Her Brother's Keeper Read online

  Augustus Blackwood was red faced, and looked ready to explode. His daughter ignored his anger and turned to leave. “Catherine, wait,” he said, before she left the library. She paused, turned slightly, and looked at him over her shoulder.

  “Please,” he continued, seemingly deflated. “Forgive an old man his pride. I didn’t have you come all this way just to start an argument. I really do need your help, child. Surely you wouldn’t see your family ruined just to spite me.”

  Catherine turned to face her father once again, and took a deep breath. “It hurt, Father. Not so much that you didn’t name me as your heir. I understand how that would’ve been fought by the others on the Council. But when I decided to pursue my military career? Despite all the biases against me, despite everything, I made it. When I was assigned to the Fleet it was the proudest day of my life. I . . . thought you would have been proud of me. Clan Blackwood has such a history of military service. I was honoring the family.”

  The cheery fire snapped and popped as Augustus poured himself another, larger drink. He took a long sip from his glass before speaking again. “I was proud, Catherine. I wished so badly that your mother could have been alive to see it. I didn’t want to end your career that way.”

  Before Catherine could complete her midshipman cruise on a Space Forces ship, the Avalonian High Council rescinded a ruling that allowed women to serve on board combat vessels. That ruling had been a desperate wartime expedient dating back over a hundred years, to the Second Interstellar War, but it had never been reversed.

  Much to her own surprise, Catherine struggled to maintain composure. “Then why?”

  “I was pressured by the Council. I wasn’t the only seat holder with an unmarried daughter, you know. There was concern that you would start some sort of revolution. At the time, the Women’s Legal Reform Coalition was pushing the Council to change the laws of primogeniture.” For centuries, women could not legally inherit titles or lands under Avalonian law. After the war, the laws were changed so that a first-born daughter could inherit if there were no suitable male heirs, since so many had died in the Maggot onslaught. “The Reformers wanted equal inheritance rights for sons and daughters.”

  “How dreadful,” Catherine commented dryly.

  “Yes, well, at the time, the Reformers were quite popular with the commoners. Once the press caught wind of you graduating at the top of your Academy class, you were on your way to becoming a folk hero.”

  “Really?”

  Augustus chuckled. “Indeed. You were too busy with your training and your studies to pay any attention to the media, but my people were being bombarded with requests for interviews with you. I . . . well, I’m afraid I suddenly found myself under a great deal of scrutiny from the Council, and a great deal of pressure. They were worried about the precedent you were setting.”

  “I was hardly the first Avalonian woman to serve on a military vessel.”

  “Indeed you weren’t, but you were the only female officer in living memory serving not in the Women’s Auxiliary but in the actual armed forces. The old fools on the Council, including this old fool, allowed too many activists and lobbyists to whisper into our ears. They told us of the social unrest that would inevitably occur if this sort of thing was allowed to continue. They warned us that first, women would be serving on combat ships, then daughters would be inheriting Council seats, and after that, a movement to institute elections would begin. Avalon, they said, would fall to the same social unrest that has plagued so many other colonies, and it would all start with you.”

  Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Elections? I was hardly intent on starting some ill-conceived democracy movement. I’ve studied history, I know where that sort of thing leads. I was never a political crusader.”

  Augustus took another sip. “I know, my dear, but I was under such pressure. The other Council Families were plotting alliances behind my back, threatening to marginalize me, to undermine the authority of the Blackwood name.”

  “Since when does Augustus Blackwood bow to such pressure?” Catherine asked.

  Her father winced as if the words had physically wounded him. “I . . . I was wrong, Catherine. I was wrong to let those bloody dinosaurs sway me. I was compromising, I told myself, just like a responsible councilman should. All my so-called compromise did was embolden the vultures the next time they wanted something from me. It caused me no end of grief.” Augustus looked contemplatively into the brandy in his glass. “And cost me a daughter. Forgive me, child. Forgive me my shortsighted pride.”

  Catherine’s practiced command presence was the only thing that kept the tears back. This was the first time she’d heard her father apologize for anything since her mother had died. She took another sip of her own drink to keep her composure.

  “Yes, well . . . what’s done is done, I suppose. I like to think that I did well enough for myself regardless. At any rate we’ve gotten rather off topic, haven’t we? What is it I can do for you, Father?”

  Augustus’ demeanor darkened again. “It’s Cecil.”

  A pang of concern went through Catherine’s chest. She wasn’t close to her brother anymore, but he had been all she’d had after their mother died and their father became withdrawn and distant. “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s been off-world for two years, and now he’s being held for ransom. I need you to go find him, get him back, and bring him home.”

  “Ransom? Where is he?”

  “As far as I know,” Augustus said, “he is on Zanzibar.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb. Zanzibar. A lawless, strife-torn, failed colony world near the raggedy edge of inhabited space. “What in God’s name is Cecil doing there?”

  Chapter 2

  New Austin

  Lone Star System

  Las Cruces Spaceport, Laredo Territory

  Southern Hemisphere

  “Marshal,” the deputy sheriff complained, “are you sure about this? Everything looks normal to me.”

  Colonial Marshal Marcus Winchester ignored the deputy and continued to study the ship parked on the ramp through multifunction binoculars. With the optics zoomed in and gyro-stabilized, he was able to read the registration number on the hull of the ship. He turned to the bewildered-looking spaceport traffic controller and asked him if he’d run the ship’s number when it set down.

  “Of course,” the controller said nervously. He was a short, sweaty man with a bad comb-over. “It checked out. That’s the Luxor, an independent free trader. She comes through here two or three times a year.”

  Marcus frowned, lifting the binoculars to his eyes again. The Luxor had a fat, cylindrical hull capped with a blunt, rounded nose. Her unpainted gunmetal hull was covered with scorch marks, dents, and fabricated repairs. She stood a hair over fifty-three meters tall on her landing jacks. Stubby, aerodynamic radiators and small airfoils jutted out of her hull. The Luxor was presently the only ship on the parking apron at the so-called Las Cruces Spaceport, and was connected to the service tower at the port’s only fully functional launch pad. The bridge from the tower was locked into the ship’s open cargo bay, and a retractable umbilical refilled her reaction mass tanks. The spaceport terminal where Marcus found himself was maintained by robots and was in pristine condition, despite being practically deserted.

  Marcus’ partner, Deputy Marshal Wade Bishop, tapped the screen of his handheld. “She checks out, Boss,” he said without looking up. “She’s an old tub, currently registered to Captain Bartleby Oleander out of the Llewellyn Freehold. That comes from their transponder download from when they arrived in-system. Everything else I can pull up on the ship is from more than a year ago.”

  “The Freeholders ain’t exactly known for their deep and abiding respect for customs law,” Marcus said with a grin. “The only reason they bother to register in Concordiat space at all is so they can trade with the Inner Colonies. There’s a very good chance that info is out of date or an out
right lie.”

  The Llewellyn Freeholders were considered to be a bunch of belligerent anarchists by most civilized societies. Their colony had a barely functioning central government with almost no actual authority. The Freehold was notorious for its easy access to every imaginable vice and the stubborn, individualistic independence of its small permanent population. What existed on Freehold couldn’t exactly be called a “black market”; as long as you weren’t killing people or trafficking in slaves, you could buy or sell just about anything you could want on the open market. There were no taxes to speak of, precious few actual laws, and no police. Unscrupulous traders and smugglers would often register their ships as out of the Freehold to give themselves political cover.

  None of that constituted suitable probable cause to detain the ship. If its registration information was outdated or forged, that was a job for the Colonial Customs Service, not the marshals.

  This has to be the ship, Marcus thought to himself. Why else would a free trader land way the hell out here? With only two million total inhabitants, Las Cruces Spaceport was remote even by the standards of a frontier colony world. It was a former Concordiat Defense Force auxiliary landing field, built a century prior during the height of the Second Interstellar War. It wasn’t used much then, and was effectively abandoned after the Concordiat achieved its hard-fought victory against the Maggots. It was run by one of the big mining firms on New Austin, who let non-company ships use it for a fee to pay for the cost of maintenance.

  Private spaceports were supposed to have their personnel make sure that customs regulations were adhered to, but there wasn’t much oversight. Las Cruces was a good place to get stolen goods off-world.

  The perspiring traffic controller was one of a handful who manned the spaceport full-time. Most of its operations were automated and didn’t require much oversight. “Marshal, please,” he said. “The Luxor has come through here numerous times. I’ve met with Captain Oleander and have inspected his manifests. Everything is in order.”

  “Is that right?” Marcus asked. “When are they due to depart?”

  The controller glanced at the transparent eyepiece over his right eye, as if he really needed to check the schedule to know when the only ship at the port was supposed to leave. “They’re, ah, due to depart in two hours, sir.”

  “I see. Have they finished loading their cargo, then?”

  “Yes sir, they have. I can send you their manifest.”

  “Please do. Is the crew all back on board?”

  The controller looked around. “I’m not sure. It’s not my job to keep track of spacers once they land.”

  Wade raised an eyebrow. “This spaceport is a controlled facility, isn’t it? We went through a gate and were checked by security when we came in. I know you don’t let whoever happens to show up come onto private property as they please.”

  A slightly overweight man wearing the gray and orange uniform of the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern’s security patrol had been standing in the corner and hadn’t said much so far. He piped up when Wade asked about security.

  “No sir, we do not,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Company security protocols require all visitors to identify themselves, and we keep a log of when they come and go from the facility. Their movements while at the spaceport are monitored by our security system. As of right now, every individual who left the Luxor is back on board. The manifest lists the ship’s complement at twelve.”

  Marcus nodded. The security guard had a ridiculous mustache and could stand to get more exercise, but at least he knew his business. The marshal also noticed that the spaceport controller had tensed up even more. Marcus and Wade exchanged a knowing glance. There was definitely something unusual going on here, but it didn’t yet constitute probable cause. Marcus could probably bully his way onto the Luxor if he wanted to, but the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern and the owner of the Luxor would both have grounds for a lawsuit if he didn’t find anything, and that would be the end of his career. Wade had sent the local judge a request for a warrant to detain the ship, but it had been declined.

  Marcus shifted tactics, softened his tone, and addressed the controller again. “Listen, Mister . . . uh . . .”

  “G-Greely,” the controller stammered. “Odin Greely.”

  Odin? “Right. Mr. Greely. Here’s the situation. Thirty-one hours ago, an unknown group of individuals executed a daylight robbery of a Sierra Nevada cargo train. They cut the tracks, knowing full well that the train’s systems would automatically bring it to a halt. They had some pretty sophisticated communications jammers with them, and apparently knew what frequencies the trains transmit on, because no one realized the train had been stopped until it was all over. The company called the marshals and sent their own security team to investigate. Do you know what they found?”

  “I, uh, how would I know that?”

  “Millions of credits worth of refined platinum, rhodium, and iridium were taken. A literal truckload. The robbers, whoever they were, obviously knew what security measures were in place, because they were able to counteract them.” Marcus glanced at the company security guard. “They also shot and killed the two security officers who were escorting the shipment. They were the only two people on the train.”

  Greely’s face went pale. Gotcha, Marcus thought. “This isn’t just an old-fashioned train heist. We’re looking at a double homicide and armed robbery. Since there’s likely no place on New Austin they could fence that much stolen metal, we suspect that they’re going to try to get it off-world, which is smuggling. They’d need a remote spaceport, far from the eyes of the Customs Service, and a ship willing to take stolen property. They also had to know how to disable the security devices sent with the shipment, because we haven’t been able to track it.”

  Wade spoke up. “What we’re saying, Mr. Greely, is that this had to be an inside job. Someone with access to Sierra Nevada’s systems had to be in on this. Someone with the authority to access security protocols.”

  “W-what are you trying to say?” Greely protested. “I don’t have that kind of access! I’m just the spaceport controller!” His eyes darted to the door of the room. The two sheriff’s deputies accompanying the pair of colonial marshals noticed his distress and quietly positioned themselves between Greely and the exit.

  “Hey now, Mr. Greely,” Marcus said, “calm down. I’m not making any accusations. I’m just bringing you up to speed on the situation. But now that you mention it, you’ve been awfully nervous since we got here. Do you know something about this? Have you heard something?”

  Greely flustered. “Of course not. This is ridiculous! I’ve had enough of you two, I think. You don’t have a warrant, and I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you leave.”

  Marcus shrugged. “Fair enough. Bear in mind, though, that we’re not just talking about the theft of some metal from the company. This is a murder investigation now. Two innocent men, peers of your security officer here, were shot down in cold blood. Both men had families, you know.”

  “That’s . . . that’s tragic,” Greely managed, “but I’ve had enough of your accusations and veiled threats! I’ve done nothing wrong. If you want to talk to me again, you can get a warrant and talk to my lawyer!” He turned to the security guard, “Lazlo, escort these men to the gate.”

  Lazlo folded his arms across his chest and glared at Greely. He didn’t move.

  “Suit yourself,” Wade stated. “But again, this is a murder investigation. We’ll get a warrant, and we’ll be back. If it’s found out that a person was lying to a peace officer to cover up a murder . . . well, that’s not good. Even if that person had nothing to do with the murder, that makes him an accomplice. That person would be looking at a very long stay in the Purgatory Correctional Facility. That’s not a nice place to be, Mr. Greely.”

  The two sheriff’s deputies glanced at each other. “Hey, Tam,” the tall, thin man said to his female partner, “remember that ch
ild molester we hauled in a few months ago?”

  The female deputy, a stocky woman with reddish hair, nodded. “Yeah. Chester Nightingale. Chester the Molester. He got sent to Purgatory, didn’t he?”

  Marcus smiled. The deputies were playing their parts perfectly.

  “He sure did,” the tall one said. “They were planning on moving him to the isolation block, for his own protection. But I guess there was a mix-up. He ended up in the general population.”

  “Oh hell,” the female deputy said, feigning surprise. “That probably ended badly for him.”

  “You know it, partner. Cho-mos aren’t too popular on the inside. He got involved in a fight. Another inmate ripped his jaw off. Like, clean off.”

  “Ouch!”

  “Yeah. It happened so fast it was over before the corrections officers could pull him off the guy. He bled to death right there in the shower room.”

  “Well,” the woman said with a shrug, “that’s Purgatory. The worst of the worst go in there. And it’s the only supermax prison on New Austin, so that’s probably where anyone involved in this case will end up.”

  Greely finally cracked. “Okay! Okay. Look, I was just supposed to look the other way when a cargo haul came through, alright? I didn’t know what they were hauling, who was hauling it, or where it came from. I certainly didn’t know it would turn violent! I didn’t even know that the attack on the train was related!”

  “Oh, come on,” Lazlo, the security officer, said.

  “No, I swear!” Greely insisted. “I was just supposed to look the other way, and they were going to slip me a bribe. It’s not like this sort of thing doesn’t go on all the time!”