attention.

Hey, he offered. A few of the others looked back and said the same.

Hey, I replied. Everything cool?

Yeah, Chris called, leaning over from the side, so his head bobbed into view. Looks okay. Clean up and come get something to eat.

That sounded good.

I pushed to my feet and toddled back to the fresher. The shower was the best thing ever, and I felt a heck of a lot better under a pulsing jet of hot water -- simultaneously energizing and relaxing, the way a good shower should be. In a few minutes, I was less like a dead thing.

Once in a clean jumpsuit, I made a quick stop at Gunnery to power up systems and get diagnostics running; I wanted to do a full hardware check, which always took time. Then I went forward, stopping along the way at a locker. I fished out my wristcomp, and walked into the Common Room, fiddling with it.

Dieter wasn't present now, though I'd seen him in here when I woke up. He was back in his Engineering closet (and I was assured that it really was one), so there was enough space to get around the table. I fished out a frozen meal of scrambled whatevers and popped it in the re-heater. I also filled a cup with some Vaussermin -- a brand of nutrient water which the ship had on tap. There were various flavors available, ranging from Orange Chemical Spill all the way to Purple Gym Socks (at least, that's how I always thought of them), but I had wicked dry-mouth, so I still wasn't complaining.

How are you doing? Chris asked, as I bumped around behind. Meals, coffee, and datapads were spread on the table, and it looked like they'd been up for a while.

Getting there, getting there, I mumbled. Injection went smoothly?

Looks like it, he replied, glancing at the map that Stinna had overhead.

We're undetected, she confirmed, doing a spreading action over our heads on a timeline that appeared in the Tri-D. It represented ship movements in the system which Shady Lady had passively monitored over the past few weeks while we lay frozen, crawling furtively into the stellar well.

Then that masking tech on the starjump engine really works? I asked, quite impressed.

Yep, Chris put in, digging for a report on his datapad, which he then turned over to me, though we're lucky we didn't pop in much closer to anything. The ship's wake is greatly dampened, but it's not gone completely.

It was the brief he'd written some forty days previous, when we first arrived on the outer edge of the star system. We had returned to the normal universe on the outer edge of 216-11B, at over 100 million kilometers from the nearest manned vessel, yet only ten million from a nav bouoy. Neither one picked up the ship's graviton discharge -- which is an indicator of shifting to or from jumpspace -- nor had monitored communications traffic revealed any sign that we'd been noticed.

Between this quiet arrival, and the advanced stealth shielding that the ship sported (topped off with a special black paint job over the exterior armor that absorbed over ninety-nine percent of visible light) we were rather hard to spot. Shady Lady's thrusters were on the slow side, due to a smart pre-cooling system that ejected reaction mass at the exact current temperature of the ambient micro-matter, thrown off by the natural action of the system primary, surrounding the ship at that particular moment. The mass itself was scattered widely by some clever spreading system I didn't understand, except to know that this was expressly why we were so slow.

But slow was good. Fast got you noticed.

Chris' report stated that, in addition to Mavis, he'd had SS1 wake up, too, and perform a detailed passive sweep of the jump point, noting a few vessels coming and going.

One of those entering the system had been a Linebreaker Class Security Cruiser.

Seeing my expression, Chris said, Yeah, you noticed that?

The Linebreaker's the most advanced warship in space, I replied with a shake of the head, and feeling daunted. Half the size of any ship in the Alliance doing the same job, and twice as powerful. I don't think they even have more than two of them, they're so expensive.

They don't, he replied, but...Stinna, bring up the ASR for day 299? Check this out...

SS2 brought up the Automated Sensor Report for the day in question, now over two weeks old, which covered a period of time when Shady Lady was yet half way to our current orbit. Everyone aboard was frozen down at that time. The exit cone highlighted above our heads was unmistakeable.

"Is that another Linebreaker leaving, or the same one?"

It's a different one, he replied. "Its military transponder put it as, uh, Wildcard. The other one, which is still here, is called Liquidator."

The two most powerful military vessels of their type, anywhere, and The Handshake had them tag-teaming in this very star system.

So it's a clear violation of the treaty.

I dunno about that, John put in with a flick of his finger at the image. He drew down a long list of graviton cones cross-referenced with transponder ID's, all sorted by date.

Fifteen arrivals and seventeen departures since we got here. Only three vessels of size have had military profiles: the two cruisers, and one smaller patrol ship. Tons of couriers have been coming and going, though, some of which are Team.

Eighty-eight percent of open comm traffic is without any milspecs, Stinna added, laying another file of statistics over the holographic list.

Hey, do you mind? John asked her shortly, swiping it back out of the way. He highlighted one of the jump cones on his display, and opened up its details for everyone to see. It's identifying becon showed a familiar style.

Cargo ship? Chris asked.

Yeah. Some of these graviton profiles are unclear, but the corresponding transponder ID's are all for medium freighters in the Sanjin Hauling fleet. Montaro has millions of those things all over space. We have this same class coming and going at least a dozen times.

Not all one ship, surely, Chris punched up the freighter's specs on his datapad, which I'd given back.

No, the ID's are all different.

And Team has its own haulers, I added. So...there must be a station here. Civvie freighters like those need docking facilities for cargo transfer.

There's a highdock out by the jump point for the sake of the couriers, Chris observed. But these cargo haulers have been making deliveries deeper into the well. He swiped open another file overhead, which only added to the mid-air muddle.

A carefully annotated profile of a space station appeared. Size was hard to tell right off, but it was clearly big,