Except now we weren’t doing that safe trade run anymore.
“Because the ships were originally from the Colonial Union, it looks like the Colonial Union attacked,” Ocampo said. “And so our diplomatic relations with nearly every nation on Earth are entirely shut off. Even those we’re not entirely shunned by we still have to be very careful approaching. Understand me so far?”
I nodded again.
Ocampo nodded in response. “In which case, Mr. Daquin, ask yourself: If the number two man of the Colonial Union State Department wanted to pry open diplomatic relations with the Earth, even just a crack, in a way that didn’t immediately require everyone involved to strike a political pose, how might he do it?”
“By pretending to go on vacation but actually commandeering a trade ship to take him to an unofficial meeting at a secret destination, perhaps,” I said.
“That might be one way, yes,” Ocampo agreed.
“But he would still need to convince that ship’s captain.”
“Convincing takes on many forms,” Ocampo said. “One form might be an official request from the Colonial Union itself, the refusal of which would cause the ship in question to be refused dock at any space station the Colonial Union controls. Which would be all of them, in Colonial Union space.”
“And the refusal would happen because the captain didn’t play ball.”
“Well, officially there would be all sorts of reasons given,” Ocampo said. “It would vary from station to station and from circumstance to circumstance. But in reality, it would be the Colonial Union expressing its displeasure at the lack of cooperation, yes.”
“I don’t imagine the captain would be happy about that.”
“No, probably not,” Ocampo agreed.
“There’s also the problem that the ship, and its owners and crew, would take a loss because their trade route was messed with.”
“If something like that were to happen, in theory, the ship, and its owners and crew, would be fully compensated by the Colonial Union for any losses, with additional compensation for time and other incurred expenses.”
“Really.”
“Oh, yes,” Ocampo said. “And now you know why it doesn’t happen very often. It’s expensive as hell.”
“And you told the captain all this.”
“I might have,” Ocampo said. “But if I did, I don’t imagine it made her any happier. No captain likes being ordered about on her own ship. But at this point there’s nothing to be done for it. How do you feel about it, Mr. Daquin?”
“I don’t know. Better, I suppose, because I have some idea what’s going on. At least, if what you’re telling me is accurate, sir.”
“I haven’t told you anything, Mr. Daquin,” Ocampo said. “We’re just having a conversation about possibilities. And this seems like a reasonable possibility to me. Does it seem like a reasonable possibility to you?”
I thought it did.
* * *
The next day, I got shot in the head.
Before that happened, though, I fell out of my bunk.
The falling out of the bunk was not the important part. The important part was how I fell out of it. I was shoved—or more accurately, the Chandler was shoved, and I pretty much stayed where I was. Which meant one second I had a bunk under me and the next second I didn’t, and then I was tumbling through the air, toward a bulkhead.
When this was happening I had two thoughts. The first thought, which if I’m truthful about it took up most of my brain, was Whaaaaaa, because first I was airborne, and then I smacked into the wall.
The second thought, in the part of my brain that wasn’t freaking out, was that something serious had happened to the ship. The artificial gravity field on the Chandler and nearly all space ships is incredibly robust—it has to be, or even simple acceleration would turn human bodies into jelly. It also acts to dampen skew and yaw inside a ship. It takes a lot of energy, basically, to shove a ship so hard that people fall out of their bunks.
There was also the fact that while I was shoved out of my bunk, I wasn’t falling. Which meant the artificial gravity wasn’t working. Something happened to knock it out.
Conclusion: We either hit something or were hit by something.
Which meant that the part of my brain that was previously going Whaaaaaa was now going, Oh shit we’re all gonna die, we’re dead we’re dead we’re so fucking dead.
And then the lights went out.
All of this took maybe a second.
The good news is I peed before going to sleep.
Then the emergency lights clicked on, as did the emergency gravity, rated at .2 standard G. It wasn’t a lot, and it wouldn’t be on for long. The whole point of it was to give the crew enough time to strap things down and lock them away. Everything that had been previously flying around in my quarters—toothpaste tubes, unhampered clothes, me—began to settle to the floor. I touched down, quickly put on some pants, and opened the door to my room.
And immediately saw Chieko Tellez running down the hall.