‘What’s on his cargo manifest?’ Samson said.
‘Nothing,’ Harper said. ‘His transponder’s working just fine too. It was switched off.’
‘There’s a surprise. We better do a visual inspection of his hold,’ Samson said. ‘I want to know what it is he thought was worth dying for. Sergeant Price, how’s your sweep going?’
‘All clear so far, Lieutenant. We’ve covered all crew areas. Only the cargo areas left.’
‘I’m coming down to join you. I want to see if there’s anything in there.’ He stood, careful not to put a foot in the blood that had pooled on the floor, and wrestled with the decision over who was going to get the job. A thought occurred to him as he did. ‘Where did he come from?’ he said to Harper. ‘What was his last port of call?’
‘The nav log’s been scrubbed. I can reconstruct it, but it’ll take a little time.’
Samson nodded. ‘Keep at it. Let me know as soon as you have something. Helmets stay on until we have complete control of the ship and a full hull integrity scan.’
3
Samson regarded the corridor with interested disdain as he headed for the cargo hold. The grime and lack of care displayed on every centimetre of the ship told the story of a man who had fallen between the cracks. It was jarring for Samson—the mutiny and his posting to the Frontier made him feel as though that had happened to him. Academy graduates didn’t end up on the Frontier. They did a few years as a junior officer on capital ships in the Core for experience, then went to Fleet Command College to prepare them for a senior role on one, or for a move to the Admiralty. Samson couldn’t see either of those things in his future now, and the thought that the devastation wrought on his career might lead him down a similar path to the man lying on the floor of the bridge was disturbing.
Price and his Marines were waiting by the access hatch to the cargo hold when Samson got there.
‘It’s probably best that we handle this, sir,’ Price said.
‘I just wanted to be here when you do,’ Samson said. ‘Never been the most patient.’
‘Expecting more trouble, sir?’ Price said.
‘I’m just curious to see if there’s any reason in here why the ship’s master would fire on us. No point dying over an empty ship. We’d have searched him and been on our way. No inconvenience but a little delay for a man with nowhere better to be.’
‘Being a crazy old bastard is usually reason enough, in my experience,’ Price said.
‘Maybe so,’ Samson said, ‘but let’s take a look anyway.’
Samson stepped back and unholstered his pistol. He didn’t reckon he’d need it, but surrounded by three heavily armed Marines he’d have felt left out if he hadn’t. Price pulled the release lever, which let out a hiss of compressed gas. Its motors groaned in protest as the hatch retracted vertically with a regular clunking judder, another symptom of the low power levels. Samson had to stop himself from stepping forward and ducking down to peek inside the hold. If he caught a bullet, he’d have deserved it, and added to the reasons for the quiet reserve the Marines always treated naval officers with—particularly young ones. The door opened to reveal a large, empty cargo compartment with hull access doors on the far side.
‘Wasn’t his cargo he was protecting,’ Price said, looking about the compartment.
Samson said nothing and walked in to look for himself. It looked just like the rest of the ship—filthy, but nothing out of the ordinary.
‘Lieutenant Samson, are you all right?’ It was the captain, over on the Sidewinder.
‘I’m fine. Why?’
‘Your life signs just disappeared from our sensors. Sergeant Price too.’
Samson raised an eyebrow and looked back at Price, who shrugged, but brought his weapon back up. His Marines did the same as they spread out through the hold.
‘I’m fine, Captain. We’re both still very much alive. Seems like the cargo hold is shielded. I’ll report in once I’ve had a closer look.’
Samson scanned the walls and floors for anything out of the ordinary. Covered in so much grime, the walls might have been painted with murals underneath and he would have been none the wiser. However, one thing did catch his attention. There was a clean patch on the wall—comparatively so, at least. It was small; no bigger than what the brush of a few fingers would clear, but it was there. Samson walked over and tapped on the panel with his knuckle. It sounded hollow.
‘Sergeant, I think there’s a hidden compartment back here.’
‘Life signs?’ Price said.
‘Not that I can tell, but we just disappeared from the scanners.’
‘Form up,’ Price said. ‘Make ready for contact.’
The Marines took positions around the hangar, their naval carbines all aimed at the clean patch Samson had discovered. Samson crouched and studied the wall, looking for anything that could give him a clue as to how to open it. To his eye, there was no indication of a join in the panels—it appeared to be perfectly smooth.
‘Lieutenant Harper, check the computers to see if there’s anything that might be for a panel release in the hold.’
There was silence for a moment, then Harper came back to him. ‘Nothing that I can see, sir.’
Samson frowned. He struck the clean section of wall with his elbow, and with a barely audible hiss, a large panel protruded out, just enough to allow it to be pulled clear. Samson shuffled back and looked to the Marines. Price gave him a nod and Samson pulled the panel away.
Price approached the opening in a predatory crouch, his eye in line with the sights on his carbine. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘What have we got here.’
Samson joined him and looked in. There were two transport crates sitting beside each other inside. Samson crouched down to inspect them, but Price interrupted him.
‘Best let me take a look first, sir,’ he said. ‘Might be
