“One container, two hundred and eighty kilos gross,” Decker said.
“Lot of money to be shelling out for hauling a quarter ton.” Tristan sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “That must be some fine contraband. Where do they need it? Past the customs blockade at Gretia?”
Decker shook her head.
“Nothing that difficult. The rendezvous point is some random spot in Rhodian space. Should be easy enough to avoid the Rhody navy. They’re busy with their antipiracy patrols on the regular transfer routes. The whole affair is a four-day run. We go out, pick up the cargo, bring it to the drop-off point, and collect our fee times two. And then we head to Acheron for the three-year overhaul.”
She looked around the table.
“Everyone on board with this?”
Maya and Henry nodded.
“I just keep her running. You point her to whatever makes the money show up on my ledger,” Tess said.
“Double rate for four days of running dirty. And we get to Acheron a week ahead of schedule,” Tristan summed up. “I’m fine with it.”
Decker looked at Aden, and every other pair of eyes at the table followed.
“What about you, Aden?” she asked.
“Do we want to know what we’re delivering?” he replied.
“That’s part of why they’re willing to pay us double rate,” Decker said. “They’re purchasing a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. That’s generally implied in the no-haggle up-front bonus.”
“So it’s probably illegal.”
“Oh, it’s definitely illegal,” Tristan said.
“And if the Rhodian Navy catches us?”
“Then we will be in some deep shit,” Maya said. “The idea is to not get caught. This ship is a black hole in space when we’re rigged for dirty running. And even if the Rhodies somehow detect us, we can outrun anything they have.”
“It’s a risk,” Tess said. “But the fun ones usually are.”
Flying dirty in Rhodian space meant a risk to end up with the ship impounded and the crew in detention. It wasn’t the illegal nature of the job that bothered him, it was the fact that it would break Rhodian law. If they got caught, he’d go back to one of their prison arcologies just for being a Blackguard on parole, even if the others got off lightly. But those were not fears he could voice in front of everyone at the table. The rest of the crew thought it was worth the risk. None of them seemed concerned. He figured they had the experience to gauge the chance of failure and weigh it against the benefits more accurately than he could.
“I’ll go along with it,” Aden said.
“We’re unanimous, then.” Tess rapped the table with her knuckles. “I’ll send them the acceptance and collect their deposit.”
“Did this have to be unanimous?” Aden asked.
“Of course,” Tristan replied for the captain. “Any decision that can get us all in shackles or dead, everyone needs to be on board with it or it’s a no go.”
“Does that change your answer?” Decker asked.
Aden considered it for a moment. They had given him the power to pull the plug on a lucrative contract on his vote alone, let his one voice override all of theirs, because they believed they didn’t have the right to make that decision for him.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said.
I just hope we all know what we are doing, he thought as they got up from the table to take their places on the maneuvering deck.
CHAPTER 10
IDINA
A warm rain was falling out of the night sky above Joint Base Sandvik. Out on the landing pad, Idina and Dahl walked through puddles on the way to their patrol gyrofoil. The summer thunderstorm had made the temperature drop by a few degrees, but it was still warm enough for Idina to keep the cooling system running under her light armor, if only to reduce the humidity she felt on her skin. The summer storms here were mild, with breezy air and short, gentle bursts of rain. At home on Pallas, storms could rage for days, and flying a gyrofoil in the middle of one was as safe a suicide method as jumping off a city terrace into the kilometers-deep chasm below.
“I’m sorry to report that this week will be my last one on patrol with you,” she said to Dahl. The older woman gave her a surprised look.
“Have you grown tired of this place after all?”
“It’s not that. My commanding officer is ordering me back home two months early. Medical leave,” she said, spitting out the last two words with distaste. “We have to go back home on a regular basis. Our bone density and muscle mass deteriorate too much in your low gravity.”
“I see.” Dahl looked disappointed, an emotion Idina rarely saw on her face. “That is unfortunate. I think we work well together. And I have grown rather accustomed to our chats.”
“As have I,” Idina said. The Idina from six months ago would have been aghast at the idea of regret over having to leave Gretia or ending a duty assignment that caused her to cooperate with a Gretian every day. But the emotion was there, and it was pointless to deny its existence.
“I would have thought a military as well equipped as yours would have a high-g facility for rehabilitation. To save the flight home every few months,” Dahl said.
“That takes gravmag generators,” Idina said. “Too expensive to justify for just a company that rotates out half its personnel every six months anyway. You know how stingy bureaucracies can be.”
“Oh, yes,” Dahl said. “By the time we get new equipment, it is usually five to ten years out of date already.”
They went up to their assigned gyrofoil and did their walk-around check wordlessly. Dahl brought up the checklist on a comtab projection and worked through it just like she did before every flight. The Gretian police captain never let routine lull her into complacency, not even after decades on the job. It was one of the stereotypical Gretian qualities that Idina had to grudgingly admire. Dahl
