"Contact is hailing us. Orders?"
Sandon turned back to the console. "Very well. Put them on main. And … computer?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Please ensure my last will and testament has been filed."
"Complying. Latest verifed will is dated yesterday."
"Good enough. Now let's hear what these people want."
There was a brief delay, and then Tyron Smith's face filled the screen. "This is your last chance, Sandon. Tell me where the cargo is, and I swear I'll spare your life."
Sandon's heart sank. He suspected it was Tyron chasing him, but he'd been harbouring the tiniest hope that it was someone else. "I told you," he said wearily. "Your goods were destroyed when my hatch failed. I've got camera footage, for heaven's sake!"
Tyron shook his head. "We've all got computers, Sandon. They do whatever we tell them to. Now heave to, I'm coming aboard."
"No you're not."
"Heave to, or I'll crack your ship's hull like an egg."
Sandon closed his eyes. Tyron wasn't bluffing, and with Rebbie on board … "Computer, cut the engines," he said, resigned to the inevitable.
"Complying."
The distant roar faded, and there was a deep, unearthly silence.
"Is that good enough," said Sandon, "or does your pilot need me to come to a complete stop?"
"We'll match your speed. Don't pull any tricks, or—"
"Tyron, come aboard, look around, do whatever you want. I have absolutely nothing to hide."
Moments later the bigger ship came alongside, and Sandon went to open the outer airlock. Beyond, there was a pressurised tube connecting the two vessels, and he could see Tyron with three or four of his cronies, all wearing portable breathing kits. Sandon snorted at the sight. Tyron was big on giving his word, but he never accepted anyone else's.
He stood aside as the group entered the flight deck, which suddenly seemed cramped with so many full-grown adults. When it was just Rebbie and himself, the place looked like a cavern.
Tyron pulled the breather off, leaving it dangling against his chest. "You and you, go to the hold. Check it over."
"Aye sir."
Two men left, leaving another man and a woman. The man was short, nuggety, with a surly look on his face. The woman was taller, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. There was no expression on her face, but she held her gun with casual ease and Sandon had no doubt she'd shoot him down at a word from Tyron.
"Where's that neice of yours? Rebecca, wasn't it?"
"Planetside," said Sandon casually. "She's in school."
"How can you afford the fees?"
"It's a government school. There are no fees."
"I'm going to find out what you did with my cargo. You know that, don't you?"
Sandon glanced towards the console. "Computer, play the —"
"Belay that!" said Tyron sharply.
"Computer, cancel."
Tyron came closer, towering over the older man. He leaned forward until his face was level, his eyes narrowed. "Don't waste my time."
There was a crackle from the commset on his belt. "Sir, the hold is pretty much empty. Just a few cases of bottled water."
"Still doing the big cargo hauls, I see." Tyron straightened up. "Check the cabins. We're coming down."
"It's just water," said Sandon.
"Then you won't mind if we inspect it, will you?" With an elaborate gesture, Tyron waved him towards the access tube.
Sandon climbed down the ladder, wincing as his muscles protested. He always thought he'd trade up to a newer ship one day, a new model with an elevator from the flight deck to the hold … and maybe even a defensive gun turret or two. Now, it seemed, it was not to be. Despite Tyron's calm exterior, he knew the younger man was itching to gun him down, to make an example of him in front of his people. The tale would spread throughout the Family, and Tyron's reputation for violence would grow.
It wouldn't even matter if Sandon were to return the missing cargo … the end would still be the same.
Slowly, he led the way to the hold. As they walked along the narrow, poorly-lit passageway, he realised he should have directed Rebbie to a different hiding spot. If this ended the way he thought it would, she'd hear everything. Worse, she might run to his aid, and Tyron … no, he couldn't. Not a child.
They reached the inner door to the cargo hold, which stood open, and Sandon stepped over the sill to enter the hold proper. Behind him, Tyron ducked under the low entrance, almost braining himself on the heavy beam above the door.
"You should have upgraded this heap years ago," remarked Tyron.
"I was too busy trying to make an honest living."
"You did try to stay on the right side of the law, I'll give you that." Tyron gestured around the small hold. "And look where it got you."
Sandon said nothing. Instead, he led the way to the pallet of bottled water, which was the only job he'd managed to find in the sector. The pay was tiny, barely enough to cover fuel, but he'd get a few reputation points from it and they never hurt. Would have done, he amended, as he saw Tyron's fingers absent-mindedly curling around the grip of his blaster.
"Open them up," he said.
"Tyron, I've go to deliver those."
"Oh, so now you deliver cargo? I thought you only lost it … or stole it." He gestured, and two of his people moved to obey. The other two were still searching the rest of the ship, and Sandon could hear things breaking nearby as they tossed his belongings. Meanwhile, the man and the woman ripped away the plastic shrink-wrap binding the boxes to the pallet, before tearing into the cartons themselves, picking them up and emptying the contents on the deck. Plastic bottles
