“The hatch is this way,” she said, leading them around to the rear of her ship. She slid her hand across the correct spot to trigger access. There was a loud creaking sound, the shriek of protesting metal, and then a ramp separated from the whole, lowering to clank against the bay decking. She offered the general a small, embarrassed smile. The hatch had also experienced weapons fire a few times. The sounds helped reinforce the impression of shabby desperation—which had at times been more than an impression, she recalled. The end of the war had helped, but Naxe knew better than to lower her guard.
She indicated they could enter and Tim went first. It was not a surprise. His function was to protect the general. This pleased her. She needed, she wanted, the general to survive, too.
Tim didn’t say anything, but they must have some means of communication she was not aware of because, after a distinct pause, the general went up the ramp, followed by Riina. Only then did Naxe and Blooban enter. The young soldier with the cart came up after her.
The cargo bay reinforced the message of the exterior. It would have been foolish to do otherwise. Her bay was nowhere near a full load, indeed it never had been. It was dangerous to be an attractive target. She made small, frequent runs, carefully varying where she acquired goods. She led them through the containers toward hatch that would give them access to the rest of the ship. This hatch slid back on a more pleasing view. The ship was old, but this part of the ship she kept clean and in repair. For Naxe, the Vycorth was her real home, the one place where she felt she belonged.
At an order from the general, the young soldier began to unload the containers on his cart. He found some netting to secure them, then saluted the general and left the ship. It was a relief to see him leave.
“I have quarters enough,” her gaze flicked to Tim, “but they are not large.”
“I don’t require quarters,” Tim said. “But I will explore the ship further.”
“Of course,” she said. “Passenger level is on the next deck.” The Vycorth only had a cargo and engineering deck, small passenger deck with galley, and a compact bridge. It was one reason she was able to secure any supplies at all. A larger ship and bigger loads would have drawn attention to the ship and to the company. This one was only one of many scavenger ships slipping away from the company and returning as carefully. None of them fled to the company for protection. They were required to deal with it themselves and only then could they approach. The attrition of scavenger ships had been brutal during the war years, but somehow the Captain, or his crew, found more. She felt guilt at calling the story boring, but even the danger didn’t seem to vary. It was boring to play the same scene over and over—even when getting shot at.
The Vycorth was a found ship. Naxe had “found” it, though it was more like being found. She’d aided Blooban during an altercation and then been cut off from her ship. Since then he rarely left the ship, trusting her to secure supplies. No one in the company even knew of his existence. She was not certain they’d noticed the change of ship.
They all waited while Tim toured the ship. Naxe tried not to feel tense or invaded. She’d invited this, and if she failed…her fingers tried to curl into fists, but she resisted, knowing the general watched her. She turned, meeting his gaze with one she hoped was calm and unconcerned.
“My ship is small, but our journey is only a few days,” she said. Indeed, she thought, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough. What came next, she did not know. There would be consequences for this gambit.
Halliwell had, he admitted, been unimpressed by the sight of the clunker sitting in the hanger bay. But then he’d recalled the quiet competence of the woman who’d…invited…him on this venture and withheld judgement. If she’d been flying around in a sleek and impressive ship, she’d have been under attack constantly. And she would have aroused—bad choice of words—triggered much more suspicion both with him and his less-than-thrilled team. But he still needed to see what was under the hood, or rather Tim would take a look and tell him.
OtimtronW—which had been shortened to Tim by Halliwell’s people—wasn’t just really good security. There wasn’t a system made he couldn’t hack, at least not one the cybernetic robot had encountered thus far. Even Halliwell’s team had admitted there was no one who could protect him better than Tim. He’d been part of a crew of robots like himself, most of whom had transitioned back into the human form they’d left to hide from their ruthless, and now deceased, owner. Tim had seemed happy to provide security while he waited for his cloned body to grow—well, he’d accepted when asked. No way to know if he was happy.
Riina Katala was, he hoped, his other ace-in-the-hole. She was a recently defrosted Garradian who had lived and studied before the war began. She’d even heard of Scoyfols and the Nashass region of space. She also had, he’d been assured, negotiating skills. It might be his imagination, but it seemed like Tim was happy to have her along, too. He’d taken her luggage first, then almost as an afterthought, grabbed the general’s. Hard to say if Riina found Tim interesting. She had a good line in a poker face, too.
He glanced at Naxe, then at the frog. It was going to be a fun trip with all of them working on their lack of expression.
Tim returned with his lack of expression intact. His voice was equally uninformative as he said, “I’ve stowed your luggage, ma’am, sir. The bridge can accommodate all of us.”
“Call me Riina,” she said, moving lightly in the direction Tim indicated.
Without waiting for them, Tim turned and followed her. Halliwell’s lips twitched and he turned, meeting Naxe’s gaze. They held a dawning humor and something that almost looked like relief.
“Tim is unusual,” she said.
“Very,” he admitted, resisting the urge to explain that it flowed from the very human consciousness that lived inside the machine. Even though the reason to keep the secret was dead, Halliwell wasn’t sure the robots were eager to have their story spread around. The robots still had enemies.
Blooban had already hopped after the others, so he gestured that direction. “How about you show me how fast your ship can go?”
This time she smiled. “Yes, of course.”
He followed her, trying not to notice how well she moved, how confidently. He felt his insides relaxing some. Tim had pronounced the ship clear, and the lady had a nice—rear view. The sense of being Picard on an away mission increased and his satisfaction level with it—until he reached the bridge.
While he couldn’t be sure, he thought even Tim looked carefully away as he took in the sight of the big blob of frog in one of the pilot’s positions.
The frog was a pilot.
Halliwell had found his quarters decent and passed a fairly restful night’s sleep. Throughout his career, he’d learned to grab rest when and where he could. But now that he was awake, the cautions and questions of his team echoed inside his head, and he felt a need to talk to Naxe. The cautions and questions would have been a lot louder, he believed, if not for the near magnetic quality of her voice. But as soon as she’d left, the magic had faded to the concerns. Despite the good rest, he found himself questioning his own gut.