Chapter 119: Chapter 31: Keeping the Faigh

Cutter and Bloek waited by the reinforced security doors of Port Authority Processing. Bipedal security bots stood motionless on either side. Their optical units appeared to have a myopic, thousand-light-year stare. Cutter knew better. They were tracking his every action.

He admired the armored plating and hard points hiding both lethal and non-lethal weapons. When the contract was completed, and his account was overflowing with creds, he’d look into getting a unit of his own. With upgrades and a few illegal modifications, they’d be as capable as himself. Unlike his current crew, bots wouldn’t need profit shares, nor could they disobey orders, or make bad decisions in the throes of bloodlust.

The security doors parted, revealing a scowling Parr. 

“Someone looks like they got the full-body cavity search,” Bloek said.

“Fuck off. Took you long enough,” he growled.

“We got here as soon as we could. Transportation is a mess between the protest and the lockdown. You’re the one who did something stupid and got arrested, so don’t get mad at us,” Cutter snapped.

Parr smacked a hand against his thick chest. “Stupid? Guess what? My supposed stupidity found us the kid.” He relayed the details to Cutter and Bloek, and at the end shared an image—a snap of the kid’s face 92.3% matched to the last known image. “I would’ve had him had I not been jumped.”

Cutter clenched his jaw, conflicting feelings of anger and glee tumbling within him. It was a major break—the first live sighting of the target. It was also a major screwup on Parr’s part. “You would’ve had him for sure if you just waited out the brawl.”

Bloek stepped in between them. “We can’t change what happened. So what’s our next move?”

Cutter let out a slow breath, knowing Bloek was right. He said to Parr, “Do you think the target knew you were after him?”

The stocky man shrugged. “Can’t say. He was scared out of his mind.”

“That’s not good. He’ll might ditch the ship now,” Bloek said as another lockdown message played over the habitat’s announcement system.

“It’d be hard for him to jump to another ship that quickly with the lockdown. No one picks up new crew in the middle of the night on such short notice,” Cutter said. He looked at Parr. “If everyone was escorted back to their ships or lodging, then the kid would’ve been marched right back to the same ship.”

“That bay is a private lease,” Bloek said. “I checked on the way over here. There’s no way to get data on any of the docked ships.”

“According to the Port Authority Commander, the crew has already been booted off the station. Their contract was nullified,” Cutter said. “They’ll be on their way back to Praxum Depot to pick up more work.”

“Then we head there, and find the Slyvarkian who will lead us to the kid. Or maybe the kid himself,” Parr said.

“I can compile a list of freighters who left the station recently using the Pursuit’s sensor data,” Block said. “We should be able to narrow down the candidates to a handful of ships. Then we’ll know where to look on the Depot.”

“Even better, we use that data and talk to the contract brokers,” Cutter said. The tension riding his shoulders since Parr’s arrest eased. A potential disaster had been averted. “Let’s move out. I’ve got a vehicle waiting for us.”

“Wait. What about my gear and weapons?”

“A delivery bot is taking it back to the ship,” Cutter said. “The duty commander made it very clear you were not to touch it again until we’re off the habitat.”

Parr grumbled, and hurried after the other two.

---

Milia entered Engineering and found all four of the ops crew waiting for her. They greeted her with determined stares that cut through the lingering glaze of their altered state. Even Draug’s air of menace was enough to overpower its dopey appearance.

The crew’s eyes traced down her arm to the case in her hand, then returned to her, wary, but also curious and eager.

She met each of their stares in a slow sweep across the room. She wanted them to see a hesitancy, but also a determination to do what they believed was right. She accessed the compartment hub on her PD and switched off the security cam. If Dash or Gaius were even paying attention and confronted her about it, she’d simply say it was a private meeting for the crew to air their grievances. It wasn’t unheard of. Setting the case atop the main workstation, she addressed the crew. “We’re here because of our lack of trust in Captain Anderton and the flight crew. Specifically, how their actions have not only hurt us financially, but endangered our lives.”

“That’s a fancy way of saying we’re talking about mutiny,” Rosalie said. None of the ops crew balked at the mention of the word. 

Milia nodded. “I want to make sure we all understand this is a serious matter with real consequences if we fail. Everyone has to be all in. No changing your mind, no nonsense.”

“We’re all standing here, aren’t we?” Henrik said. Rosalie smacked his arm. He glowered at her, then saw the displeasure in Milia’s eyes and held his hand up. “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m at my breaking point, okay? I’d rather do something than wait to be ruined or killed by one of Dash’s decisions.”

“We all would,” Rosalie said. “It’s not our first time broaching the subject.”

“What stopped you before?” Milia asked.

The ops crew gawked at her in disbelief. Brock said, “To start with, we don’t have guns to take the ship.”

“Or admin access to lock down the comms to prevent an SOS from being transmitted,” Henrik said.

“Even if we had both of those, it’s risky to try anything in the system. Other captains, brokers, and dockmasters will notice at some point that the flight crew has been replaced,” Rosalie added.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about all that,” Milia said, a sympathetic frown on her face. She rubbed her chin, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to call it off.”

The ops grew grumbled as she lifted the case from the workstation. Henrik said, “Are you serious?”

“You just told me you were all in, and all I hear is excuses about why it won’t work. So why am I wasting my time, and more importantly, risking my neck, by talking about this?”

“We need your help,” Brock pleaded. “We don’t know how to fix this.”

Milia hesitated, keeping them on edge. She returned the case to the workstation. “Lucky for you, I do.” She unlocked the case, but didn’t open it. “The way I see it, now is the perfect time to mutiny. We’ve been booted off of Praxa Prime. We have no active contract. No one is expecting us. Dash is distracted thinking about our next contract. This is our opportunity to take the ship.” She opened the case. “With the help of these.”

The ops crew stared at the contents, wide-eyed. Draug said, “That’s a lot of guns.”

“A parting gift from my last ship,” Milia said.

Brock took the largest pistol from the case and examined it like a kid with a new toy. Henrik went next, then Rosalie after a moment of hesitation. Draug struggled to wrap its stumpy hand around the grip. Milia handed it a stunner. “Maybe you should stick with this.”

“And what happens to Dash and the others?” Rosalie asked.

“Leaving them alive is dangerous. Dash is stubborn enough to come after us even if we dump him off on some backwater station,” Henrik said. His lips quivered as if he were gathering courage to speak his next works. “I say we just space him and be done with it.”

Milia regarded the chief engineer. “Have you ever spaced anyone?”

Henrik met her piercing stare. His jaw shifted back and forth, and then he broke eye contact. “I’ve roughed up my share of bad crewmembers, but no, never spaced anyone.” He raised his eyes to meet hers again. “But there’s a first time for everything, right?”

The others looked to her eagerly. None of them outwardly balked at the idea. Milia licked the inside of her lips. She had them. “There is. But I need them alive. For now. I have an idea for which they might be useful. If it pans out, it will be very lucrative for all of us.”

“This better not be some favor garbage like Dash would say,” Henrik said.

“It’s not, but even if it was, I won’t screw it up like Dash would,” she said. She blinked and lowered her gaze. A hint of vulnerability to sell her plan. “Someone did me wrong too. I can use Dash to help make it right, and in the process, score us a nice haul of creds.”

Brock said, “If you’re expecting any cooperation out of him—”

“He will do what I want when the time comes to protect his pilot and medtech.”

“And when he’s done cooperating? What then?” Henrik asked, arms crossed.

Milia stared deep into his eyes. “Then we see if you follow up on your proposal.”

The ops crew, equipped with the tools for their freedom, nodded in response.

“Let’s make this official,” Milia said. “All those who vote in favor of mutiny, raise your hand.”

All five hands went up.

---

Red One and Two exited the Port Authority building into the chilly early-morning air of Praxa Prime.

The habitat had neared the end of its arc through Praxa’s dark side. The light of the Atan star now touched its outer bounds. Several transports cruised by, returning crews to their ships. A new workday was set to begin, the majority of the Praxa Prime population blissfully unaware of the deadly hunt that had taken place in their midst.

One scanned the transport lanes. His PD marked the vehicle. He approached it with Two by his side, and climbed in. Sitting across from them were Three and Four. The pairs eyed each other with disdainful expressions. One said, “How did they get past you and aboard their ship?”

“SecForce escorted them right to the airlock, then booted the ship off the station,” Three answered.

“There was nothing you could do?” Two asked.

Three and Four exchanged knowing glances. “We tried to sneak aboard. There were complications. Why weren’t you able to extract a hostage?”

“We tried,” One said. “We also had complications.”

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“This operation is a complete failure,” Three said. “The Controller will not be happy.”

“The Controller is never happy.”

The team received a secureComm request as the vehicle sped away from the curve. The two teams eyed each other again, though this time with concern. They connected.

“Were any of you compromised?” the Controller said.

They all answered negative. One said, “Port Authority viewed it as nothing more than a drunken brawl. Though our weapons were confiscated, despite our licenses.”

“Tools, easily replaced. True believers such as yourselves, not so much. It’s fortunate the lockdown and protest occupy their attention. Otherwise One and Two would still be sitting in a cell. Possibly even compromised,” the Controller said. Though unspoken, his true meaning was known.

One felt his tongue involuntarily brush the molar in his mouth. A simple PD command, and any acolyte would depart their mortal body and take the great journey. A true believer would do it without hesitation to protect their own.

“What of the operation?” Three asked.

“We’ve failed to retrieve the package. But there’s a strong likelihood SecForce does not have it in their possession,” the Controller said.

“Then who does?” Two asked.

“We intend to find out. You are booked on a shuttle to Praxum Depot. You should arrive around the same time the Stardancer docks. Find the crew and find out the truth.”

One felt his lips arch into a rare smile. The source planted in the local Holy Church branch continued to prove useful. Though he wondered if the sect had a double agent given the failure of the warehouse operation. He would never know unless he elevated to a Controller. That was how secrets were kept, and the integrity of the sect maintained. “We will do so.”

“This is a chance at redemption for all of you. I expect to receive good news, or no news at all,” the Controller said.

The four acolytes exchanged determined looks.

“It will be done,” One said.

---

Armin sat at his desk, staring at the container sitting on top. It was the size of personal luggage, but with a much different purpose than storing clothes, socks, and undergarments.

The curtains were drawn in his cavernous office. The faux-stone construction and high ceiling always left it a bit on the cold side. Artifact cases, replica texts, and paintings lined the walls. Typical fare for anyone of his position in the Holy Church. 

Only his desk could be described as original. He’d found it in a container of artifacts deemed as waste and destined for the incinerator. Constructed out of trees from some unknown world, something about it caught his interest. He ordered the keepers to restore it despite their objections about wasting precious time on “junk” as they described it. Their work was exemplary as always. The smooth top showcased the wood grains, while the legs held ornate carvings. He’d lost count of the compliments he’d received regarding its beauty.

Some days, he would stare at it and imagine the journey it had taken to arrive at his Church. Its travels across the stars, the lives it touched. But none of those thoughts crossed his mind in that moment. The desk took an unmeasurable second to something far more compelling.

Armin studied the artifact through the transparent lid of the sealed container, absorbing every detail. He slipped a hand into the container’s access slot. The containment gel field formed itself over his skin. The viscous sensation traveled down his wrist then over his forearm as he reached farther inside.

He ran his fingers over the artifact. Text and images stained the cellulose-fiber pages with various colors. Exquisite artistry from long ago. He could read some of the text, having learned the translation, but his aged mind could only absorb so much. 

He gently pinched a corner and turned the page. His PD overlaid the partial translation. He’d never come across such a well-maintained piece. Despite the heavy cost to obtain it, both in cred and life, it was worth it. He would offer full passing services to the two servants slain in the warehouse. Private ceremonies, of course. At least they’d left behind no family, for they were young orphans who had grown up in one of the Church’s shelters.

The loose end of the freighter captain troubled him, but there was nothing to be done there. The captain was right in that both he and Armin had a vested interest in keeping the secret. Once Armin moved the artifact off the habitat, there was very little chance any harm could come over it. Preparations had been preplanned. It would be gone soon enough.

A chime sounded from his chamber door. Someone had entered the antechamber. His personal assistant wasn’t scheduled to arrive for another several hours. That left one other option.

Footsteps echoed from the antechamber as Armin switched the container to sealed mode. The access slot snapped closed, and the viewport on the top went from transparent to opaque. 

The footsteps stopped outside his door, followed by three sharp knocks. Before he could speak, the door opened. A serious woman in a Port Authority uniform stepped inside. Her lips pulled tight across her face.

“Ah, Captain Severion,” Armin said with a smile. He stood from his desk. “What brings you here at such an early morning hour?”

She reached him as he rounded the desk. Her piercing stare met his. Her arms raised, and wrapped around him in a strong embrace. She sighed. “You don’t have to address me like that in private, father.”

Armin squeezed her back. “Tough day at work, daughter?”

She released him, stepped back and straightened her uniform. “Yes, and it’s not over yet. I’m sure you heard about the incident in the warehouse district.”

“Only that there was some sort of criminal mischief.”

“Oh, it was much more than mischief,” she said, and paced across the room. Her hands waved in the air as she spoke. “There was a shootout. SecForce Spec Ops screwed up an operation they didn’t even loop me in on. Then the mission went to hell.”

“Language, my dear,” Armin interjected.

“Sorry, father. The mission went bad. There was a big explosion, with multiple injured and killed, including a few of ours.” 

“I can see why the lockdown order was announced.”

“Yes. Right in the middle of night when all the freighter crews are altered out of their minds. So then I’ve got a bunch of angry haulers stumbling back to their ships and picking fights. You have no idea how many reports I’m going to have to file about this.”

Armin gestured to the couch opposite his desk. “Please, sit with me. Would you like tea?”

“No, thank you,” Severion said, and sat down.

“Did you find out more about the operation?”

“No. The SSO commander is a…jerk. I have sources, though, and learned about some recent rumors.”

“What sort of rumors, daughter?”

“That someone found a cache of artifacts, and they’re being smuggled to wealthy collectors.” She looked up at him. “One of the destinations mentioned was here.”

“Oh my. Do you believe it?”

She shrugged. “I’ve heard stories about forbidden artifacts all my life.”

“Now they’ve got you chasing ghosts?” Armin said, and patted his daughter’s hand. “I worry about the stress your job gives you.”

“Join the club.” Her eyes went to the container on his desk. “What’s that?”

Armin followed her gaze. “Ah. It’s that time of the quarter. We cycle through our local artifact collections, cleaning them and rotating the display stations in the foyer of the Church. I find it refreshing to examine the pieces. To think that the items are hundreds or thousands of years older than we are. It’s a good reminder to cherish our limited time.”

“Can I see it?”

“I’m afraid the cleaning cycle has begun for this one. It’s not terribly exciting either. Just a simple statue of a harvest servant. I’ll have one of the keepers retrieve something interesting out of storage. You can come by tomorrow to view it.”

“I might have to work late, but I’ll do my best,” she said, and stood. “I’ll leave you to your antiques now. I need to return to duty.”

“Always the workaholic.”

They hugged. Armin escorted his daughter to the door.

“What’s that smell?” she said, and looked around the room. She eyed her father suspiciously. “Did you eat one of those cheeseburger concoctions?”

Armin paused, his cheeks flush. “I confess. You caught me, daughter.”

Her lips curl into a devious smile. “You know I have to tell everyone at the next family gathering.”

“Maybe we can come to an arrangement.”

Severion put her hands on her hips. “You’re not the only one asking favors of me tonight.”

“But I am the only one who will succeed,” Armin said with a knowing smile.

Severion laughed, hugged her father, and left. He waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps, then returned to his desk. He placed his hands atop the container, then silently mouthed the words of a prayer. The same one he said with every new forbidden artifact he obtained. His work wasn’t finished, and now it was threatened by the discovery of a mole. He would adjust and keep moving on.

The end was in sight. All he needed to do was keep his faith.

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