Chapter 2: Salvaged Cargo Pays Off
Several hours later, the Passive Swindler was heading toward Trindal Station orbiting Besitera, the nearest spaceport. He reviewed his freshly edited sensor logs. He used only the best illegal software so the changes would be undetectable outside of an expensive and lengthy forensic analysis. The distress call was there, but the logs now showed nothing but a debris field when he dropped out of hyperspace. He watched as the pirate vessel swooped to intercept him, and he was forced to defend himself. The logs showed the scans of the jettisoned cargo and his retrieval efforts. He replaced his long-range quantum phase communications core with a burnt-out part he had in storage to explain his not sending his logs ahead of him. If asked, he would say it was damaged when the Swindler was attacked.
Satisfied his logs would hold up under scrutiny, he made his way back to the cargo hold and the mysterious container three people died to protect. He worked his way through the fifty or so containers he retrieved to the pallet he stowed the container on. He unbuckled the tie-downs and pulled it out to the middle of the floor. He walked around it looking for anything out of the ordinary. On the back, he found the serial number, 11275 LCTL. Yup, this was the container he was hired to steal from the station after the Gypsy Rose had off loaded it at the Callumn spaceport. It had two locks and a keypad. He worked them over with a pry bar, and they gave easily. Wary, he removed his handheld scanner from its belt pouch. After several seconds, the results showed on his screen. Shielded! He could see the case, hinges, locks, but the rest was nothing. It registered as empty space. Cautiously, he opened the lid. His eyes danced over the bright glossy metal of the inner container.
In the middle of the top are a line of numbers 0-9 and a small display. Whatever is in this container is valuable. Hell, the case itself is valuable, he thought. He could easily get 1500 credits for a shielded case this size. Smugglers often used them for contraband. Hidden inside a large shipping container full of cargo, it would look like empty space. They were also used to protect sensitive electronics like communications parts, computer cores, etc. It was large enough to conceal anything from a dozen plasma rifles to 100 kg of Morph-A. He inspected the top of the inner container more carefully. He could see no seams or hinges. The metal felt cool but warmer than it should be in the cargo hold. He carefully extracted the metallic inner container and transferred it to an identical gray carbon fiber shipping container from his supply of empties. He planned to space the original container before his final jump to Besitera. After carefully stowing the new container at the bottom of a pallet of other empty containers, he made his way back to the command deck.
Once the Swindler was within range of the station, he called the attack into Traffic Routing and Control. Law enforcement met him at the docking arm. He explained his version of events to the detectives and turned over the altered sensor logs. While he was being deposed, a search team was dispatched to his ship, and an insurance representative started inventorying the salvaged cargo containers. He notified the clients he was transporting cargo for about the change in circumstances delaying their deliveries.. Several chose to have their cargo loaded onto other ships, and he reluctantly refunded a part of the shipping charges. He transferred the cargo to the central shipping hub where other couriers would pick them up later. The insurance agent and the search team were still in the cargo hold when he returned to the ship.
“Hello, my name is Cedric Waldo, I’m with All Galaxy Farmer’s Insurance, we carried the policy on the Gypsy Rose,” the insurance agent said, holding out his hand as Riordan entered the cargo bay.
“Atticus Riordan, I’m sorry for your loss,” Riordan said, shaking his hand firmly.
“That’s okay, you salvaged most of the expensive cargo,” the insurance agent said, pushing his anachronistic spectacles up the bridge of his nose.
“I meant the loss of your crew,” Riordan said flatly, releasing his hand.
“Oh, yes, of course. Thank you. I have completed my inventory and assessed salvage value to the recovered items, but something is missing. Did you happen to see a container marked," the insurance agent checked his holo-com, "11275 LCTL? It doesn't appear to be listed amongst the cargo you recovered."
Riordan played it cool. “Some of the containers were opened by the pirates, and I couldn’t take the time to retrieve every container, even if I had the room.”
“That's unfortunate. That container held a cutting-edge piece of medical technology. It's very complicated. The salvage value on that item alone is 35,000 credits," the insurance agent said.
“Damn! I wish I’d found it! What number have you come up with for a total?” Riordan asked, changing the subject.
“At All Galaxy, we know you are within your rights as the salvaging party to retain possession of the salvaged items and resell them as you see fit, to recoup your time, fuel, and other incidental losses due to the instigating event. However, we are offering you remuneration in exchange for all the salvaged items listed on the manifest.”
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Riordan scoffed at the number projected onto his retinas by the holocon on the agent's wrist. Of course, not every item he recovered was listed on the manifest. He had stocked up his galley with food and the medical bay with medicines and supplies. Several crates of parts he could adapt for use on the Swindler were re-crated in his own shipping containers, and the old containers with serial numbers were spaced. This was a semi-acceptable practice, after all, the cargo was his by law until he signed it over.
"So, you're telling me I retrieved, loaded, and transported fifty plus large containers all the way out here, for that? I could make more on freight charges for the same amount of cargo. I could get four times what you're offering, right here on the station, in the Bazaar," Riordan lied.
"Yes, Mr. Riordan, but that takes time and effort, and as a citizen of the Occupied Territories, you are required to pay taxes on whatever income you make, which would be about half. The law requires that All Galaxy offer to pay you for the salvaged cargo, not that we offer what you think it's worth. This offer also serves as an expression of gratitude for trying to render aid to a policyholder, which means it is exempt from such taxes. You keep all of it. We at All Galaxy understand your plight and are prepared to offer 20% more, but that is our final offer," the insurance agent said, familiar with the ins and outs of salvage negotiations.
Riordan appeared to consider the offer for a moment. "I do have to get the rest of my cargo to its destinations. Taking a few days to liquidate salvaged cargo would cost me. I guess we have a deal," he said.
The search team was now at the freezer compartment at the back of the cargo hold, struggling with the door. The leader called out to Riordan. "Sir, I need you to open this door."
"That's just my deep freezer," Riordan replied, heading in their direction. Where I stored the bodies, he finished in his head.
"Open it, Sir, or we will," the team leader replied, hefting a crowbar.
"Okay, no need for that. Nothing in there but a few hundred pounds of premium Appalachian Steaks bound for Uriel and 80 cases of Undoran shrimp," Riordan said entering the code into the keypad. The door hissed open, and frosty vapor wafted out. Riordan stepped back as the team entered, scanners in their hands. One of them slipped on the ice buildup on the floor and went down ungracefully, knocking a case of shrimp to the deck.
"Careful with that!" Riordan exclaimed, as fist sized frozen shrimp burst from the split container.
The other team members helped their colleague to his feet and finished inspecting the freezer. "You need to defrost your deep freeze, Sir," the team leader told him as he exited the compartment.
Once they finished, Riordan escorted the insurance agent and search team off his ship. Riordan went to the terminal on the sinistral side wall of the cargo area. He checked the balance in his credit account and whistled. Now that he was flush with credits, he placed orders for air, fuels, water, CO2 scrubbers, and other various supplies he was short on.
The porters arrived less than an hour later to remove the salvaged items, but Riordan was already at the gaming lounge.
***
After two days of sitting in port, Riordan was ready to get underway. He was up a few hundred credits from the Pragga pits in the gaming lounge and his mood was better. He conducted preflight checks and made sure all cargo and gear were properly secured and stowed. "Tower, this is delta, delta, two, one, four, requesting an immediate departure vector," he called over the com.
"Delta, delta, two, one, four, proceed. Departure vector transmitted. Please wait until leaving the system to engage FTL," the tower controller responded.
"Roger, tower. Departure vector received, two, one, four, out," Riordan transmitted back. As he busied himself with going over the ship's systems an amber light on his sensor panel lit up with a soft tone. The ship was being scanned. Craned his neck to peer out the overhead viewports. Barely visible to dextral was a large starship. He activated his sensors and picked up the ship's transponder; a Federal Corvette, the Hugo Norris, named after a minor Federated Republic of Systems (FRS) commander in the later part of the United Confederation of Independent Systems (UCIS) rebellion. He watched it for several minutes as it scanned every ship entering or leaving the area. How odd, he thought, they weren't here two days ago when I entered the system. Though odd, Its presence wasn’t unusual; warships were common in the Occupied Territories, the former UCIS. Riordan programmed the Swindler's autopilot to take the ship past the last planet in the system at 1/10 c. No need to arouse suspicion or attention by burning out of the system as if he had something to hide. Leaving the command deck, he headed upward to the rec room.
***
The bridge of the Hugo Norris was dimly lit with passive blue lighting. The captain of the vessel, Mareion Shepherd, watched the progress of the small interstellar freighter on the main holographic display with hard eyes. Leather creaked as she adjusted her position in the captain’s chair. Her lip unconsciously curled into a snarl. The Passive Swindler disappeared from the screen just past the last planet in the system.
"Midshipman, was the device installed correctly?" she asked, unconsciously adjusting the collar of her black flight suit.
"Yes, Ma’am. It was installed during the cargo inventory ," the young woman at the intelligence console behind her replied.
"Bring up the tracking display, let's find out where the bastard's going. Helm, follow that ship," she said, settling back into her chair. A dark smile twitched at the corners of her lips as she twirled her shoulder-length blond hair around a finger. “Cats and mice, and everything nice.”