The door opened smartly at Smith's approach, revealing a generous cabin with a bunk, a desk and a comfortable armchair. Behind the desk there was a locker with a keypad, but there was almost nothing in the way of personal effects.
Tyron threw his leather coat over the bunk and crossed to the locker. He punched in a code, opened the door and took out a slim metal case. It was about twelve by six inches, maybe two inches deep, and his face was grim as he set it on the desk. It was two years since he'd learned of the box's existence, after a solicitor contacted him out of the blue to enquire about Rebecca Smith. He hadn't heard that name for years, not since his showdown with her uncle, but he knew instinctively what the box contained. After all these years, Tyron knew it was a chance to get his cargo back. A cargo he thought lost forever.
He brushed the square, grey pad on the lid with a fingertip, scowling as the pad glowed with a faint red light. Tyron's lips thinned as he studied the box. Everyone knew Rebecca's uncle Sandon had stolen his goods, stashing them away until the heat died down. Well, Sandon had been the one to die, when he refused to reveal the cargo's location. Tyron was certain the box held directions to his goods: a map or coordinates, he didn't care which. Sandon, the wily old fox, must have thought he was setting up his niece for life. Instead, he'd landed her in a world of trouble.
Tyron put his feet on the desk, leaned back in the easy chair and linked his fingers behind his head. Then, as he recalled Sandon's final moments, his face twisted into a nasty grin.
Chapter 7
Deep space freighter Sparrow, Dorset quadrant. Seven years earlier.
"Will there be animals?"
"Of course, Rebbie. Great big ones, with fur."
Rebecca looked concerned. "And big teeth?"
"It's quite safe, my dear. They can't hurt you."
"So they're not real animals, then? Are they … holograms?"
Sandon smiled at his niece. Sometimes she acted and spoke far beyond her eight short years. "Yes, holograms."
"Are the ice creams real?"
And there was the eight-year-old. "Sure. Chocolate, vanilla and strawberry."
"All at once?"
"If you finish that essay in time."
"I hate writing essays." Rebecca sighed. "One day, when I'm bigger, I'm going to become a cop and make them illegal."
"You want to join the Peace Force?" Sandon was startled. Who'd been filling her head with that kind of nonsense? "Rebbie, the cops … they're not our friends."
"But they catch crooks, and—"
"You can have two ice creams."
"I still want to be a cop," said Rebecca stubbornly.
"Three ice creams, but you're going to be sick."
"Maybe I won't be a cop. Maybe I'll be a space pirate instead."
Sandon ruffled her hair. "That's more like it."
"But I want a real parrot, not a hologram."
Rebecca turned to the screen and continued typing her essay. As Sandon watched her, he realised he'd have his work cut out in years to come. At eight she was already running rings about him. By the time she was fifteen she'd probably be running his ship. Then he frowned. He had to do something about her education, and quickly. He'd been putting it off for a year or two now, but she was bright, and a quick learner, and she deserved more than life aboard a creaky old ship with only her creaky old uncle for company. Leaving her on some planet in the care of strangers would be a wrench for both of them, but they'd just have to get over it.
"Finished," said Rebecca.
"Let me see." As he leant forward, the terminal flickered out.
"Oh dear, I forgot to save it. It was really good, too."
"Take your foot off the power socket."
Rebecca pulled a face as she obeyed. Then, as Sandon scanned the 'essay', she piped up again.
"Two ice creams will be enough."
"Rebbie, you've just written 'I hate essays' over and over again."
"One ice cream?"
Sandon gave her a mock frown. "I'll feed you to the great big hologram animals, you little—"
"Contact bearing delta three-nine-eight."
Instantly, Sandon switched gears. He slid his chair up to the console and scanned the small display screens set into the surface. The vessel was another freighter, larger than his, and it was masking its ID. "Boost engines to eighty percent."
"Complying."
"Change course, vector two-niner."
"Change initiated." There was a pause. "Course change complete."
Sandon studied the screen, then cursed. The other ship was following them.
"Bad language, uncle."
"Not now, Rebbie." Sandon eyed the screen, then set up a comms burst on a secondary screen. Once it was ready, he spoke into the mic. "Sparrow to all family, I repeat, this is the Sparrow. Situation developing, possible assistance required. Please note my location and coordinates." After he was done, he reviewed the message on the screen, and hit send. Then he turned to face Rebecca, taking her hands in his. "I need you to hide for a bit. Let's say … number three, okay?"
She nodded. "Yes sir."
Sandon opened a locker and took out a small metal box, which he pressed into her hands. "I've told you about this, haven't I?"
Rebecca sighed. "Yes, uncle."
"Okay. Hide it inside your jacket, go on."
She obeyed, zipping the box under her faded hoodie.
"It's important Rebbie. Don't tell anyone about it."
"I won't."
"Right. Do you remember where hiding spot three is?"
"Of course!" she said scornfully. "It's in the hold. The hatch behind the jump drive."
"Off you go, then. And make sure you close the panel properly. No peeking."
Instead of running to the access tube, Rebecca eyed the screens on the console. "Are they bad people?"
"I don't know. Best be safe, eh? Off you go now, and … you can have two ice creams if you're extra quiet. Okay?"
"Thanks, uncle."
Rebecca paused long enough to throw her
