Ships of My Fathers Page 19

  “Karen,” she said. “You said Michael didn’t go with you.”

  “No, ma’am,” she replied. She could hear the ocean waves in the background. “He left me at the docks, said he’d changed his mind or something.”

  “Or something?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was pretty surprised and, honestly, still a little drunk at the time. He said that he had to do something and that I should understand.”

  “That was it? He had to do something?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He didn’t take the news well, my transferring and all. I figured he was angry at me. Is he all right?”

  “I don’t know. We’re trying to figure out where he is. For all I know he’s heading for the dock right now.”

  “Do you want me to come back up?”

  “No, but if you think of anything else, call it in.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Definitely.”

  Brookstone chimed in as soon as the call ended. “The bank says the last transaction they have is at a food court near the shuttle docks, thirty-one minutes before Miss Larkin’s shuttle flight.”

  “Nothing for the five days since then?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Her door opened without a chime. It was Hans Schneider. “Felicia, I heard the announcement about Michael. Do we have a problem?”

  She stood. “Yes, sir. I’m afraid we do.”

  Chapter 20

  “Take the help when it’s offered, especially if you think you don’t need it, because honestly, you’re not smart enough yet to know the difference.” — Malcolm Fletcher

  COMMANDER COLLINS HAD BEEN ACROSS from the Heinrich dock all morning, watching the crew return. He had pulled a photo of Michael from the port registry the night before, but none of the crew had matched it. The stream had dwindled to a trickle, and now only the dock officer remained. He seemed increasingly nervous, as well he should. It was almost noon, and the Heinrich was scheduled for a pushback at thirteen hundred.

  He approached the dock officer. “Excuse me, I’m looking for a member of your crew.”

  The officer stood, his name reading Karl Roth. “Which crewman?”

  “Michael Fletcher.”

  Roth’s eyes went wide. “I see. Have you been in contact with Michael?”

  “Not recently. He made an information request a few weeks back, and I wanted to speak to him about that request. I’ve already left a message for him.”

  “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware of that. Your name please?” He handed over another one of his cards. Roth took a brief look at it. “Could you excuse for me for a moment?” He stepped away and whispered into his wrist link. Collins did not like the way this was progressing, but Roth returned a few minutes later.

  “Is there a problem with Mr. Fletcher?” Collins asked.

  “I’m sorry, Commander. We’re having a momentary security issue. Would you be willing to wait here for a few minutes?”

  “Would this security issue have anything to do with Mr. Fletcher?”

  Roth’s eyes gave him the only answer he needed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Collins assured him. “I’ll wait.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Gabrielle headed down to her quarters on deck two. Pushback had been cancelled, or at the very least, it had been delayed past the end of first shift, so she was not going to be there for the up-tach. All for Michael! She stormed into her cabin and gave her duffel a solid kick.

  “When I get my hands on him,” she growled.

  She sat on her bed and looked at her duffel over by her desk. She might as well unpack. She started pulling dirty clothes out and transferring them into a bag to take down to Harry. A few things were still clean, so she hung them to get the wrinkles out. Finally she pulled out a few souvenirs and set them on her desk temporarily.

  That was when she saw the message light blinking on her monitor. She signed in. Twelve messages. Four were automatic updates that should not even be sent during liberty. She had been on Wally’s back about that for months. Three were navigational forecasts for the upcoming leg. The data went directly into the charts on the navigation console, but the summary was traditionally copied to all the navigators. Two were from friends on other ships whose messages had caught up with her here at Latera. One was the agenda for tomorrow’s senior staff meeting. One was a copy of Wally’s general announcement about Michael.

  And one was from Michael.

  It was dated from before they docked, but it had only shown up now at the bottom of her message list. She opened it immediately and scanned through it. Then she read it again more carefully.

  Gabrielle,

  First of all I wanted to thank you for making me feel welcome and for all the help you’ve given me on the navigation math. I know it’s been a little rough between us this last couple of weeks, but I want you to know that my decision to leave was not because of you or anyone else on board. I can see that you all have the kind of bond I had with Malcolm, and I know you tried to form that bond with me as well.

  But I’m not ready for that, not until I get the truth about Malcolm. I would like to think that your father is full of crap, but I’ve learned enough to realize that he might be right. It’s not enough to know that Malcolm was a privateer or that he was there when Peter and Sophia died. I have to know his role in all of this. Until I do, I cannot find my place in the world, whether that be on the Heinrich or not.

  So I’m leaving. There’s a way for me to definitively find out what happened, so I’m going to do that. I’m sorry for not saying more or telling you ahead of time, but to be honest, I worried that your father would try to stop me. I won’t let him. I’ll try to catch up with you again after I know the truth. I’m sorry for all the problems that this is likely to cause, and I hope you and the rest of the crew will forgive me for doing what I have to do.

  I expect you to share this with your father once you realize I’m gone. That’s all right, but please don’t let him try and stop me. If he does, I’ll only leave again when I’m of age.

  Michael

  “Fuck,” was all she could say.

  The four of them sat in the officers’ wardroom. Corazon had brought the navy officer up, and Gabrielle had held Michael’s letter hostage as her leverage to get into the meeting. Her father had given her a particularly lethal glare over that, but she had stood her ground.

  The officer was the last of them to read the letter. When he was done, he set the hardcopy down in the center of the table between them. “Thank you for sharing that with an outsider. I only wish I could have found him beforehand.”

  “You said you were here because Michael requested some information,” Corazon prompted. “This was about Malcolm Fletcher’s war history, yes?”

  Her father turned sharply to the XO. “You knew about this?”

  Corazon held up her hand. “He had spoken to me. I suggested he file under the Records and Reconciliation Act, but I didn’t think it would net us an intelligence officer. Is that, in fact, why you’re here?”

  “Yes, Ms. Corazon. That is indeed why I am here, at least in part.”

  Gabrielle raised her hand. “Then do you know what happened?”

  Collins smiled briefly. “I brought the information specifically for Mr. Fletcher. Forgive me, but I am not inclined to share it with anyone else before I can give it to him.”

  Her father snorted. “Then what good are you?” He turned to the XO. “Why did you even let him on board?”

  Corazon kept her cool. “Because I believe he can help us track Michael down.” She turned back to Collins. “Am I right to think that?”

  Collins gave a slight nod. “I do have certain resources that neither you nor station security are familiar with. Michael’s case is of particular interest to me, so yes, I will help you track him down. However, to the point of his letter, I am not interested in stopping him. Rather, I want to get him the very answers he seeks.”

  Her father stood. “I already know what happened, and
I don’t need you to tell me again who killed my brother.”

  “Father!”

  Hans glared at her.

  “Dad, don’t turn this into a repeat of Michael’s homecoming. If you want to find Michael, let this man help you do it.”

  He took a deep breath and returned to his seat. He waved his hand towards Collins, but did not speak.

  Collins accepted it and turned back to Corazon. “I presume you’ve already notified station security.”

  She nodded. “But I doubt he’s even on station anymore.”

  “I agree,” he said. “I can only think of three definitive sources for the incident in question, the records we have at Arvin, the records from the Hammerhead, and the records from the Reilly. The Reilly was destroyed near the end of the war, and the Hammerhead was scrapped nine years ago. However, I would expect Malcolm Fletcher copied the Hammerhead’s records to his new ship.”

  Hans nodded. “And that ship is back on Taschin.”

  Corazon picked it up from there. “So you think he’s headed either to Arvin or Taschin?”

  “Very likely, but the question is how is he travelling?”

  “What does it matter?” Gabrielle asked. “Can’t we just go there and look for him?”

  Hans shook his head. “A station the size of Arvin? Or groundside on Taschin? If he didn’t want to be found, I doubt we would find him. We need to know which ship he took.” He turned back to Collins. “You can actually determine that?”

  Collins smiled. “No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  The Jaguar dropped out of tach at Magella two hours early. It was a much smaller station than any the Heinrich had visited, except perhaps Taschin, so traffic control was minimal. They pulled in at the one and only ring and docked without incident. Captain Lewis declared “restricted liberty” of forty-one hours.

  As soon as he could, he asked what she had meant by restricted.

  “I keep more of my crew on-board than many ships do,” Captain Lewis replied. “I find it helps with faster turnarounds, but I make up for it with some longer layovers at more hospitable locations, actually getting some vacation groundside.”

  It made some sense to him, though Malcolm had never run things that way, even on the old Hammerhead. “Will I be able to go aboard?”

  “I don’t see why not, but keep your head down. This isn’t as nice a place as Latera. In fact, why don’t you go with Anders? He can help you out.”

  He thanked her and grabbed a few things, most importantly an empty duffel. He had not packed much in the way of personal gear, and the available stores on the Jaguar were not nearly up to the standards of the Heinrich. He was looking forward to doing a little shopping.

  Jimmy Anders was waiting for him in the airlock, but he did not seem to be in any hurry. “Ah, Michael. You look ready for the hunt.”

  He hefted the duffel. “Just looking for a toothbrush and some extra socks, that sort of thing.”

  “Well, that should be simple enough. Let’s go.”

  Magella station was not what he was expecting. It was not that it was merely small. It was run down, even dirty. It was not anything so obvious as trash on the deck or rust on the pipes. Rather, it was in the details: an old stain on a section of wall, an unpainted structural joint, that kind of thing. He would not have even noticed these things a few months ago, but he had grown used to the Heinrich, where almost everything was either spotless white or polished chrome.

  The shopping was perfunctory. Anders found them a drab shop called simply Crew Supplies. Their wares were still not up to what he had had aboard the Heinrich, but at least it was better than what he had found on the Jaguar. Cotton seemed to be the safest bet here, so he loaded up. The toothbrush situation was not good at all. They didn’t have any of the pulse jet brushes, so he settled for one of the old vibrating kinds.

  He made his way to the register, but Anders intercepted him. “Let me pay, Michael.”

  Michael allowed it, but after they got out, he piped up. “Thanks for that, but I do have some money.”

  Anders patted Michael’s shoulder. “I know, son, but I figure the less you show up on the station radar, the better. Now, if you’ve got actual cash, you can buy me a drink or perhaps a skin dance or two.”

  He did actually have some cash. He had pulled six hundred from his account before Karen’s farewell party back at Latera. “I do, but why do you think I should stay off the station’s radar?”

  Anders paused near a support column at the edge of the corridor and glanced around. “Look, Michael, I know you said you settled up with your old ship on Latera, but I have to ask. Did you really settle it, face to face, crewman to captain?”

  “Not quite face to face, but I think I did enough.”

  Anders shook his head. “I can’t blame you. I was young and impulsive myself, and I sure as hell avoided my captain whenever possible. Still, if you left with only a note or something, he might very well be looking for you.”

  Michael frowned. “They’re not going to divert from their route.” At least, he did not think they would do it a second time. Not even Uncle Hans was that committed to the long-lost nephew. “Besides, I made it clear that they should not come looking for me.”

  Anders chuckled. “And I’m sure that your captain has a long history of doing what you tell him to do, eh?”

  Shit. “Well, not so much.”

  “Look, all I’m saying is you should lay low these next few weeks. Don’t leave a wake for them to follow.”

  “I guess, but I had thought I might send a message to their next port. You know, to let them know I’m doing all right.”

  Anders shook his head. “Not yet. Why don’t you wait until you’re back on board your own Sophie. Tell them then, when it’s a done deal.”

  He nodded. “I see your point.”

  “You don’t want to call the Confederates down on us for transporting a minor after all.”

  “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t thought about that, and I definitely don’t want to cause any trouble for you or Captain Lewis.”

  “No trouble at all, my boy.”

  “So, you mentioned something called a skin dance?”

  Anders grinned. “Oh yes, I know a place. Hold your money tight, Michael, or you’ll leave broke and broken.”

  It had been twenty-two hours since the four of them had last sat in the Heinrich’s wardroom. Ms. Corazon and her father were there as a matter of course. Gabrielle had not been invited, but she had been shrewd enough to be waiting in the inner lock to guide Commander Collins through the ship. She led him into the room and took a seat before anyone said a word.

  Her father raised an eyebrow at her, but she stared him down with a glare of her own. Yes, Father was captain and uncle to Michael, but she at least had been his friend.

  “Thank you for getting back to us, Commander Collins,” Ms. Corazon said, motioning him to the seat opposite her. “We still have no updates from station security or our inquiries to the planetary authorities below. We’re hoping you have better news.”

  He smiled politely. “I do have news, but I don’t particularly think it’s better news.” He opened his briefcase and passed out hardcopies of a report. They were all stamped with “NI Classified” and were printed on a strangely slick paper. Gabrielle had heard about this stuff once: auto-degrading paper. The ink would be gone within the hour, evaporating as the paper slowly oxidized and disintegrated.

  Collins laid his out squarely in front of him and flipped past the cover sheet. “One hundred twenty-nine ships left dock from the time of Mr. Fletcher’s last sighting to the time you issued your security alert. These are listed with their flight plans on pages one and two, organized by vessel class.

  “Nine were passenger liners, and their passport policies are strict enough I don’t believe he could have bluffed his way on board. Another twenty-eight were corporate freight ships that had advertised passage, and nineteen of those reported taking on passengers. The N.I. office
here has crosschecked all the passenger names reported by those vessels against next of kin and other contacts, and they seem to be legitimate. An additional eighteen ships had posted open positions, and fifteen of them filled those positions here. Those fifteen additions to the crew manifests were crosschecked against arrival dates and financial records, and they all appear valid, starting over the last several weeks and stopping around the various departures.”

  He glanced briefly at the three of them and turned the page. “Another thirty-eight private vessels offered neither passage, post, nor cargo. They are also quite small, many of them purely sublight craft, and it would be unlikely Mr. Fletcher could successfully stowaway for the duration of a flight. With his history on smaller vessels, I believe he would know this. This leaves us with thirty-six vessels, a mix of yachts, surveyors, and independent freighters. Any of them could have given him free passage and not reported it.”

  Her father shook his head. “Thirty-six ships scattering to the winds. I appreciate what you’ve done, but we still don’t know enough to find him.”

  Collins smiled briefly and cleared his throat. “The favor of free passage to an unrelated minor is not one to be granted lightly. An aggressive prosecutor could make a kidnapping charge out of it, so this would almost certainly have to be someone Mr. Fletcher knew, either that or someone that Captain Malcolm Fletcher knew.”

  Her father took on a scowl and was about to launch into one of his rants. Gabrielle could see it in his eyes, so she cut him off. “Are you saying you know who Captain Fletcher knew?”

  Collins nodded. “What I’m about to tell you is not generally known, and were it not for the sterling reputation of Schneider & Williams and its officers and owners,” he said with a nod to her father, “I would not even be discussing this. I must ask for your word as loyal citizens of the Confederacy not to repeat this information.”

  His gaze swept across them as they each nodded in turn.

  “Thank you,” he said, turning the page. “Since the Caspian rebellion and the rise of the Yoshido pirates afterwards, we in Naval Intelligence have begun tracking people’s movements: the ships they take, the places they visit, the times they visit them, purchases they make, and so forth. I don’t want to say too much about our methods, but suffice it to say, I could pull a report on each of you for the last ten years that would startle even your memories.”