Double Helix 03_ Red Sector - Diane Carey [68]
“I could write an article!” Ansue Hashley insisted. “I know some people where I could send it! You do such a vital, glorious thing !
Stiles watched the screens, deliberately not looking at him. “It’s vital, not glorious. Headlines are for the Lafayette and the Majestic.”
Shuddering as its great engines vibrated, the muscular combat tender turned on an axis and hummed away from the center of the dispute, leaving the cloud of Romulans and the two Federation ships behind in a sparkle of weapons fire.
“Secure the ship, Travis,” he said casually, knowing that the actual activities were hardly casual. Punching the comm, he added, “Clones, Stiles.”
“Bolt and Bolt, Ship Riveters-at-Large. Would you like an appointment, sir?”
“Great work, rivet squad, excellent. You get an ‘A’ for speed and an extra minute to sleep tonight.” “Wow.” “Bailiff, shoot that man.”
As the laughter of relief and satisfaction rippled through the CST, Stiles turned like an old-time gunfighter and hooked his thumbs in an imaginary holster belt. “Okay, Mr. Hashley… what’s your story?” “Oh! Me-yes!” Ansue Hashley stuck out a computer cartridge. “I watched while they composed this. It says right on here to report to Mr. Lightcudder and give this to you. Is it all right to?”
Shies pushed the card into the nearest terminal, which clicked, and flipped, but nothing came up on the monitor above it. “Where is it?” he wondered.
From the tool alley, Greg Blake called, “It’s back here, Mr. Lightcudder.” “Uh… yeah, would you pass it back up here, please?” “Certainly, Mr. Lightcudder.”
The screen flickered once, then a message came up on it-printed, not vocal. Obviously somebody didn’t want this read aloud by anybody, including the ship’s systems.
“Mmm… explains… almost nothing.” Stiles looked at the printed message, sensing Travis and the bridge guys looking from behind him. “You don’t deal much with Starfleet, do you, Mr. Hashley?”
ATTENTION MR. LTCDR EYES ONLY DO NOT BROADCAST HOLD ITEM TOP SECURITY
“Not even the name of the ship in the message,” Travis said as he came up behind Stiles. “what item?”
Stiles cocked a hip and glared at him until Travis uttered, “Oh… right.”
They both turned to Hashley, who looked back and forth between them again and again. “Smuggling?” Stiles asked.
“Oh, transporting. I’m an agricultural broker. Usually, anyway. Well, I used to be. Sometimes I take other cargo. Well, most of the time. Well-” “what other cargo?”
“Anything anybody wants. Mostly stuff the Romulans want. Most of the time I don’t even know what’s in the crates and casks. I don’t ask much. I’ve been running the same twenty light-year relay for the past seven years. The Romulans had laws that said I shouldn’t be doing it, but they were liking what I did. They could’ve stopped me any time, but they bought what I had and paid me to move more. If the patrols stopped me, they usually settled for a quarter of my cargo.” Ansue Hashley smiled, and suddenly looked like a carved pumpkin. “I give very generous bribes.” How could you hate a jack-o-lantern?
“First of all, ‘Lightcudder’ isn’t anybody’s name. Those letters mean ‘Lieutenant Commander.’”
Hashley blinked as if he’d been slapped. “But aren’t you… the captain? Oh, no, did I make a terrible mistake?”
“No, you didn’t make a mistake. Combat support tenders are piloted by lieutenant commanders, officered by lieutenants, and crewed by chief, ensigns, midshipmen, and able crewmen. Most of these young people are here for experience and training. CST duty is considered good experience because of the active labor, tactical judgment, and hands-on ship handling. You also get a taste of battle situations without actually having to fight. Not usually, anyway. So I’m not ‘Captain Lightcudder.’ I’m Lieutenant Commander Stiles.” “Oh… oh, goodness, oh, my goodness, I made such a big mistake ….Stiles, Stiles, I won’t forget again. Oh, I’m so sorry ….” “No, no.” “But I feel just awful, horrible-“
“It’s not important. What is important is how you got transferred here