Chapter 3

Ramon arrived at Cory's quarters ten minutes later. After a customary knock, he listened for permission to enter and slid back the smooth panel door. The station commander was the only person afforded private quarters, but even so, they were modest and not much larger than a walk-in closet. A writing table, media center, sleep hammock, and storage bins along one wall. A few magnetized pictures on the other wall sported a nautical theme, and a small plaque above the desk displayed a poem entitled "Crossing the Bar."

One oddity of this station was the frequent lack of alignment among the modules. Cory's quarters were rotated 90 degrees from the main shaft, so Ramon had to spin himself a quarter turn to match its orientation. Cory sat strapped in a seat in front of his desk, holding an old mariner's compass inherited from his grandfather. "What took so long, Ramon?"

He entered and slid the door shut behind him. "I radioed down to the prison, and this time I got through. I wanted to see what they could tell me about the shuttle, but those guys have their own problems right now."

"So big that they couldn't answer us for over half an hour?"

"Pretty big, yeah. Like they say, it's the inmates that run the prisons, and now they've got nothing to lose. They pulled out their shanks about an hour ago and killed one of the bosses in a riot. The two that's left are holed up in the guard station."

"Well, at least we know why they weren't answering us. I don't suppose they were able to tell you what happened to the Reverend."

"No, he wasn't with them when things broke loose, so they thought he was probably killed, too. They couldn't figure how he even made it out of there. As for who might have snuck onto the shuttle with him, they don't know and they really don't care. Like I said, they got their own problems and aren't about to call roll for us."

"So what can they tell us, Ramon?"

"Just this: he's probably armed with a crude weapon and plans to force his way onto a transport. Of course, he doesn't know there aren't any more left. Once he finds out, there's no telling what he's gonna do."

"It's no secret that the inmates and miners have had bad blood between them for years. The inmates resent working occasional details under the miners, and the miners object to subsidizing the prison when it cuts into their profits. Add a few nasty skirmishes like we've had here recently, and you've got the makings of a feud."

Ramon nodded. "And now that we've got a prisoner on board who's got the chance, he's probably gonna to want to bust some heads. Maybe ours when we go out this door."

Cory fingered the compass briefly. "So let me make sure I've got this straight. An hour ago, all we had to worry about was dying suddenly. Now we may have to look forward to being picked off one by one without warning."

"Ill luck seldom comes alone."

Cory fell silent for a long while as Ramon's eyes scanned the room. Then Cory's features adopted a calm resolve.

"We need to find whoever's on board. I know we don't have much time left, but I believe it's the right thing to do. First, it'll give the men something to focus on instead of themselves. I think we've had enough introspection around here. Whatever they haven't worked out internally the last few days won't be resolved in the next few hours. Besides, their anxieties are erupting into too much anger and violence.

"Second, most of them probably know what's going on by now anyway, and there's no doubt they'll form posses. It would be better to make this a sanctioned, organized hunt. Besides, my control over the crew has been waning the last week. Since I need to keep them working together, I may as well order them to do what they already want to do. At least I'll make sure they do it the right way."

"You're right. Jackknife started talking big as soon as he found out, and he's probably got half the crew stirred up by now. They might not be church-goers, but they don't like to see no holy man beat up either. Maybe they figure it would be a last good deed to find this dude. Or maybe they just want to beat up a con. Who knows for sure?"

"Then let's start the search."

Ramon started to leave and then turned back to face Cory. "One more thing. You know what's gonna happen when these guys find him. And there's nothing gonna happen to stop it."

Cory stared at the compass in his hand for a moment, then met Ramon's eyes without a word.

"You gonna look the other way?"

"Just start the search."

Ramon nodded gravely. He unclipped the crucifix from his short necklace, slipped it into his pocket, and left.

Ramon first alerted the crew to the plan, then broadcast a phony message shipwide, instructing all remaining transport passengers to meet in docking bay D for boarding. With any luck, the fugitive would come out into the open as he made his way to the docking bay, containing not a transport, but a group of armed men.

Next he sent four men to wait there, and divided the rest of the crew into six two-man teams. They were to begin at the center of the station's central shaft and work outward toward its extremities, checking each of the arms that branched off here and there along its length. Meanwhile he and Tyrell would check the maintenance shaft, crew quarters, and exercise module.

Tyrell waited at the door for Ramon. "Come on, man. If we've got to do this, then let's go. Everybody else is gone already."

"Okay, hold on. I've just got to set up the comm system to repeat the message every few minutes. Give me a minute and. . ." Ramon's face indicated a problem.

"What's up, Ramon? Something wrong?"

Ramon stared down at a screen that was out of Tyrell's view. "I don't know-maybe. The system's showing a coded message was sent a few minutes ago."

"Sent where?"

"Can't tell. It was definitely an external message 'cause it went to the outbound message queue. It could have went anywhere, maybe back to Earth."

"Or to the prison," Tyrell said.

"Yeah. Or maybe to the transport. It's hard to say. Give me a minute, and I'll see if a copy was saved in the archive."

Tyrell marked time impatiently as Ramon typed quickly and inexpertly. Short bursts of fast keystrokes were invariably followed by excruciatingly slow backspacing.

"If you'd just type slower, you wouldn't make so many mistakes. Here, let me do it."

Ramon neglected to look up. "You wouldn't know what to do. Besides, I said it was encrypted. Only me and Cory can open coded messages." He continued keying commands.

Tyrell looked back and forth in an unfocused, restless way. "Man, I just can't believe it. I finally get me a real job, a good paying job, and it's got to be here. And then this has to happen. It just don't seem real. How come there's never ever been anything like this happen until it's my turn? They say this comet's like a one in a million thing."

Ramon remained glued to the screen. "There's one thing you got to remember, Tyrell. It always takes the one to make those odds."

Tyrell thought this over for a minute. "So I guess even if it was one in a billion, as long as you're the one, it's all the same to you."

"That's how it works. Sometimes you have to be the one, and when it happens, the odds don't matter too much."

"Well, all I know is I been trying everything I can think of for two days. Nobody listens to my ideas. Not even Cory. Everybody treats me like a kid, and they'd rather tell me why my plans won't work than come up with some that will. I guess they all want to die, or else they'd be bustin' their tails to do something instead of look for this guy."

Ramon didn't reply, but worked steadily for another minute.

Then he announced with pride that he had found the file. "Stand by a second and I'll unlock it." He applied several passwords from his mental list and eventually found one that was accepted.

Tyrell's prior apathy yielded to anticipation once Ramon had the file open. "What is it? Who's it to?"

"I don't know. It's a text message, so give me a second to read it." Ramon dumped the message to the screen:

"So what is it," Tyrell demanded for a third time.

Ramon hesitated. "Huh? Oh, it's nothing after all. Just some station diagnostics that run once a day and get sent back to Earth. I can't believe I forgot about them. Come on, Tyrell, we've got to get a move on."

Jackknife and his partner were slated to search the "East Wing" cargo bays, as they were termed in station parlance, but he pressured another team into giving him the section with the kitchen. He wasted no time in smashing open a locked cabinet where the best alcohol was hidden.

"Cookie thought nobody knew where he stashed the good stuff," he told his fellow dock worker, Lopez. "He might not a' been no French chef, but he sure knew his booze."

"And he could make a steak like nobody's business," added Lopez. "So how did he get all of it?"

"He knew how to work the system," Jackknife said, pulling back a foam pad to reveal half a dozen collapsible bottles of expensive liquor against the back wall of the cabinet. "He ordered the cheap stuff for us 'cause that left room in the budget for a few nice ones, like these."

"Hey, let me have that one," Lopez said.

"Nah, that one's mine."

"How about that one?"

"That's mine, too." He pointed to the second row. "And those are for later."

"So which one isn't yours?"

Jackknife made a quick survey. "You can have this one."

Lopez eagerly took what he could get while the offer was still good. He took a long swig and let out a satisfied "aaah," then asked Jackknife how he had found the stash.

"I walked in on Cookie one day and he slammed the cabinet shut. He looked suspicious and, you know me, I'm just kinda nosey that way. We worked us out a little deal," Jackknife smiled. "Yeah, one thing about old Cookie, he sure knew how to work the system. He was slick, alright, and he had the connections. You don't think it was luck that got him on the first transport, do you? Nah, he was an operator."

Jackknife sampled from several bottles before he spotted one in the far back. "Oh, man, look at this!" He extracted his prize and held it up for Lopez to see. "And it's none of that 'space ready' stuff-a real glass bottle even.

This one comes with me. I'll have it finished off in five minutes and then, well, you never know when broken glass might come in handy once you catch a prisoner."

Lopez grinned and took a long draught from his own bottle. Then he began unloading the refrigerator. Jackknife turned around in time to see him forcing a large turkey leg into his mouth.

"Hey! What do you think this is, Cinco de Mayo? Put that stuff back, we've gotta get a move on."

Lopez stopped in mid chew, a bewildered look on his face. "I thought we were just gonna hang out her for a while. I thought-"

"Yeah, well that's your mistake. When I'm around you don't need to think, you just need to do what I tell you. Now you can take the booze, but we don't have time to waste on food. This con's gonna be caught, and I'm the guy who's gonna find him. Let's go." And with a kick off the wall, Jackknife sailed toward the exit.

"So how come you even care about this guy?" Lopez shouted as he carelessly tossed the food back into the cooler.

Jackknife didn't bother to turn around. "I got my reasons."