Chapter Eight: Genesis Hailing

"This is Lieutenant Commander Shultz aboard the Coalition Fleet Destroyer Class Warship: Genesis, hailing on all frequencies the Medium Standard Trade-ship Alpha Class Frigate: Idle Confessor. Your response to this transmission is required within thirty minutes. After that, if no response has been issued, standard breaching and boarding procedures will be performed. This message will repeat every five minutes until the previously stated time threshold has expired or positive contact has been made. For the Frontier Lieutenant Commander Shultz, out."

Captain Rickard's eyes open. He removes the gun from my temple and walks over to the display that’s rapidly updating with new information. He turns to Nev. "Wake Lora, then head to secure the cargo. I'll try to buy you some time here." Nev and the twins' exit the bridge in a hurried panic.

Rickard then pulls a knife from his belt and walks toward me. I feel a shiver run through my body as he approaches me, reaches down to my bindings, and cuts me free. I rub my wrists as the circulation returns to my fingers. The message plays again, and Rickard acknowledges it and begins recording a response.

"Good day, Lieutenant Commander Shultz. My name is Captain James Rickard. I'm the owner of this Trade-ship. What can I do for you today?" Wow, he sure knows how to put on an act when he needs to.

Several seconds pass when another message comes in. "Good day, Captain. I’m sure you are wondering why we are bothering you. I, along with most of the local CF authorities, have standing orders to search any and all vessels leaving Titan. I apologize for the inconvenience. Please rotate four-five degrees Starboard, lower your shields, and unlock your exterior hatch for our inspectors."

"Son of a bitch—" Rickard mutters under his breath as he hits the cargo's communication line. "How are we doing on the progress, guys? CF squids will be down our throats in a few."

Nev replies, "Captain, we need more time. This much Zeek is going to be difficult to hide. We don't have enough compartments for it all."

"You guys are running Zeek?! That is why you were going to kill me because you thought I was with the CF!" I shout. Captain Rickard turns to me, his eyes showing sad indifference.

"For someone claiming to have nothing to do with this, it sure seems rather coincidental. Don't you think?" he says in a low growl while hitting the reply button on display.

"I’ll be more than happy to host your inspection team, Lieutenant Commander. However, may I ask what you are looking for so I can better assist them in their search?" He hits the send button.

The response is almost instantaneous. "Captain, nobody more than me wishes this to be done and over with as soon as possible; however, I cannot elaborate on what my team will be searching for. I ask again for you to rotate four-five degrees starboard, lower your shields, and unlock your exterior hatch for our inspectors."

"Damn—" Rickard spits while glancing at the live video feed of the cargo hold. "We don't have enough time," he says in a passive voice.

"What does that mean? You're giving up?" I ask.

Rickard hits the cargo com-link. "Nev report!"

The display shows Nev handing a canister to one of the twins and lifting another from the ground. "We need about ten more minutes, captain."

Rickard’s face turns from the display as he mouths various obscenities under his breath. "I don't think we have five minutes. Get as much product hidden as possible and wait for the signal."

There is silence for a moment before Nev responds. "Sir, I don't think that would be wise—"

"I wasn't asking for your opinion! Just wait for the signal and handle it!" Rickard slams the 'end' button with a significant amount of force.

"You guys couldn't possibly fight your way out of this?" I say in a matter-of-fact tone. “I mean, it is a no-brainer. This Destroyer is outfitted with a cocktail of weapons that can easily turn the Confessor into a heap of floating debris. Unless—” Rickard gives me a subtle grin, "You've outfitted the Confessor with weapons!"

Rickard ignores me instead of hitting the reply button. "Commander Shultz, I apologize for the wait. I have several passengers that are very concerned with what it is you are searching my ship for and insist that I ask again. What will your inspection team be looking for? Remember, I'm simply taking a few free civilians to Callisto."

"Captain, my proper title is Lieutenant Commander Shultz; please use it in all further transmissions," the CF commander says, dropping his kind tone. "As to your inquiry, my reasons are that of the CFs. If you wish to resist, then you will be held in violation of Article Six of the Trade Act, commissioned by the Sovereign Republic of the Frontier and enforced by the various corporations aligned with the SRF. If you wish to continue down this path of disobedience, it will not turn out well for you and your crew. Now turn four-five degrees starboard, lower your shields, and unlock your exterior hatch for our docking tube. For the Frontier Lieutenant Commander Shultz out.”

"Insolent prick—" Rickard murmurs to himself, hitting a few controls that cause a warning to flash on the screen. He acknowledges the warning and proceeds, finally hitting the reply button. "Lieutenant Commander Shultz, I have lowered my shields and unlocked the exterior hatch; however, I sent my pilot down to greet your inspectors, so, unfortunately, I will not be able to rotate four five degrees per your request."

“Fine—" Shultz’s voice sounded more irritated than before. "We will adjust to meet your position. ETA three minutes," he pauses, looking around his bridge. "One more thing, Captain. For future reference, not all commanding officers will be as patient as I. Shultz out!”

Rickard closes the message by hitting the cargo hold com-link. "The Destroyer is docking with us in approximately two minutes. Get ready for my signal."

The monitor shows the crew standing abnormally, still watching the hatch as if a monster was getting ready to blast through. Then I notice Rickard seems oddly calm, like the prospects of battle bring him peace. Several proximity alarms chime as the Destroyer's docking tube attaches to the Confessor. Two seconds later, the hatch begins to open, revealing half a dozen fully loaded assault marines.

"What the hell?" Rickard gasps, watching the team rush past Nev, Lora, and the twins leaving the cargo alone.

"Boss, they are heading for the passengers!" Don's voice comes over the display. "They walked right past the goods as if nothing was there."

"There was also a Lieutenant accompanying the team, probably heading your way, captain," Ron adds.

Rickard glares at me, grabbing me by my collar and shoving me into a hidden compartment behind a panel, closing it right as the Maine Lieutenant enters the bridge. I find a small hole allowing me to see some of the bridge.

"Sir, I am Lieutenant Ilion. Please stay here for the duration of the inspection," she says in a tense voice.

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Rickard nods. "Sure is a lot of security for a routine inspection, don't you think, Lieutenant?"

"Not my place to question orders, sir," Ilion responds coldly, surveying the room.

Rickard sits in one of the chairs. "Listen, your commanding officer was less than helpful when it came to explaining why you're here, so maybe—"

Lieutenant Ilion holds up one of her hands, forestalling Rickard's sentence. "Just because I said that I didn't question orders doesn't mean you can—"

"Ma'am—" a voice cuts in over the tension that was building. “We found the passengers; none fit the description we are looking for."

"Roger that, Sergeant. Standby for further orders," Ilion responds, then turns to Rickard. "Are there any more people aboard your ship?"

"What do you mean?" he responds.

"Sir, I need to know without a doubt that there is no one else aboard your ship that is not with the passengers or part of your crew," Ilion elaborates.

Rickard places his hand on his chin. "None that I know of. Is this why you’re searching ships?"

Lieutenant Ilion hesitates, then sighs. "The fleet is searching for a person of interest that recently escaped from Titan."

There is no way she is talking about me; no one in their right mind would waste so many resources to find one draft-dodging punk—right? Unless they are talking about Cheever, which would mean I'm dead because he probably wants nothing more than to flay me like a fish. My body shivers at the thought of Cheever hunting me to the ends of the solar system. That must be why there are marines in heavy armor.

Rickard shoots a fleeting eye in my direction, so subtlety that the Lieutenant doesn't notice. "Do you happen to have a picture of the person? Maybe I can help," he says.

Lieutenant Ilion grimaces. "No, all we got was a description." She lifts her arm and rattles her fingers along her wrist, projecting a holographic display. "A male around eighteen years of age, approximately a hundred and eighty centimeters tall, with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Last seen near the Miranda Docking Hub."

Well, there goes my Cheever escaped theory. But why would the CF go through the process of searching hundreds, possibly thousands, of ships just for me?

Rickard leans back into his chair. "That is very vague. You don't even have a name, right?" The Lieutenant nods her head in agreement. "So, what did he do?"

Lieutenant Ilion frowns. "That’s just it. They wouldn't tell us other than 'he is armed and extremely dangerous,' hence the state of the inspection team." She shakes her head. "Do you know anybody that fits the description, sir?" she asks.

Rickard leans forward. "Nope, no one on my ship fits that description. I'm sorry I couldn’t be of any help."

She nods her head as she grabs her radio. "Sergeant, gather your men and return to the Genesis." She looks back a Rickard. "Thank you for your patience, sir. We will be out of your hair in no time." She stiffens and renders a pristine salute, then turns and leaves the bridge.

Rickard turns and studies the monitors as the marines again walk right past the Zeek and then out the hatch. After several minutes the proximity warnings close. Rickard calls everyone back into the bridge, pulling me out of the compartment and sitting me down as they file in.

Nev is the last to enter, his face burning with a mixture of anxiety and anger. "Can someone tell me what the hell just happened?!" he yells.

"Yeah, that was not just an inspection team, sir,” the blonde-headed slim woman I recognize as the pilot from the skip says.

"Right you are, Lora,” Rickard says confidently. "The Lieutenant and I had a little chat; apparently, they are looking for someone."

Don steps up. "I don't know, Captain. I still think we should ditch the load. You know, for safety reasons." He steps back beside Ron, who is nodding his head in agreement.

"We are not going to dump the load!" Rickard barks. "The Lieutenant described someone that looks just like our little guest here." He points at me.

I flinch as everyone's eyes fixate on me. "I have no idea what they want."

"Oh, bullshit!" Nev yells, unsheathing his pistol. "Captain, I don't think we need any more reason to deal with this little prick." He presses the pistol against my head, and panic shoots through me.

"No." Rickard's booming voice fills the room.

"But captain—" Nev starts. "The kid is a burden—"

"You'd better listen to your boss," I cut in like an idiot, and Nev smacks me with the gun in response.

"I’m not going to lie; I am going to enjoy killing you," Nev says as he starts to pull the trigger.

Nev stops just short of the end as the sound of a pulse revolver's hammer being cocked back echoes behind him. "I said no." Rickard's voice sounds incredibly calm and soft, given the situation.

Nev slowly lowers his gun and turns to face Rickard. "The kid is trouble, Captain," he says.

"Think Nev. If we kill him and the CF finds out we hid him, Zeek, or not, we’re goners," Rickard clarifies.

I can almost see steam floating off Nev's head. "So, what are we going to do?”

“We?” Rickard’s lips twist into a smile. “You and the rest of the crew are going to clean up the cargo hold. I want every gram of the—product secured before we reach Threshold,” he finishes. Nev gives him a long look, then sighs before turning to the rest of the crew and gesturing. In seconds the bridge is empty and quiet, with only Captain Rickard and me sitting in silence.

Now is a good time to say something, but what? A simple thanks isn’t good enough. Not only did Rickard ignore a chance to turn me in, but he also kept Nev from killing me—again. I stand up, straightening the jacket Jurin gave me, and I notice a little bit of dried blood on it. Jurin’s final words flash through my mind causing an ache right behind my eyes which blurs my vision a bit. I blink through the pain, noticing Captain Rickard standing in front of a display depicting the vastness of space.

“Listen—” my words shatter the silence as I take a few steps toward the Captain. “I never meant—” But I’m cut short by the jarring motion of being slammed against the display.

“No, you listen!” Captain Rickard says with so much spite I can feel it radiating from his body. “You have risked the lives of every single person on my ship. What did you think? I saved you because we are friends! Nev is right. You are a goddamn liability, a liability I can’t afford, but at the moment, I have to deal with!” He shoves his forearm higher into my neck. “Now I’m going to ask you just once, why is the CF looking for you!?”

I gasp for air, tapping Rickard’s forearm until he eases up his pressure. “I swear on the stars, I’m just a draft dodger. My brother and I were trying to leave Titan when the CF picked me up. Jurin bribed some jarheads for my release. That is it.” I rub my neck and look at Rickard; he has a skeptical look on his face.

“If that is so, then where is your brother?” he asks.

“He sacrificed himself so that I could get away.” The memories, in tandem with exhaustion, begin to take their toll as a single tear falls down my face.

Rickard turns away, refusing to watch my shame. “Suppose I believe you,” he says. “Suppose this is all a coincidence, and the CF is searching for someone else. How am I supposed to react? You are a factor that changes the equation, John. What would you do if you were me?” he finishes.

“I would get rid of me as fast as possible,” I respond in a dull tone. “It seems I have a knack for getting people around me in trouble, even if I didn’t do anything but make what seemed like a simple damn choice.”

Captain Rickard turns toward me. “Then it’s settled. As soon as we get to Callisto, you are off my boat, no questions. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I respond.

“Now get to the cargo hold and help the crew—I will be engaging the ARAD as soon as we get to Titan’s Threshold, and you’ll want to be strapped into a chair for that.” He sits down in the pilot seat.

I walk toward the door, stopping short and glancing back at Rickard. A part of me feels I should say something else, but what? There is nothing I can say to change his decision. Hell, I agree with his decision, but for some reason, I know I want to stay on this ship. And no matter how unwelcome I am, I know that the Idle Confessor is where I belong. I resolve to say nothing and continue through the door and down the passage.

The hall is dimly lit with flickering lights every few meters. A holographic display emerges from the bulkhead as I get near it with a view of the hostile but serene environment outside the ship.

These displays function as a sort of window because actual windows on a spaceship are weak points, and as such most ships use a plethora of dynamic video systems to simulate windows. A seemingly luxurious feature at first has become a necessity because people hate feeling cooped up. Call it claustrophobia or what have you, but it has to do with basic human nature or instincts. I turn the corner catching a glimpse of a rare facing display showing Titan slowly shrinking in the distance with Saturn largely encompassing the view. I gasp in awe of its beauty, almost forgetting the hell that resided on Titan’s surface. My thoughts return to the friends I have lost and how every second that passes brings me further from the oddly comforting place I used to call home.

I try my best to reject it, to vocally say what I cannot, but the words are lost. I cannot say goodbye. I cannot renounce my title of Titan, as much as I hated the cesspool where I was raised, where I became a man, and where I met the people who matter to me the most. No, I will hold on to the memories of my past, but I will not be haunted by them. I close my eyes and whisper a prayer, something I have not done for a long time. Even though I know a few words doesn’t make up for years of silence, I feel as though a weight has been lifted, not much but just enough that I can breathe more deeply than before. I lift my hand and place it on the display; I feel a tingle in my shoulder as the image is saved to my Aug. I take one last look and head to the cargo hold.