“And if they don’t buy it?” Jax asked warily. He didn’t like the idea of those asshole detectives getting the first pitch of this story.

“Then Stan calls up our captain,” Halsey said. “And if she won’t hear it, then he can go to the major. Or to the commissioner.” He paused, looking at Runstom again. “If he hasn’t been fired by that point. And he’s still looking to push his luck.” Runstom didn’t reply, but his frown deepened.

“But if we even have to go that far, chances are, they won’t listen,” Jax said, venturing a guess.

“We wanted you to have the information, so you can take it to your attorney,” Runstom said. “Halsey and I don’t know courtroom law. We figure your lawyer will know best what to do with it.”

Jax sighed, feeling hopeless. “Unless you can convince your detectives to investigate those two ships, I don’t think I have much of a chance. And I know how hard that will be. Miners tend to be independent types who don’t cooperate with authorities unless forced to.” Jax paused, then added sheepishly, “I mean, at least that’s how they are in the holo-vids. I’ve never met any in person.”

“Yeah, they don’t much like ModPol,” agreed Halsey. “Truth be told, they’re generally out of our jurisdiction, unless they come to civilization. And they rarely do that, since traders make regular trips out to the refineries.”

“Someone would have had to get a large transmitter out to them,” Runstom said. “If we can start an investigation, we could go back to the traffic logs and find out what ships have been out to that miner’s refinery. Check their cargo manifests.”

“And we don’t know how far back to go,” Halsey said grimly. “Someone could have dropped off the transmitter a year ago, for all we know.”

“What about the cruise ship?” Jax didn’t like the mining vessel for this job. It was too inconvenient and expensive. The superliner seemed to scream convenience. Coming into range of signaling the Gretel sub-dome over the course of multiple days. And close enough to use a small transmitter. One that could fit in a large suitcase, if disassembled.

“Well, she’s technically in our jurisdiction, being operated by a company based on Barnard-3,” Runstom said. “They wouldn’t be real happy about a raid on the entire ship, and we wouldn’t know where to start. Over 300 crew members and more than four times as many passengers. Some passengers that’ve spent more Alliance Credits on that ship than any of us could make in our lifetimes. We’d have to be real certain, and I don’t think our bosses would risk it.”

Jax wanted to scream at them, call them useless for getting nowhere. For allowing their colleagues to arrest and prosecute an innocent man. But he knew they were doing the best that they could. “Thanks for this, at least,” he said. “It means a lot to me that you even listened to me. And I know you’ve gone out on a limb. So, thanks.”

Runstom pulled a few pages out of his notebook. “Here,” he said, handing them to Jax. “I made copies of everything.” Jax got off the bed and took the notes. “Listen,” said Runstom. “If it comes down to it, I’ll testify. Don’t let your lawyer call Officer Halsey. If he really has to, tell him to call me to the stand.”

“Okay,” Jax said quietly. “Thanks, Stanford.” He was at a loss for words. It’d been a long time since anyone stood up for him. He shook hands with Officer Runstom and then with Officer Halsey and they left him alone to stare at the stars through the tiny porthole.

CHAPTER 9

Klaxons bellowed and the bombball game on the holo-vision was suddenly replaced by the blazingly bright, red, flashing image of an alarm-bell icon. Runstom cursed and looked away, the ghost of the image already burned into his retinas.

Halsey yelped awake and fell off his cot. Tangled in a blanket, he tried desperately to stand but was having a difficult time with the action. As low-ranking ModPol officers, their accommodations were barely better than those of the prisoner they were escorting. Their room was a little larger than Jax’s cell, and featured two flimsy cots, a table, and a couple of chairs. Runstom slapped off the holo-vision – the one item they had that prisoners didn’t – and got up to help Halsey to his feet.

“What the fuck is going on?” Halsey had to shout to be heard over the alarms.

“I don’t know,” Runstom yelled. He opened the door to their room. The hallway walls flashed red and the klaxons were even louder.

After a minute of confusion, the alarms quieted enough for an announcement to be heard. An unnatural and unperturbed female voice calmly stated, “Alert. The ship is under attack. This is not a drill. The ship is under attack. Gunners, report to battle-stations. Guards and prisoner escorts, report to the prisoner bay. This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill.”

“Well, fuck me,” Halsey said in a normal voice, just before the alarms started blaring again. “Come on, Stan,” he shouted. “Let’s go!”

They ran down the maze of corridors that led them from the guest rooms to the prisoner bay. Various uniforms ran with them, others ran the opposite direction. Once they hit the prisoner bay, they ran into real chaos. Most of the prisoners were still in the yard and barge guards were desperately trying to corral them into their proper cells. This did not go over well with most of the prisoners, who – quite correctly – assessed that the cells were the least safe place to be during a fire-fight between the barge and other spacecraft.

Things went from bad to worse when something got past the barge’s defenses and the walls shook violently and the floor lurched out from beneath them all. Artificial gravity started to falter, causing everyone to bounce around like they were on pogo-sticks. The guards suddenly became less concerned with getting the prisoners back into their cells and more concerned with finding something to hold on to.

“Stan!” Halsey yelled. “Stanford Runstom! Over here! I found Jackson!”

Runstom got himself turned around and saw Halsey holding Jax from behind, his arms hooked under the operator’s armpits. Jax’s head lolled around, his eyes barely open. Runstom made his way over to them, trying not to run, lest he send himself flying out of control in the weak gravity.

“Jax, wake up!” Runstom yelled once he got to them and got a hold of Jax’s chin.

“I think he hit his head,” Halsey shouted. “We need to get the hell outta here!”

Runstom looked around desperately as he racked his brain trying to remember the layout of the barge. He’d been briefed on it at some point in his ModPol officer training, but that was long, long ago. “This way,” he shouted, pointing. “To the kitchen. I think if we go through there, we can get to the storage room. We might be able to find shelter in there. Inside packing crates – or something.”

Halsey nodded and moved around Jax so they could get on either side of him, each with one of his arms hooked over their shoulders. The extra weight actually made it easier for them to move in the low gravity and they got to the kitchen without injury, dodging bouncing guards and prisoners as they went. They tried to yell to people they passed to tell them to get to the storage bay, but it wasn’t apparent whether or not anyone was listening.

The kitchen was a total mess and they had to pick their way carefully through the chaos of cookware and upended food. Once they made it through, they found the short hallway that hooked up with a large corridor.

“This is the main supply corridor,” Runstom said. The alarms rang furiously in the distance, but not in this section of the ship. “I think the supply deck might detach. There will be some minimal controls in there. If the barge takes too much damage, we can try to pull off and float away.”

“Yeah, and hopefully not draw any attention.” Halsey looked back through the kitchen, the way they came. “You think anyone else got the idea?”