The Travers had three wonderful kids from four to ten, our years, who’d grown up in space and well knew the handling of ships. The father, Thor Travers, was former Freehold Military Forces Space Branch. He’d bought a salvaged UN support boat after the War and fitted it out himself. His wife, Lari, had been a groundside volunteer for medical support.
I felt comfortable.
We made a point to join them once a day for drinks, and for meals. The galley was small but clean, aft of the controls but before the cabins. A good buffer zone. They were gracious hosts and the food was commercial but Lari spiced it up a little and improved it. No complaints.
The third day out from Alsace, we talked business a little. I’d allowed that I was a veteran, and admitted to knowing emergency procedures for space.
Thor limited himself to a single beer. “I can’t drink much so I only drink good stuff,” he said. He had quite a chill rack of real glass bottles with a hundred or so types on hand. He sat back with a very classic reproduction firearm—a handgun with a revolving cylinder—in a thigh holster.
“This is an unusual leg for us,” he said. “Not many people go to Mtali, and not much cargo. I gather this isn’t your honeymoon, Mr. Dahl,” he said to me.
I grinned. “No, we’re doing research on some of the geologic formations for my wife’s thesis paper, and because I like colored rocks.”
Silver said, “I prefer the green, translucent kind with flowery inclusions.”
Everyone laughed.
Lari Travers asked, “Are their formations unusual?”
“Generally boring,” I said. “Lapis is common, which is ironic given the culture. There are various corunda and some interesting limestones. Not much in the way of gems or others.”
“There are some odd impact formations,” Silver said. I hadn’t heard that, and hoped it was true. Cover lies have to be solid.
“Really?” I asked in hint.
“Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you? A large one in the southern bay. We need cores from there.”
That sounded quite feasible. Good.
“I learn more all the time. And if it’s the bay, maybe we can go diving.”
Travers turned to the family of passengers. “And you folks?”
“We’re missionaries,” Mr. Terry said. “There are many people in need of help.”
I let a little more background slip out.
“I was here with our forces some years back. I do hope you’ve got a secure mission. Most of the people are quite nice, but a few make up for it.” Their kids were cute. I’d hate to hear of them suffering.
His wife said, “Yes, that’s a concern. We trust in God, but have strong walls.”
“Good,” I said. I hoped they did. Then, “What of you, Captain? You have cargo on this leg?”
“I do. Mostly weapon-related support equipment, I’m afraid. Stuff the UN will allow in for various enclaves to use for defense and support, without actually being lethal. It’s the only thing that really gets imported here, except for occasional donations of infrastructure gear that usually doesn’t last.”
“That sounds like what I remember.” And I suddenly wanted very badly to look at his manifests and get into his cargo holds. The odds were slim but possible that something was tagged for Randall.
I paid enough attention to the chatter of the other passangers to find out the Roulets were going to the Alsatian embassy, and Mr. Merkel was a consultant for the fusion plant upgrade in the capital, with his ladyfriend along for company.
“Dinner was good,” I said, “and the beer is excellent. Thank you very much.”
“You are most welcome,” Travers said. “If you’d like to try a couple of rounds in the Colt Special Police, I may fire a couple in the bay tomorrow before dinner. There’s a solid backstop and these rounds won’t penetrate the hull armor.”
“That would be quite exciting. Please.”
I wasn’t lying. But I was still more interested in his cargo.
I made an official but badly acted show of shoving Silver against the hatch to our stateroom, just in case anyone was looking. I did not grope or kiss her because there was no need to and I would have enjoyed it too much and not enough. She giggled as we fell through, then we both resumed professional masks.
She said, “You want to see the cargo.”
“I do. It’s all but impossible.”
“You can’t get back there?”
“I can. Doing so without leaving some kind of trace in a manifest this small is very unlikely. That kind of breech would not be discreet or acceptable. Can we find anything through the nodes?”
“I doubt they’re even active at this point. We’re light hours from either the jump point or orbitals. Unless you ask them to activate it, which means they’ll know we’re on, and any traces will be hard to cover with an ‘oops.’”