“Mister Smuts.” Hinjo waved his team into action. With an ease born of long practice, they spread out, fired up their scanners and probes, and started to check the containers. “And what do you do?” Hinjo went on.
“I’m a technical support manager for BellMineTech; we’re from Kelly’s Deep. The Live-in-Hope mine is one of the clients I look after.’
Hinjo nodded. “We’ve been through the cargo manifest, and all seems in order. After all, mining equipment is mining equipment.”
Michael’s spirits soared, but only for an instant.
“But I must say I am curious to know what is so important, so urgent.”
“Live-in-Hope produces iridium-193, and thanks to the current, ah … security situation, demand has gone crazy. The mine has a serious problem with the AI process controllers running its stage 3 production system. They bought cheap AIs from somebody they shouldn’t have and are now paying for that mistake. This gear here-” Michael waved a casual hand across the containers. “-is what they should have bought in the first place, and until we get it all installed and set to work, they’re not producing so much as gram of iridium. It’s costing them a fortune in lost production.”
Hinjo nodded again. “If it’s all so urgent, why did you waste so much time on Scobie’s?”
“Ah, well.” Michael fixed a look of worried concern onto his face. “I’m not supposed to talk about it, Lieutenant, but I’m sure I can trust you not to let this go any further.”
“Of course.”
“We had a contractual disagreement with the client, a serious disagreement.”
“A contractual disagreement?” Hinjo said, his face twisting into a supercilious smirk. “They wouldn’t pay BellMineTech’s exorbitant prices, you mean. You people are all the same.”
Michael ignored the insult. “I think that’s an accurate summary of the problem, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Hmm,” Hinjo replied. He walked over to the containers, a finger to his lips tapping out his thoughts. “I think we should have a look inside, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Michael said, heart pounding. “Which one first?”
“That one,” Hinjo said, pointing.
“Can your guys give me a hand?”
“They’re busy. Get your men up to help, Mister Smuts.”
“Sorry, Lieutenant,” Michael said, turning to cut off the customs seals. He pulled open the container doors to reveal a tightly packed mass of metal and plasfiber. “I don’t think they’d be much use. Swamp fever, apparently. Must say I don’t feel so good myself. Captain, do you have a handlerbot we can use? Some of this equipment is heavy.”
“We do,” Horda said. “Hold on, I’ll go-”
“That won’t be necessary,” Hinjo said with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “Open the doors on every second container.”
“Thank you, Captain Horda,” Michael said under his breath as he set to work, trying not to feel even guiltier than he already did.
“Everyone in position?”
“All set,” Shinoda responded.
“Go!”
Michael and Mitchell walked onto the
“Ah, Johannes,” Horda said. “I was wondering-”
“Stay where you are, Captain,” Michael said, the stunner in his hand pointing right at Horda’s chest. “Mitch,” he went on, waving the marine forward to plasticuff him.
“Oh, dear.” Horda shook his head. He let out a long sigh and held out his wrists. “This is a first. I’ve never been hijacked. Tell me: Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”
“Sadly for you, yes.”
“I can’t give you the command authority codes. You know that?”
“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ve brought my own.”
For the first time, Horda looked worried. “You can’t have.”
“Tell that to Mister Kalkuz.”
“Kalkuz? But he’s … oh, crap.”
“This way, please, sir,” Mitchell said to Horda. Shoulders slumped in defeat, the man allowed himself to be led over to the master console.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Michael stood beside the man. In theory, taking control of the ship was easy: Select the right menu, enter the master password, check Horda’s DNA and retinas to confirm his identity, then repeat to authorize Michael to take control, and the job was done. Taking another deep breath, he punched in the command authority code. Only when the screen told him to proceed did he allow himself to relax a little.
In less than two minutes, the entire process was done. Michael was now the de facto master of the
“The ship is ours,” he said when her face appeared.
Shinoda let out a sigh. “That’s a relief. We’ve got the first officer and the chief engineer in the crew mess.”
“Any problems?”
“None. Quiet as lambs.”
“Okay. Send two of the guys to get Kalkuz and Akuna out of their boxes while I change the navigation plan. When I’m done, I’ll be with the captain. He deserves to know why this is happening to him and his ship.”
“Roger that.”
“Thanks, Mitchell; I’ll take it from here. But leave the door open and stay outside. If he tries anything-” Michael hooked a thumb at Horda. “-shoot him.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Michael reached over the table to cut the plasticuffs off Horda’s wrists. “I’m sorry about all this, Captain, but we can’t afford to take any chances.”
“You’re marines,” Horda said, sitting back and rubbing his wrists. “Aye, aye, sir, and all that.”
“My guys are. I’m a spacer.”
“You like to tell me what the fuck is this all about? Forty-six years I’ve been with Matrix, and this is first time anyone’s taken my ship off me.”
“I’m sorry about that; I really am.”
“Sorry?” Horda snapped. His cheeks flushed red with anger. “That helps.”
“I have my reasons.”
“I don’t give a damn for your reasons,” Horda said, his voice a half shout now. “You have no right to hijack my ship, none at all. I’d like to kick your ass.”
“I’m sure you would,” Michael said; Horda’s belligerence irritated him. “But it won’t happen. Now you’ve got a choice. You can sit there mouthing off at me, in which case I’ll throw you in one of the storerooms and leave you to rot, or you can shut your mouth, sit back, and let me tell you why we’ve taken your ship. Your choice.”
Horda choked back his response with an obvious effort. “Go on, then; tell me,” he said, taking a deep breath. “But I want the truth, okay?”
“You’ll get it. First of all, we’re not from Kelly’s Deep.”
“Didn’t think you were. The accent wasn’t right.”
