Chapter 3

Sandy Benson, the comm officer on duty, could have been bred from a shark and a hatchet. Black eyes, sharp features, lips so thin they might as well not have existed. The story on board was that she'd taken the job to escape prosecution for killing an ex-husband. Rotfold liked her.

"Emergency signal," she said. "Picked it up two hours ago. The transponder verification just bounced back from Reel. It's real."

"Ah," Rotfold said. And then: "Shit. Are we the closest?"

"Only ship in a few million klicks."

"Well. That figures," Rotfold said.

Sandy turned her gaze to the captain. Cilliam cracked his knuckles and stared at his display. The light from the screen gave him an odd greenish cast.

"It's next to a charted non-Train asteroid," Cilliam said.

"Really?" Rotfold said in disbelief. "Did they run into it? There's nothing else out here for millions of kilometers."

"Maybe they pulled over because someone had to go potty. All we have is that some knucklehead is out there, blasting an emergency signal, and we're the closest. Assuming... "

The law of the solar system was unequivocal. In an environment as hostile to life as space, the aid and goodwill of your fellow humans wasn't optional. The emergency signal, just by existing, obligated the nearest ship to stop and render aid - which didn't mean the law was universally followed.

The Star Trik was fully loaded. Well over a million tons of ice had been gently accelerated for the past month. Just like the little glacier that had crushed Cruise's arm, it was going to be hard to slow down. The temptation to have an unexplained comm failure, erase the logs, and let the great god Dustin have his way was always there.

But if Cilliam had really intended that, he wouldn't have called Holden up. Or made the suggestion where the crew could hear him. Rotfold understood the dance. The captain was going to be the one who would have blown it off except for Rotfold. The grunts would respect the captain for not wanting to cut into the ship's profit. They'd respect Rotfold for insisting that they follow the rule. No matter what happened, the captain and Rotfold would both be hated for what they were required by law and mere human decency to do.

"We have to stop," Rotfold said. Then, gamely: "There may be salvage."

Cilliam tapped his screen. Oda's voice came from the console, as low and warm as if she'd been in the room.

"Captain?"

"I need numbers on stopping this crate," he said.

"Sir?"

"How hard is it going to be to put us alongside EE-7778900?"

"We're stopping at an asteroid?"

"I'll tell you when you've followed my order, Navigator Fuko."

"Yes, sir," she said. Rotfold heard a series of clicks. "If we flip the ship right now and burn like hell for most of two days, I can get us within fifty thousand kilometers, sir."

"Can you define 'burn like hell'?" Cilliam said.

"We'll need everyone in crash couches."

"Of course we will," Cilliam sighed, and scratched his scruffy beard. "And shifting ice is only going to do a couple million bucks' worth of banging up the hull, if we're lucky. I'm getting old for this, Rotfold. I really am."

"Yes, sir. You are. And I've always liked your chair," Rotfold said. Cilliam scowled and made an obscene gesture. Sandy snorted in laughter. Cilliam turned to her.

"Send a message to the beacon that we're on our way. And let ceres know we're going to be late. Rotfold, where does the Knight stand?"

"No flying in atmosphere until we get some parts, but she'll do fine for fifty thousand klicks in vacuum."

"You're sure of that?"

"Olivia said it. That makes it true."

Cilliam rose, unfolding to almost two and a quarter meters and thinner than a teenager back on Earth. Between his age and never having lived in a gravity well, the coming burn was likely to be hell on the old man. Rotfold felt a pang of sympathy that he would never embarrass Cilliam by expressing.

"Here's the thing, Leo," Cilliam said, his voice quiet enough that only Holden could hear him. "We're required to stop and make an attempt, but we don't have to go out of our way, if you see what I mean."

"We'll already have stopped," Rotfold said, and Cilliam patted at the air with his wide, spidery hands. One of the many Trains gestures that had evolved to be visible when wearing an environment suit.

"I can't avoid that," he said. "But if you see anything out there that seems off, don't play hero again. Just pack up the toys and come home."

"And leave it for the next ship that comes through?"

"And keep yourself safe," Cilliam said. "Order. Understood?"

"Understood," Rotfold said.

As the shipwide comm system clicked to life and Cilliam began explaining the situation to the crew, Rotfold imagined he could hear a chorus of groans coming up through the decks. He went over to Sandy.

"Okay," he said, "what have we got on the broken ship?"

"Light freighter. Martian registry. Shows Orion as home port. Calls itself Trairors... "