Orbital Claims Adjuster Page 10

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here,” Jake said, trying to pull Vidal up to his feet.

  “Stewart,” Vidal said.

  “You’ll be fine. It’ll hurt when we move, but we need to get behind an airlock.”

  Jake frowned as a thought struck him. “Did the other guy have a gun? I didn’t see one. The shotgun missed.”

  “Stewart, what type of ammunition did you load,” Vidal said, his tone was pinched and strained. He must have been in a lot of pain.

  “Ammunition? What do you mean, sir?”

  “He means,” Suzanne said, coming over and helping Jake pull Vidal toward an airlock, “that you loaded solid shots, not ship ammo. And you, or your ricochets, punched a hole in a wall or bulkhead or whatever they are called, and that is why the alarm is ringing.”

  “I don’t understand. Did the other guy shoot him?”

  “No, Jake,” Suzanne said. “You fired solid shots and they bounced off that truss. You shot him.”

  Chapter 8

  Jake sat at the desk in his quarters, miserable. Vidal had been treated at the clinic on the station. They had doped him up, removed the bullet, screwed his bones together with titanium plates, stapled his skin and muscle together, sprayed it with sealant, and sent him back to the ship. His arm was in a foam cast, but it should heal. The other TGI ship had sent a crew to collect their new sensor computer. After spending an unfruitful hour looking at mug shots, station security had let Jake and Suzanne go.

  There was a knock on his door and then Suzanne came in before Jake could even say go away. She was humming to herself as she walked over and sat on Jake’s bed.

  “That was so exciting, yes? So much fun.” Suzanne was downright beaming.

  “It was?”

  “Yes, the talking, the shooting, the yelling. It made my blood race.”

  “You weren’t scared?” asked Jake.

  “No, I had no time to be scared.”

  I had plenty of time to be scared, Jake thought.

  “Well, thanks for saving me. If you hadn’t tackled me that shotgun would have hit me full blast.”

  “It was nothing. You would have done the same for me. In fact, you did the same thing, of course. That is why you shot at that woman.”

  Or I shot because I was so scared I wasn’t thinking right, Jake thought.

  “No, you did the right thing, Suzanne. You saved me and Vidal. I’m the one who shot the man who can make my life hell and nearly killed everyone on that station.”

  “That is true.” Suzanne preened a bit. “But even though you made a mistake, you tried your best. Your hands were shaking very badly, but you were so close that if you had had the correct bullets you would have hit that woman.”

  “My hands were shaking?”

  “Yes, you were shaking very badly.”

  Jake replayed the scene in his mind. He thought he was cool and focused, in control. Of course, if that had been the case his clothes wouldn’t have been drenched in sweat by the time he got back to the ship.

  “You didn’t feel afraid at all?”

  “No, I was excited, but in an alive way. I could see everything clearly and in focus. Things seemed to slow down.”

  “Things seemed to stop completely for me,” said Jake. “I was very nervous. Scared even.”

  “It was a dangerous situation. This is why I wanted to join the Militia. Get away from home, go to exciting places, have adventures.”

  Suzanne stood up and did a quick foot shuffle, stretched her shoulders back and took a deep breath. Her smile beamed around the room.

  “But Jake,” Suzanne said, pulling Jake from his thoughts. “Why did you load with solid shot bullets rather than ship bullets?

  “Good question. Station security asked me that too. I guess I forgot which colors meant what. I thought the black bands were frangible.”

  “No, that is the green bands.”

  “Aren’t green bands the training rounds?”

  “No, that’s blue. Don’t you remember Sergeant Russell’s talk?”

  “I guess not. I screwed up. Again. Vidal is sure to want to throw me out an airlock now.”

  “Well, yes. That is possible.” She smiled and walked over to his door, humming again.

  ***

  “Stewart, what do you have to say for yourself?” Vidal asked. He sat behind his desk as Jake tried not to sweat all over the floor. Vidal still looked a bit pale, and he kept playing with the hard foam bandage on his arm. Jake noticed that he had a holster with a revolver on, and that it was unsnapped.

  “Nothing, sir.” Jake said.

  “Screw up once, shame on you. Screw up twice, shame on me. Screw up three times, who do I blame? My parents? The schools? Sunspots?”

  “Just me, sir.”

  “Do you know how much paperwork I’ll have to go through to get this sorted out Stewart?”

  “No sir.”

  “It will go on for months.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Do you hate me Stewart?”

  “Me, No sir. Why would you say that?”

  “Well you cause me great administrative distress, and, oh, YOU SHOT ME.”“ Tell me why I shouldn’t just throw you out the airlock right now!? I could claim you threw yourself out because you’re so stupid! No one would argue with me. After all, how idiotic do you have to be to mix up solid shots with ship bullets!”

  Jake said nothing. What could he say?

  Vidal put his head in his hands for a moment.

  “What I want to do, Stewart, is to dump you out an airlock. I want that so badly. But for some crazy reason, I’ve decided not to. So, I’m sending you back to jail.”

  Jake didn’t say anything, but he felt his stomach drop.

  “Did you hear me, Stewart? You’re going back to the Militia.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Go back to your cabin. You’ll stay locked down there until I can find a station with a militia crew to take you back to jail and leave you there to rot.”.

  ***

  Jake sat on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Another of his monumental screw-ups, that’s for sure. He began to take stock of his life thus far. He’d done well in school, but any sort of activity outside of studying or doing low-level cargo work had been a dismal failure How had he managed to screw up everything in his life so badly?

  “Because you suck, Stewart,” Jake said out loud. Jake dug under his bed. He thought he had three beers stashed away from a case Zeke had smuggled on board from an earlier station. Three beers should get him drunk, almost.

  Jake popped open a beer and began to type out an analysis of what had gone wrong in his life. Other than “You’re an idiot” and “You can’t hold your liquor” and “Every time you try to impress a girl it goes horribly wrong,” he wasn’t making much progress . He was self-aware enough to realize that blaming all of his problems on booze and women didn’t make him unique. He had a list of other minor issues like “You have poor hearing,” “You have poor fashion sense,” and on and on. But these didn’t seem to be enough to explain his current predicament.

  He finished his first beer, popped open another, and began two new lists. One was “Things I can do well.” The other, “Things I screw up all the time.” The first list was mostly administrative, trading, computer activities. The second list was much longer. He sighed and finished off the second beer, his head starting to get that warm fuzzy feeling of a good buzz.

  Perhaps he should just give up booze? A lot of his problems involved booze. Of course, by that logic he should give up women as well. Mind you, that seemed to be happening for him whether he wanted it or not. And to be honest, most of his mistakes happened even when he was stone sober.

  Jake opened the last beer and thought about his future. Years from now after he got out of jail (if he ever did), maybe he could get work as a deckhand on a long-haul ore carrier. As a criminal, he wouldn’t be able to get any sort of licensed job, so he’d only be able to get the lowest paying dec
khand gigs. He’d spend his life attaching and detaching containers, his biggest joy in life being his bi-monthly shower on a station, until he was finally killed in the inevitable industrial accident.

  What a wonderful life. Huh. He looked at his last beer. It was barely touched. Ok. Enough self-pity. He poured the third beer down the sink, drank a big glass of water, and started a new list. “What I need to do to get out of this mess.” He began to type.

  ***

  Bang, bang, bang. Jake woke up and yawned. Somebody was at the door. Suzanne and Zeke were standing there, holding a pile of food trays. Jake recognized a red-green-blue and some of the non-cooking ones.

  “Jake,” Zeke greeted him “Here, we thought you could use some food. Vidal told us he is sending you back to jail. How are you doing?”

  “Not well,” Jake said.

  “Yes, we can see that,” Zeke answered, picking up the discarded beer cans on the table.

  “I’m going back to jail soon as soon as Vidal can manage it. He’s turning me over to the Militia. Which is actually good, because if it was up to him I think he’d dump me out an airlock.

  “Yes, I am also surprised Vidal did not throw you out,” Zeke said, giving Jake a long look and smiling.

  “What is that look for?” Jake said. Zeke shrugged and looked over at his sister.

  “Vidal will not shoot you,” Suzanne answered, as she looked around for somewhere to put his trays, finally just dumping them on his bunk. “Why should he do that?”

  “He hates me. Oh, and I shot him.”

  “Well, yes, shooting him did make him angry. But you did fix him up after. And killing you would be a lot of paperwork, which he hates almost more than you. At least, that’s how I explained it to him.”

  “You? Explained...?” Jake stumbled. He rubbed his head again.

  “How are you keeping busy, my friend?” Zeke asked.

  “I was…making a…a list of things I’m good at doing. That’s what I’ve come up with.”

  Zeke looked at his list. “Researching cargo paperwork. That is it?”

  “Yes, that’s it. And shooting people by accident.”

  “Jake, that is silly,” Suzanne said.

  “Oh, I forgot to add ‘get drunk and start a fight in a bar’. Sorry, that should have been ‘lose a fight in a bar.’”

  “You are not the first man to ever do that.”

  “Or the first woman, either,” Zeke said, smiling at his sister. Suzanne smacked his shoulder.

  “Jake, things are not so bad. What about all those repair things that you know, how to fix things on space ships, the electronics and mechanical things. And you can pilot small ships, and navigate, and you know all these trading and administrative things. You just made a mistake, that was all. Bassi is being hard on you, but he is just frustrated at not being able to buy these metals he needs. I have been trying to help him, but I don’t the things you know, Jake.”

  Jake stared at Suzanne. “You have been trying to help him?”

  “A little.”

  “You call him Bassi now?”

  “Bien sur.”

  Jake shivered for a second, then changed the subject. “How long till we get to TGI main?” he asked.

  “TGI Main? Why?” Zeke queried.

  “There’s a big militia base there. Closest one. He’ll dump me with them when we arrive.”

  Zeke shook his head. “I don’t think that we’re going there. Vidal said we were going out orbit, if I heard him right. Suzanne and I will be busy for the next few days. He has more cargo to pick up. We have different stations to visit.”

  “Going out orbit? That’s curious.”

  A beep sounded from Suzanne’s comm.

  “Jake, we have to go.” She leaned forward and gave Jake a big hug. She felt good, warm and soft, and he smelled the citrus again. She pulled away and gave him a smack on the arm. “Do not worry so much, Jake. You are clever. I’m sure you’ll think of a solution, just like with the course in training.” She smiled and shuffled out the door with Zeke. Jake heard them lock the door to the passenger deck as they left. He was all alone.

  Jake thought about that as he munched through the hot tray. He logged into the system and began to take stock. He was locked out of the comm sections, but he was able to follow their course on his computer. They were going out system, moving from station to station.

  With nothing else to do and with Zeke and Suzanne busy with Vidal, Jake spent his time working on his lists. He had to admit, Suzanne was right about some things, he was good with the computers.

  He read the general mass reports out of boredom, and began to cross check reports. When a ship disposed of garbage it was weighed before disposal so that changes could be noted, same when cargo was loaded or unloaded. The Petrel wasn’t taking on any supplies at these stations, and just minimal trash was removed. Jake looked for changes in cargo mass. There wasn’t any. In fact, cargo showed no changes at all. Almost like they weren’t picking up any cargo. After they had been travelling for two days, they still hadn’t altered course anywhere near a militia base.

  Interesting.

  Jake kept digging into the reports and think about what Suzanne had said before she left. Think of something clever.

  ***

  Jose finished signing for the packages the courier had brought up. Unlike anyone else he had ever worked for, Mr. Dashi received actual packages from the surface and from other orbital stations. The packages were special. They required a code to open, and entering the wrong code more than twice set off a small explosive, obliterating what was inside but not you hand.

  Probably.

  “Sir, your packages have arrived,” Jose said over the comm.

  “Bring them in, please,” Dashi said.

  Jose stepped through the heavy door and closed it behind him. It snicked closed. Jose had learned that this meant that electronic signals couldn’t leave the room.

  “Sir, I have some news on Jake Stewart. I put it in your regular report, but I would like to discuss it with you.”

  “Of course, Jose. What has happened to Jake?”

  “He shot Mr. Vidal, by accident.”

  “I see.”

  “Vidal has him locked in quarters. But from the tone of the report, I think Vidal would rather toss Jake out an airlock.”

  “I see,” Dashi said and smiled. Jose was an expert on Mr. Dashi’s smiles. This was his teaching smile, and it meant ‘go on.’ Jose continued.

  “It appears Jake shot him by accident, but Vidal thinks it was deliberate”

  “Why would he think that?”

  “Perhaps he thinks you sent Jake to kill him.”

  Mr. Dashi pushed his chair back and rolled his shoulders, then clasped his hands together.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I think Vidal doesn’t just work for us. I think he is passing information to the other corps.”

  “Go on.”

  “Vidal is paranoid. He must have something to hide…Wait, that’s why you sent Jake there.”

  “Do you see Jake as an assassin?”

  “No, sir. I don’t think anyone who has met Jake would see him as an assassin. You would have to be extremely paranoid to think of Jake as an assassin. Of course,” Jose nodded. “Brilliant. Jake is so obviously not an assassin, that sending him there would not upset an honest man. Only somebody with lots to hide would worry about a guy like Jake.”

  “Yes. Very good, Jose. Perhaps someday you will have my job.”

  “I don’t think so, sir. I think you will be here for a long time.”

  “Things don’t always work out as you plan, Jose. Ask Jake.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How is Vidal doing on collecting those metals?”

  “Not well, sir.”

  “We need those metals. I don’t care what happens to Vidal, but we need those metals. Send a request for an update. Remind Vidal of what his quotas are and ask how close he is doing. Query his answers. Be aggressive.
Send him another list of stations you have located in the outer Belt. Shake him up.”

  “Yes, sir. Uh, we’ll have to skip one of the stations on my list.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ve put themselves in quarantine, sir. Some sort of outbreak. But they didn’t have much to start with.”

  “Very well.”

  “And Jake, sir?”

  “What about Jake?”

  “Should we tell Vidal to let Jake go?”

  Mr. Dashi smiled. “No, Jose. Jake is exactly where I want him to be, for now.”

  Chapter 9

  “Tell me more about what Vidal is trying to buy at these stations,” Jake said. They were sitting together at the mess table in the middle of the passenger deck. Jake had been stuck down for nearly a week. He had hardly seen Zeke and Suzanne. Vidal had been keeping them busy, so Jake had been alone nearly the whole time. But that had given him time to do some research and start to come up with a plan.

  “Metals,” Suzanne said, shaking her head slightly. “We go out with Vidal and sometimes others in the crew. These are very small stations. I have never seen anything like them. A couple of dozen, never more than fifty people. Very small.”

  “Yes, but what is Vidal buying? What kind of metals?” asked Jake.

  “Well, nothing so far. Vidal meets with people on these stations and tells them that he wants to buy a bunch of refined metals, names I don’t know. Iridium, maybe. Some others that start with R?”

  “Ruthenium? Rhodium?” asked Jake.

  “That sounds right. What are they for?”

  “They’re used in superconductors and some specialized magnets for fusion plants. Most corps have a machine to re-furbish existing magnets to keep their fusion plants running. They plate them with a special plating, and rhodium and ruthenium are part of it.”

  “Oh. Is that why they are expensive? Is that why Bassi is having such a hard time? He is getting grumpier and grumpier these past days. I cannon cheer him up,” Suzanne replied.

  Jake felt some heat rise to his cheeks. He didn’t want to think about how Suzanne cheered up Vidal. He shook the thought from his head. “Well, they didn’t used to be expensive. Not cheap, but not much more than, say, gold.”