Iapetus Shift

Chapter 8

The next day they sat around the small table in the mess hall of The Nile—as the ship was called—scraping bland, nutrient-enriched slop off their plates.

Raasad had introduced them to the crew; the bug-eyed woman was Greten, the ship's engineer. The large dreadlocked man went by Bran, and had been introduced as "weapons expert," but Olan got the impression he was more of a hired gunman than any kind of professional. The thin man with the square face was Malvin, the ship's medic. Adya, the pilot, sat with them as well.

Resa still wore her white jumpsuit, even though she'd slept in it. Estha had offered her a change of clothes, but she'd declined. She stared at everyone around the table as if trying to read their minds. Olan wore the brown business suit he'd worn when infiltrating Red Sands. He felt the comfortable weight of the poison needles in his pockets. Estha had once asked why the needle was his weapon of choice if the thing he hated most was the one he used for his meds. He still didn't have the answer to that.

The silence stretched thin. The captain smiled and nodded at anyone who looked his way, Greten scowled at her plate, Bran leaned back and burped.

"So," said Estha, sudden and loud. "I've never been to Titan, have you?" She directed her question at Malvin, who smiled and nodded.

"Yes, we've done several runs there since I've been on the crew." Malvin folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"Is it always food deliveries?" Estha asked in an unassuming tone. Greten shot a glare at Malvin, but he seemed oblivious.

"Well, yes, most of the time," said Malvin. "They are rather far out from the food-producing colonies, so they have to go for the cheaper deal when they can."

"Why is it so cheap?"

"Well, you see—"

"Malvin!" Greten dropped her fork onto her plate with a clatter, and Malvin snapped his mouth shut. "Shouldn't you be checking the medbay inventory or something?"

"Right." Malven dabbed his lips with a napkin, stood and nodded toward Olan's group, then left the mess hall.

The silence returned, with Greten glaring at Estha and Raasad trying to smile at everyone at once.

"I think our guests are a little too interested in our cargo," said Greten, not breaking her glare at Estha. "Don't you, Captain?"

Raasad laughed uneasily. "Well, there is a time and place—"

Adya leaped to his feet, knocking his chair over behind him. "We got something Cap, I'm getting a signal on the radar." He moved his hands about in front of his face, operating internal UI's as his mechanical eyes dilated.

"What is it? Pirates?" Bran's hand shot to the pistol on his hip.

"I don't think so, it's in a wide orbit around Ganymede. I mean real wide, like a hundred thousand kilometers."

"I think," said Raasad, his smile growing, "that an opportunity for salvage may have presented itself. Bring us alongside it."

"Yes, sir," said Adya, sprouting his own grin. "Bringing the engines down now. I better get back to my station."

The captain nodded. "Bran, Greten, back to your posts as well."

The crew scattered, and Olan, Estha and Resa were left looking at each other.

"This is bad," said Olan, leaning on the table and putting his head next to Estha's. "Any time we waste is time someone could be catching up to us."

"You really think Niemczyk is chasing us?" Estha whispered.

"We talked about this. He watched us leave, I'd bet anything he's trying to follow us himself."

"Are you sure it was him? How could he know where we'd be when you changed shape twice?"

"I changed," said Olan. "But you didn't. Remember, I followed him back to the Electric Sheep that night he was shadowing me. Enough people saw us sitting together that some persistent questioning would have got him some descriptions. Then all he'd have to do is follow you."

Estha slapped the table. "Shit, you're right. What do we do?"

Resa ceased her looking back and forth between them to finally speak up. "Victor Niemczyk is following you?"

"You know him?" Olan sat up.

Resa shrugged. "He was briefly famous on Mars in the late nineties for catching the nano-virus killer. I haven't heard about him since."

"So he is a cop," said Olan, confused.

"No, private detective. A rare occupation these days." Resa smiled, her eyes sparkling. Olan got the impression that she was desperate for someone to ask her about private detectives.

"Well," said Olan. "Whatever his job, he strikes me as a determined guy. I think there is a high chance we'll have company if we stay still for too long."

"What are you going to do?" said Estha. "You can't exactly expect a smuggler to pass on some free loot."

"No," said Olan. "But I can offer to help."