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Part 16: INTERCEPT
With the ship airborne, Maira brought everyone to the galley and spread out a map on the table.
‘We need to decide where we’re going,’ she said. ‘Medicine Leaf is out of the picture; that leaves North, South, and West. I wanna know our options.’
The options were not promising.
Medicine Leaf was at the edge of a hub of corpo towns, the outriding spoke which led to civilisation. While this sounded like good news, to Maira it meant trouble.
‘If the Umbrella Men are after you,’ she said to Wilde, ‘they’ll already have wanted posters faxed to all of these places. Which means they’re a no-go, especially if they’re watching the ports.’
‘What does that leave us?’ Wilde asked. She looked at the map – most of the places she’d never heard of, let alone visited. Twin Knee Camp was unknown to her, except as a potential destination. She hadn’t been looking forward to the vacation, and the prospect of going to a whole new place three weeks away sounded like a nightmare. Of course, she was now a pariah in her hometown…
She shoved that thought aside.
‘We could go back to Bolthead,’ Maira said uncertainly. ‘There’s not much work there, and it feels like returning to the fold too soon.’
‘What about farther east?’ Lance asked. He pointed to a couple of small islands. ‘The navy have little presence along this corridor, there’s a lot of black-market trade there – uh, so I’ve heard!’
‘Well aren’t you just a font of weird knowledge,’ Maira deadpanned. ‘That might’ve been true a decade ago, but you’re pointing to Hawk Ballast – it made the news about eight months back as the new naval firing range, as soon as the “relocations” are over.’
‘That leaves us with one choice,’ Ham said. He put his hands on his hips, worrying at his lower lip. Maira shook her head.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ she asked.
‘Nothing!’ Ham cried. ‘Nothing at all. It’s just… taking the Fallen Star up there?’
‘It’ll be fine.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Wilde asked. Maira turned to her.
‘It looks like we’ll be heading North, is all,’ she said. Lance immediately paled.
‘We can’t do that, captain!’ he cried. Maira rolled her eyes.
‘We’re not navy here, Lance. Their business is as good as anyone’s.’
‘But you know what they do to people!’
‘Trade with ‘em, same as anyone!’ Maira snapped. ‘Stars! You’ve never even
‘You mean the Cannibal lands,’ Ham interjected darkly.
‘
‘I don’t get it,’ Wilde said. ‘What’s so bad about the Dimmerlands?’
Ham and Lance stared at her until she felt like disappearing under the table.
‘Ignore them, Wilde,’ Maira told her. ‘You’re the only sane one here. It’s settled: start up the engine, we’re heading North!’
There’s no cover when you’re above the clouds. As soon as the Fallen Star was airborne, a freighter some miles out caught the glint from its distinctive axehead rests. It radioed out, the signal bouncing from waystation to ship to port…
To Umbrella Security in Medicine Leaf.
‘Sir!’ a receptionist called to Antrim as he made his way out; he paused and turned.
‘It’s the Fallen Star! We’ve had a sighting!’
Antrim’s eyes widened and he grinned.
‘Perfect!’ he cried. ‘Get me my agents – let’s end this!’
When Maira returned to the helm, the radio light was already blinking red. She stood in the shadowy corner and picked up the headset.
‘This is Captain of the Fallen Star,’ she said. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Fallen Star, an Umbrella Man vessel is launching towards your coordinates. Be aware.’
Maira goggled at the radio as though it had come alive.
‘Who is this?’ she asked. There was a long silence from the caller.
‘A friend,’ they replied eventually. The line clicked off, the radio light winking out.
Maira strode over to the wheel, looking out across the skies. Nothing. She returned to the radio.
‘Ham, do you read?’
‘Loud and clear captain,’ Ham replied, his voice tinny over the cheap handheld. ‘New orders?’
‘Keep an eye on our flanks,’ Maira said. ‘Word’s gone out; corpos are looking for us already.’
‘Should we be ready for a fight?’ Ham asked uncertainly. Maira bit her lip, tapping her foot as she thought through her options.
‘Negative,’ she said. ‘Send Lance up, I need him to take the helm for ten minutes.’
‘Aye, captain.’ The radio clicked off once more. Maira threw on her jacket and checked the inner pocket; the pepperbox pistol was still safely stashed away.
‘Here we go,’ she breathed.
Bonetti, Hardacre, and Wheeler had assembled in the shipyard. Umbrella Security didn’t dock with the regular traffic – they had a lot at the rear of their building which dropped sharply over the vine-choked cliff edge into the Medicine Leaf jungle. Here their sleek black-clad interceptors sat under twin-balloons of black and silver, bearing the eight-triangle logo of Umbrella Security.
Antrim stared and them, then glanced to the side, where a detachment of navy hands were filing in through the gate.
‘Who are these people?’ he demanded. ‘I want all three of you to take down that ship now!’
The three agents glanced at each other.
‘We’ve got orders,’ Hardacre said. ‘Just me and some Navy crew – no lethals.’
‘Hang your orders! I want the three of you in the air and boarding the Fallen Star!’
‘Sorry Mr Chairman,’ Bonetti replied. ‘This isn’t the board’s call. And orders are orders.’
Antrim glared at them. He turned to Wheeler.
‘What about you?’ he said. ‘You don’t even like Gore!’
‘I don’t have to like him,’ Wheeler growled. ‘But he gives the orders. Hardacre only – we’re not to interfere.’
Antrim scoffed.
‘Fine! Then I’m going with you!’ He made for the boat, but Bonetti intercepted him.
‘The rules are clear, Mr Chairman,’ he said. ‘We can’t allow a board member on any mission that could be potentially life-threatening without prior written approval from five other board members.’
Antrim pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘So I’m sending a lone, unsupervised agent, with a dozen Navy hands from shore leave, to an enemy vessel, because of bureaucracy?’ He sighed. ‘Fine! Fine, fine; but if you don’t find this revolutionary or her rifle, Hardacre, you’d better not come back here.’
‘Sorry sir,’ Hardacre replied, motioning to the marines. ‘You don’t get to make that decision. But rest assured; if she’s on that boat, I will find her.’
As Hardacre boarded the boat the burners were fired, and it lifted into the sky, immediately cutting through the sky like a blade through meat.
Maira found Wilde in an empty bunkhouse, the rifle spread out on the floor in front of her.
‘Heads up: we’ve got Umbrella Men inbound,’ she said. Wilde paled, but Maira grinned. ‘Relax! We’re here to help – follow me, we’ll keep you safe. Oh, and bring the rifle.’
‘Where are we going?’ Wilde asked as she followed Maira along the rickety catwalk. Maira glanced back.
‘Cargo bay,’ she said. ‘This used to be a smuggling ship – plenty of boltholes to hide you in there.’
‘In the cargo hold?’ Wilde quavered. ‘That doesn’t sound safe.’
‘It’s safer than being out in the open.’ Maira led the way down a ladder and into the stern of the ship. Wilde followed unsteadily, hearing the rumble and rattle of machinery which sounded far too close to her head for comfort, and then they were past it and into the belly of the ship.
The cargo bay was a cavernous space, made even more so by the scarcity of any actual cargo – There were boxes scattered about, held down with straps anchored to the floor, but a wide open central space which was punctuated by a single wooden crate, about half the size of a man.
‘Why’s that crate just sitting in the middle?’ Wilde asked, and Maira laughed.
‘Yeah, we can’t move that one,’ she said. ‘I’ll show you why later. For now, we need to put this somewhere safe.’ She hefted the duffel which held the rifle, looking around the space.
‘There’s not a lot of hiding places,’ Wilde mused uncertainly. Maira nodded.
‘And if I’m right,’ she said, ‘that’s exactly what they’ll think too.’
Hardacre stood at the helm. The Umbrella Security skiffs were small, two-deck affairs with very little room for weaponry or supplies; they were intended only to go a day or two out to meet threats or catch escaping criminals, not for the heavy drudgery of a lightship or a troop tramp. By her speed, the Fallen Star was little more than a day out of Medicine Leaf; for the skiff, it was scant few hours.
Nonetheless, he radioed ahead. Always better that the victim understood they had been seen, and agents were in pursuit.
‘Fallen Star, this is Agent Hardacre of Medicine Leaf aboard the skiff Dragoon. We are stopping your vessel for a routine inspection: kill your engines and await our approach.’
There was silence for some time. Then:
‘Skiff Dragoon, this is Fallen Star. Message received. Standing by.’
The sun rose higher in the sky, until it silhouetted the larger ship on the Dragoon’s approach; the Umbrella Man skiff slowed and drew alongside the Fallen Star, where a gangplank was extended by Maira and Ham. Hardacre strode across, eyes fixed on Maira, six heavy navy troops following on.
‘You the captain?’ he called. Maira crossed her arms.
‘I am,’ she replied. ‘What’s this about?’
‘Routine inspection.’ Hardacre’s answer was too quick, automatic; Maira rolled her eyes and nodded. ‘Don’t give me any attitude, sailor,’ Hardacre added, pointing a finger in her direction.
‘I’m cooperating here, agent,’ Maira retorted. ‘I’m even here to welcome you personally. Let’s get this over with, shall we?’
‘I’ll need your crew manifest, captain,’ Hardacre ordered. ‘And a full cargo detail.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have either of those,’ Maira said. ‘We’re only just flying again after thirty years – it’s just me, Ham, and the kid right now.’ She jabbed her thumb down at the engine bay, where Lance was keeping an eye on the gauges, a hat pulled down low over his eyes.
Hardacre stared at him.
‘The kid’s name?’ he asked.
‘Lance,’ Maira said. ‘Lance Burgess.’
‘And is he busy?’
‘Nothing Ham can’t pick up in his place.’ She nodded to Ham, and he ambled off down the catwalk. ‘Same with the cargo manifest: we shipped off last week with the basics and a bunch of hard tack. We got some proper food in at the waystation yesterday, but we hit that thunderstorm and landed pretty hard – no telling what shape everything’s in at the moment.’
Ham exchanged a few words with Lance and the kid came running up, the catwalk trembling with each step. He skidded to a stop in front of Hardacre and ripped off a textbook salute; even Hardacre rolled his eyes.
‘Name, kid?’ he asked.
‘Lance Burgess, sir,’ Lance replied.
‘How long have you been on this ship, Lance?’ Hardacre asked.
‘Just a few days, sir,’ Lance said. ‘I was out at the waystation for a month, Captain Deanfleet took me on when she stopped by.’
‘That’s nice,’ Hardacre said absently, trying to measure him up in his head. ‘Can you take off that hat? I need to see your face for verification.’
‘Sure.’ Lance took the hat off, revealing a mop of dirty blonde hair which ended in a short ponytail. Hardacre stared at him a while longer, hand half-raised; the marines stood poised. They carried only clubs, but they were strong and there were more of them than there were of Maira’s crew, so it was a distinctly uneven fight.
‘It’s not her,’ he said at length. He dropped his hand and the marines relaxed. Hardacre turned back to Maira. ‘Alright, captain. Show me this cargo bay of yours.’
Naturally, Hardacre gravitated towards the box in the middle of the room.
‘It’s just… it’s too obvious!’ he cried. The marines all grinned and leered at Maira; she steadfastly ignored them.
‘Yeah, it’s much harder to spot when there’s more cargo in here,’ she said. ‘It’s some kinda old escape hatch – dad used it a few times, it’s in some of the funnier stories.’
‘Open it.’ Maira stared at him.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Open it.’ Hardacre changed the grip on his umbrella – now he was carrying it like a rifle, one he intended to fire if his wishes were not acted upon. Maira glared at him.
‘Okay! Geez,’ she muttered. She crouched down and hammered on the woodwork several times on each face, until one of the popped open a little. She shuffled aside and Hardacre bent down to peer in.
It looked very much like the inside of a wooden crate, save for the hook attached to the back wall. Oh, and the gaping hole into the open sky that was cut into the floor.
‘See?’ Maira said from behind him. ‘Escape hatch.’
‘Hmmm.’ Hardacre looked up to the top, which was resolutely wood, and climbed in a little to look around the edges of the hole; but there was nothing to see. He crawled out and got to his feet.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘So no stowaways in there.’ He looked around the room. It was vast and empty and dark, and there appeared to be no place for anyone to hide. Except…
‘So what’s this?’ he asked, approaching what for all the world appeared to be a solid metal wall panel.
‘Well this was a smuggling vessel,’ Maira said. The marines stared quizzically, until Hardacre approached the wall and kicked it; it swung in slightly, then opened invitingly, a triangular section swinging away from the wall.
‘A bolthole,’ Hardacre announced. ‘You got anyone hiding in here?’ He ducked his head in – this one was at floor level and around the same size as the escape hatch, but it was deep, extending almost to the size of a full-grown man into the wall.
‘You find anything?’ Maira asked. ‘I can never get this one to close right, it’s been busted since before we lifted off.’
‘This one?’ Hardacre zeroed in on the wording, even as he swept his umbrella around in the space. The hook latched onto something and he pulled it out triumphantly. ‘What’s this?’
On the end of the umbrella handle was a green duffel bag. Maira shrugged.
‘Some bag,’ she said. ‘Found it when we crash landed; there were a couple fins in it, so we pocketed them and shoved it in here.’
‘Why in the bolthole, though?’ Hardacre pressed. ‘You’ve got all this space; why not just out here?’
‘I dunno. It had a false bottom in it, I figured I’d shove it in the smuggler’s hold.’
Hardacre ran his hands around the inside, pulled out the false cardboard base. He turned it this way and that as he examined it.
‘Not that great,’ he said. ‘Not with that corner all bent up; alright, and you found that in the jungle?’
‘Yeah,’ Maira said. She paused expectantly. ‘Is… that it? Can we go?’
‘Not yet,’ Hardacre said. ‘I wanna know how many other false walls you know if in here.’ Maira gestured at the space.
‘I mean, it’s enormous,’ she said. ‘There’s gotta be some. I know of a few from dad’s books – that one there that doesn’t close, there’s one about halfway up the ladder, and I think the other one mentioned is just the maintenance hatch that leads to the machinery?’
‘Show me,’ Hardacre ordered. His marines suddenly stood to attention, ready to back up the order with force.
In the end, it took more than an hour to scour the ship from top to bottom. Hardacre’s search turned up three more boltholes Maira hadn’t known about, plus the sheds full of light running equipment, and two more escape chutes in various parts of the ship.
But it did not turn up the girl, nor her rifle.
‘Your ship’s full of holes,’ Hardacre warned. ‘If I find any reason to return…’ He let the threat hang in the air and Maira threw her hands up.
‘You can keep the bag, agent,’ she said. ‘You can even have those couple fins back – I can’t promise the exact same coins, but I can pay them back to you if you really want it. Stars! I just wanna get on my way!’
‘You’ve been cooperative,’ Hardacre said. ‘So I’ll overlook the sass. What’s your next port of call, if I need to reach you?’
‘I dunno,’ Maira said. ‘We’re heading north – not much work in Medicine Leaf, I hear – so wherever the Cannibals take us. I have contacts in Vaalhest, though, so look for us there first.’
‘Vaalhest,’ Hardacre repeated, committing the name to memory. Maira nodded.
Hardacre sighed. He stared out at the horizon – if this was a bust, the girl must’ve gone to ground somewhere else. Or else she was dead in the jungle, and this was a wild goose chase.
‘You have permits for the light apparatus?’ he asked, his enthusiasm waning. Maira shook her head.
‘I’m getting it taken out up north,’ she said. ‘We didn’t have the equipment for it in Bolthead.’
‘I’m sure. Alright, looks like you’re clean. Safe travels, captain.’
‘Yes sir,’ Maira said, leaning back against the railing. Hardacre put his hand on the gangplank and paused.
‘One more thing,’ he said, half-turning to fix one eye on her. ‘Why was that kid – Lance – wearing a navy uniform?’
‘He was a cadet,’ Maira said. ‘Washed out, spent a month washing dishes at the waystation. He was getting screwed over; I picked him up.’
Hardacre’s gaze lingered on her a little too long for comfort.
‘Thank you, Captain Deanfleet,’ he said. ‘I look forward to our next meeting.’
He strode back down the gangplank. As soon as it was lifted from their ship, the Dragoon cast off to return to the depot.
Maira dusted off her hands, glowering at the retreating ship.
‘Thank the furies that’s over,’ she muttered. ‘Ham, you and Lance take the ship, steer us on a course towards Vaalhest. I need to dig up our stowaway.’
It was dark. Wilde waited patiently, but the sensation of raw metal against her skin was driving her crazy; she wanted to scratch herself, dig into these things, or drop out into the open air, or perhaps all three at once.
Suddenly there was a sound. Her hiding place rattled, and there was a creak, and then she was staring up as light entered her world again. Maira stared down at her, grinning.
‘How was it?’ she asked.
Wilde looked up at her. She was buried under a tangle of spare guy ropes, practically invisible beneath the metal. Unless you knew exactly where to look.
‘Awful,’ she replied. ‘Can I get out now?’
‘Sure can!’ Maira reached in, pulling out the ropes, and Wilde took a steadying breath. She took Maira’s offered hand, and she was pulled bodily out of the tall crate. Maira stuffed the rope back in and levered the lid back down.
‘Sorry about that,’ Maira continued, as she winched the straps tight over the top. ‘I figured any Umbrella Man worth his salt would know every bolthole in this bucket. But if something’s strapped down and full to the brim – and if it’s a pain to sift through – they’ll ignore it; it’s too much work.’
‘It was noisy,’ Wilde said. ‘And the metal hurt my skin.’
‘Let me take a look.’ Maira took her hand, looked her over. She grimaced. ‘Yeah, a couple scratches, but nothing that won’t heal. I’m sorry – but better scratched than dead, right?’
‘What about the gun?’ Wilde asked.
‘They didn’t get that.’ Maira turned out her pocket, revealing the broken scope. She pulled pieces out of other pockets too – it seemed there was a piece in just about every pocket. And Maira had a lot of pockets. ‘They did get the bag, though,’ she added. ‘Sorry. Had to show them something – better that than a rifle part, I figured.’
‘So what’ll I carry it in?’ Wilde asked. Maira shrugged.
‘I’ll let you borrow my bag for now,’ she said. ‘When we get to Vaalhest, we’ll get you a new one, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Wilde sighed.
‘You look exhausted,’ Maira said. ‘Why don’t you go and get some sleep? I’ll put these items in my bag for you, you can collect them when you wake up.’
Wilde nodded. She made her way back to the bunkhouse – Maira left her there and continued on to the helm. She sat in the captain’s chair as Lance held the wheel – he was younger, but he handled the winds and the roll better than she did, and she couldn’t help but feel a little sour at that comparison. She turned to the radio, which stood resolutely silent.
‘Hey Lance,’ she said. ‘Did you have any calls while you were up here?’
‘No captain,’ Lance replied. ‘It’s been quiet. Why?’
‘I just…’ Maira paused, and shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. As you were.’
The sun approached its zenith and Maira sat back, closing her eyes as the light and warmth filtered through the enormous front window.
‘Hold her steady for Vaalhest, Lance,’ she said. ‘Wake me up when it’s my turn at the wheel.’