IX.

When the week was finally over, Captain Dale lifted the double-quarantine and put the Pater Noster in to dock at Skapstoti. With the help of several Anderson automatons, rented by the Captain, the crew unloaded the cargo in record time, then poured into the space station to stretch their legs, shop, and enjoy the station’s amenities. 

Franklyn went “ashore” with Feorn under his wing. His apprentice had almost decided not to go, but Franklyn managed to cajole him into it, though when he appeared, he was wearing long sleeves that covered his tattoos.

As they came out of the shipping area, they caught sight of the Captain standing under the “Welcome to Skapstoti” sign and frowning deeply. Franklyn reasoned that he was probably second-guessing his decision to quarantine the ship for only a single week. There were a lot of families and children visible not too far away, moving along the thoroughfare. Dale was pressing his thumb into his chin in that distinctive way that meant he was worried.

He’d better hurry if he’s going to make those interviews, Franklyn thought. He’d seen the Captain’s schedule earlier, and knew he was supposed to meet with several prospective replacements for Constantini relatively soon.

Franklyn hoped that he and Feorn would be able to find some accessories for the navigational computer here on Skapstoti, either at the Anderson warehouse or one of the smaller resellers. They had time to shop around and barter a bit—which they did for the entire day, wandering from one end of the station to the other. They found a few of the parts Franklyn wanted, but eventually Franklyn decided it was time to call it quits and led the way to a pub.

The pub fare was a bit greasier than the sort of food they usually ate on the Pater Noster, and Feorn had to partially roll up his sleeves to prevent them from getting stained.

There were all sorts of people on Skapstoti. Throughout the day, Franklyn had even spotted a few Colonials—recognizable because of their nonconformist taste in clothing styles. There were none in the pub though. Nearly everyone in the pub appeared to be locals, in work-stained overalls and collared work shirts. To his surprise, he spotted Onobwe off in the corner having some dinner and a drink by himself. Franklyn wondered for a moment why Onobwe would not have gone to the African Quarter on Skapstoti to find dinner (and some company), but did not put much thought into it. At one point, the navigator accidentally locked eyes with some rough-looking locals who did not seem to like being looked at, so he quickly turned his attention somewhere else.

When their meal was over, Franklyn led the way outside and back toward the ship. “So what did you think of my bartering today?” he asked.

Feorn shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t think you saved any money—not the way you barter, anyway.” He paused, and seemed to think better of the criticism. “But, yes, I think it was instructive.”

Franklyn scowled momentarily, but responded, “Good! I’m glad you think so. You see, the trick is to become their friend through cracking jokes and—”

Feorn feigned interest in Franklyn’s lesson, but inwardly he was thinking about how the locals had probably been insulted by the navigator’s attempts at levity. The smaller vendors on this sort of space station tended to be the sort of people who lived hand-to-mouth, unsure from month to month if they would be able to pay for their food and air, and preserve their credit ratings. From their perspective, anyone who stepped off a freighter must be a member of some fabulously wealthy elite, and the sort of levity and “cajolery” that Franklyn engaged in probably seemed condescending and patronizing.

Franklyn’s lesson had wound down by the time they reached the ship. Upon returning to the loading area, they found Captain Dale standing at the top of the Pater Noster’s loading ramp with a small, black-haired woman in a light blue jumpsuit with Anderson printed on the shoulder. Her hair was done up in a perfect elfin ‘bob’. She was attractive, slim, and well-poised. There was a small brown book protruding slightly from her breast pocket.

It took Franklyn more than a moment to deduce that this diminutive woman must be the Captain’s choice to replace Constantini. It looked like Dale was showing her around the ship.

The Captain greeted the navigator and the apprentice as they came up the ramp. “Hello, you two. I’d like you to meet Marala. She’ll be taking Constantini’s place.”

Both Franklyn and Feorn found themselves rather inarticulate all of a sudden. There were plenty of women in their line of work, of course, but they were usually of a rather different sort—not quite so petite with such delicate features.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” the woman said, in a pleasant but unplaceable accent. “I look forward to working with both of you.”

Onobwe came stomping up the ramp behind them all. “Lot of gangsters in this place, Cap—” He caught sight of the new hire and did a double-take.

Marala leaned forward and introduced herself. Onobwe gruffly returned the pleasantry.

“What was that you were saying?” Dale asked.

“Lots of gangsters here, Cap. Things have been shaken up since the last time we visited. A lot more Lithuanians now.”

“That a problem for us?”

“No. Just make sure you bribe the right people.”

Dale nodded. “You see any pirated goods?”

Onobwe shrugged. “Don’t think so. Prices were too high.”

“Any PAC’s,” asked Franklyn. “I mean, excluding yourself?”

Onobwe growled. “A few, yes. So watch yourself.” He made a very slight threatening movement in the navigator’s direction, then stomped away. 

Franklyn cringed away from Onobwe’s sudden movement, then looked at the Captain, expecting him to mete out some sort of disciplinary measure at the other man. Dale, however, merely raised his eyebrows for a moment, pursed his lips, and shook his head. Franklyn had clearly antagonized the fellow.

The Captain cleared his throat, then introduced Franklyn and his apprentice to Marala, since they had been interrupted before. Then, catching sight of something, he excused himself. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“So, uh….” Feorn began, awkwardly, “you were at Anderson?”

Marala hesitated for a moment, then her head made a barely perceptible turn toward the Anderson logo printed on her shoulder. She smiled pleasantly. “Yes, actually! Anderson’s had my contract for practically my whole life. Since the moment I started school, actually.”

The woman’s warmth and friendliness helped Feorn relax and he grew a bit bolder. “So you were at… Ryerson, I suppose? Ryerson’s the Anderson training school, isn’t it?”

“Yes! But no. Actually, I did spend a little bit of time at Ryerson, a short placement, but I was mostly at a private offworld institute for people like me.”

Franklyn started to frown as the woman went on. There was something strange about her. When the Captain returned, the navigator pulled him aside out of earshot from the other two. 

“Is…. Is that woman a slave?” he asked. 

Dale did not hesitate in his answer. “Yes. Bought with a price.”

The abruptness of the response startled Franklyn, and it took him a few moments to process the revelation. “You bought a slave?” He was incredulous.

The Captain scratched his nose and looked at Franklyn as if expecting him to follow that up with a more intelligent question.

“You expect a slave to keep the ship’s system’s running?”

“She’s accredited. And she’s a lot more intelligent than anyone else around here.”

“You don’t even like having women on board, and now you…. Buy one?”

Franklyn’s incredulity was understandable. Dale had on occasion confided that he only hired women because government regulations made it almost impossible not to do so.

“This is different,” Dale explained. “I’m not going to go into details with you, but there’s insurance benefits for having someone like her on board, and…” He trailed off.

“You sure you didn’t hire her because—” Franklyn hesitated and turned to look at the new girl, who had just begun to laugh at some joke Feorn had told her. She put her hand on Feorn’s arm in a friendly way.

Franklyn’s mouth worked as he tried to complete his question. He realized he might have talked himself into a corner. His fear of the Captain was warring with his righteous indignation. Partway through his question, he had realized he was about to accuse Dale of some impropriety, and he was trying to figure out a way to phrase it without irritating the Captain.

Dale, of course, realized some of this, and gave Franklyn an emotionless look before answering the half-asked question. “I’m not obligated to explain anything to you, Franklyn. Remember that. The new girl gets a sailor’s knife, just like everyone else, and she gets her own private cabin. Excuse me.” He pointed toward Feorn and the new girl, moving in their direction.

Franklyn was left blinking at emptiness as the Captain strode away. After a moment, he followed, but from then on he kept his mouth shut.

At this moment, Dr. Burnstyle and Dr. Marlowe came up the ramp together. Marlowe had decided not to go back into cryo-stasis for the remainder of the voyage back to Earth, saying that it would give him a chance to get caught up on his reading. He and Burnstyle had struck up a friendship together over the past week, probably from being forced into such close proximity to each other. When they approached the group at the top of the ramp, a fresh round of introductions were made.

Looking the new woman up and down, Marlowe exclaimed, “Exquisite! Excellent choice, Captain. You must be expensive, aren’t you!” He grinned broadly.

Marala squinted at him and laughed lightly.

Dale made a sharp, negatory motion with his hand and exclaimed, “Marlowe!”

“What!?” the professor exclaimed. He looked at the Captain, then around at everyone else. “Oh!” He seemed to realize something.

Feorn studied the looks that the Captain and Marlowe were exchanging. “How could you tell she’s expensive?” he asked. Inwardly, he was trying to figure out what the professor meant by the word.

“I, uh…” Marlowe realized that he might have unintentionally revealed something about the new girl that not everyone was aware of yet. “You can tell… just by looking at her… that her… education… must have been very expensive!” He eyed the Captain questioningly.

“That’s right!” the Captain agreed. “Wondrously ponderous lobes in that ivory dome, if Marala’s resume is anything to go by. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He smiled.

Feorn’s eyes narrowed. He knew he was missing something.

“She looks like a light breeze would knock her over,” Burnstyle observed, gruffly.

Dale exhaled sharply through his nose. “Yes, but you’ll find that there’s more to Marala than meets the eye. I think she’ll do very well as our new technician.”

“Marala. That’s an Indian name,” Burnstyle said. “You’re not Indian.”

Everyone turned to look at the girl. She looked back at them through round eyes set within very pale skin.

She smiled. “There were a lot of Indians where I grew up,” she explained.

There was a bit more small talk, but eventually the Captain excused himself and Marala, explaining that he had to get the new girl settled into her cabin.

X.

The next day, Franklyn and Feorn set out to continue their shopping, but after finding little success, their expedition eventually devolved into aimless meandering through the open market, looking at curiosities. Feorn still had his arms covered.

Partway through the day, they were looking around in a less-trafficked part of the market when seemingly out of the blue, Franklyn was struck by an electrical discharge and fell on his face.

When he began to recover, he vaguely deduced from the feeling in his muscles that he had been shot with a stun gun. He looked around for Feorn, but there was no sign of the young man. Getting up, he saw a few shopkeepers standing in their stalls and staring at him glumly. He tried asking them what had happened, but they remained silent, refusing to respond to any of his questions. Feorn was nowhere to be seen.

Franklyn dimly began to realize that Feorn might have been abducted, for some unknown reason, and he began limping toward the docks. His mind still fuzzy, he was about halfway there before he remembered he could call the Captain on his data pad to inform him what had happened. 

Dale, Marala, Pullman, and one or two other crewmen came rushing out to meet him when he approached the ship, plying him with questions, though he knew practically nothing.

“Did you see who it was?” Dale demanded.

Franklyn shook his head.

The Captain’s data pad chirped at him. It was a video call from Onobwe. He accepted.

Onobwe’s face appeared on the handheld device. “Hey, Cap. So… I just saw the little Swedish kid get frog-marched into the Lithuanian restaurant at the intersection of K-Spoke and Fifth.”

A look of relief came into Dale’s eyes. At least they knew where Feorn was. “ Yeah, we think he’s in trouble. Franklyn got tased. Did you go inside?”

“No. I wouldn’t really fit in, Cap. It actually looks more like a community centre than a restaurant.”

“All right. We’ll be there soon. Can you watch the place?”

“Yes, sir. But I want time-and-a-half, plus hazard pay for staking out gangsters.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ok. Whatever. I’ll watch.”

Dale shook his head. “We’ll let you know when we’re almost there.”

“Are we going to rescue him?” Marala asked. She was wearing the same outfit from the day before, the light blue jumpsuit.

Dale gave her a look. “Uh… Let me think.”

“We could arm the crew, Captain,” Pullman suggested. “Go and get him with a show of force.”

The Captain grimaced. “We’re not a gang, Pullman! I think… we should just go down there… and see what can be done.”

“What about the Skapstoti police?” someone asked.

Marala spoke up to let them know that the police at Skapstoti were mostly Lithuanian themselves.

“That’s what I thought,” Dale said. “Franklyn, get to Medical. I’ll recall Dr. Burnstyle to check you out. The rest of you, we’re going for Lithuanian take-out.”

As Dale started to stride away from the ship, Pullman asked, “You’re not even going to take a gun?”

The Captain looked over his shoulder but did not break his stride. “No. I’m not going to shoot my way through the Mob. Come on.” He tapped the sailor’s knife strapped to his side.

Without hesitation, Marala moved to accompany the group and they headed out. Noticing her, Dale turned in surprise and said, “I didn’t actually mean you.”

Everyone stared at her. She looked about as intimidating as an ice-cream cone. Her light-blue jumpsuit was also at odds with the much more drab and “homespun” clothes worn by the regular inhabitants of the station. In some parts of the station, such an unusual outfit would mark her out as some sort of aristo (despite whatever her actual social status might be).

The new girl looked cheerfully up at the Captain’s face. “I speak Lithuanian. I think I can help.”

Dale looked her up and down and frowned. At a cursory inspection, her open demeanour and cheerfulness might be interpreted as naivety, but upon closer inspection there was something canny behind  her eyes. He nodded slightly. “All right, then. If you think so. Let’s go.”

It took about twenty minutes to get to the intersection Onobwe had indicated. The route they followed took the small knot of crew members through some decidedly rough parts of town. The Captain led the way, with Marala at his side, looking quite girlish. Most of the crewmen who followed behind thought to themselves that the diminutive woman would probably not be safe on her own in these areas. She looked very naive, despite the brand-new sailor’s knife strapped to her thigh.

When they approached the restaurant, they halted to scope it out. There was nothing very remarkable about the exterior. Dale called Onobwe, who was in another shop across the street, to let him know they had arrived.

Dale turned to Pullman and told him to go in, order a meal, and use his data pad to report what was going on. Dale reasoned that although this was not a touristy part of town, the Lithuanians must still get the occasional outsider wandering in.

Pullman nodded and headed inside. A few minutes later, a message popped up on the Captain’s data pad. It read, Feorn’s here, in a booth. Having a drink.

Dale grunted. It was unclear whether it was Pullman or Feorn who was having a drink.

Another message popped up. He’s with some guys.

The Captain sent a message in reply, asked Pullman to clarify where exactly Feorn was in the restaurant. A message returned, Back right side.

Dale thought for a moment, then said to the others. “Wait here, all of you. I’m going in to see for myself.”

Leaving Marala and the others behind, Dale walked briskly up to the restaurant and went inside. It was about half-full of patrons. Most of the illumination in the room came from a floor-to-ceiling light-emitting image of a misty forest—probably somewhere in Lithuania back on Earth. The image changed every few minutes, showing a sequence of Lithuanian vistas.

As a waiter led him to a table, he caught sight of Pullman, who had apparently ordered already and was waiting for his meal. It took Dale a few moments to spot Feorn however. He was indeed sitting in a booth with some other fellows.

“Just water for now,” he told the waiter. “I’m waiting for someone, if that’s all right.”

Although he did not appear to be in any immediate danger, Feorn looked white as a sheet. There was a drink in front of him, from which he occasionally took a sip. The men he was with, however, seemed quite relaxed, laughing and jostling each other in a friendly manner. They were very rough-looking fellows though. Feorn flinched whenever one of them made a sudden movement or laughed too loud.

Eventually Dale pulled out his data pad and put a video call through to one of his crew members waiting outside. “Let me speak to the new girl,” he said.

Marala’s smiling face appeared on Dale’s pad and he explained the situation. She listened intently.

“What would you like me to do, Captain?” she asked when he was finished.

“I want you to come in and try to convince the Lithuanians to let Feorn leave. It doesn’t look like they plan to hurt him.”

“All right. I think I can do that. Does Feorn speak Lithuanian?”

Dale did not answer, but vague sounds of affirmation came from the others listening in on the call. The rest of them were fairly certain Feorn spoke a little Lithuanian.

Marala nodded and asked, “Should I come in now?”

Dale nodded. “Yes. I’ll hang up.”

A few moments later, the new girl came into the restaurant, scanned the place looking for Feorn, spotted him, then sauntered right up to his booth. “Ei, meiluže!!” she called out to Feorn as she approached.

All of the men in the booth, including Feorn, stared at her with wide eyes. An exchange in Lithuanian followed, in which a complex array of emotions swept over Marala’s face, ranging from merriment to concern. Feorn smiled uncomfortably, his eyes darting between Marala and the Lithuanian gangsters surrounding him.

Grinning, one of the Lithuanians, who did not look as bright as the others, slipped out of the booth and laid his hand on the girl’s shoulder, saying something in Lithuanian.

Marala pleasantly looked up at his face, then laid her own hand over his. A moment later, the man was shouting, “Ow! Ow! Ow!” in a rather undignified way as she lifted his hand off her shoulder and did something to his fingers. He half-fell to one knee, still shouting. The girl hopped about a little bit, smiling and exclaiming something that sounded quite merry, all while looking at the other Lithuanians, who surprisingly began to laugh uproariously at their companion’s predicament.

Still laughing, the Lithuanians still in the booth began shuffling over to let Feorn out. Marala released the man’s hand and he got up and backed away, looking quite cross—but mostly at his friends for laughing at him.

When Feorn finally stood in front of her, Marala took him by the arm and jostled him playfully. “Ačiū, kad rūpinatės juo už mane!” she said, winking at the gangsters, then she put Feorn in front of her and began to push him out of the restaurant, feigning great effort and looking quite comical.

Feorn looked utterly baffled by what was happening and gave the Captain a double-take when he caught sight of him. Dale did not react and let them pass without drawing attention to himself. The Lithuanians clambered back into their booth and seemed to forget about what had just happened, though the stupid-looking one had to put up with some ribbing from the others. After a few minutes, Dale left a tip on his table and followed Marala and Feorn outside. He sent a message to Pullman to join them outside. 

The Captain found Marala and Feorn down the street, surrounded by the other crew members and Onobwe. Feorn turned to the Captain gratefully.

“Thanks for coming to get me!” he said. He still seemed shaken, but there was some colour creeping back into his face. 

“What happened?” Dale demanded.

“I… managed to convince them I only got these tattoos because I saw them in a movie and thought they were cool.”

Dale nodded. Feorn had skipped over a lot with this explanation, but it was enough. “Good thinking,” he said.

Feorn’s tattoos were peeking out from the ends of his sleeves. Marala gripped the end of one and shimmied it upward to get a better look. “These are Bratva,” she observed, “Russian mafia.”

The navigator’s apprentice shook his arm free and pulled the sleeve down again, but he did not say anything.

Marala turned to the Captain. “The Lithuanians here really don’t like the Russians,” she explained.

Dale nodded.

Pullman took his time joining them, and when he appeared, he was carrying a take-out container, which earned him a few looks. “What? I like Lithuanian food,” he explained.

Dale addressed them all. “All right! Back to the ship. And everyone, try to remember to be careful from now on. Onobwe, any of your… PAC friends likely to trundle you off anytime soon?”

“Er… no, Cap.”

“Good.”

Dale and Marala led the way back to the ship. As they walked, Dale half-turned to her. “I’m glad to see you can handle yourself.”

She smiled. “Thank you , Captain.”

“Was that judo back there?” Dale asked, miming the move that had allowed Marala to overpower the stupid-looking fellow.

“Yes, but you still have to be very strong to do something like that. I am very strong.”

Dale grunted. “Were you always so… self-confident? Not everyone could saunter up to a bunch of gangsters and… charm them like that.”

She looked up at him quizzically. “You’ve seen my papers. You must have known what I’m capable of, or you wouldn’t have sent me in there.”

“I… suspected. Your papers are vague about a few things. Suggestive, but still vague. I suppose there’s legal reasons for that?”

The girl nodded, then looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ve never had any doubts about who I am—my potential, my place in the world, the role I can play. It’s quite liberating.”

“Oh? And what is your place in the world?”

She laughed. “Well, at the moment, Captain, it’s following you!”

Dale half-nodded, half shook his head. They had almost returned to the docks by this point. He stopped and directed the others to continue on their way back to the ship.

“I think I’m going to take you shopping,” he said. “You need a data pad. And that’s your only outfit, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right then.” Dale nodded and led the way back into Skapstoti.