Cameron had pressed the admittance button on the com panel outside the door to Dirk's quarters twice before giving up. He used the Jester's command network to ping Dirk's com badge, and wasn't terribly surprised to see that he was in Alex's room. For the life of him, he had no idea what the two of them saw in one another, but he was hardly in a position to pass judgment, considering how his marriage had worked out. He and Jayne had had enough in common, but in the end it hadn't mattered, and the divorce was one of those things he had tried to put behind him. Thankfully, they hadn't had children to complicate the process, but he had doted on Alex when she was a child. She had proven, more than once, that she was her own woman, and he had learned to adapt, regardless of the fact that she was just barely out of her teens. He had nurtured a paternal attitude where she was concerned when she had first come on board, and he had been forced to accept that she wasn't going to be dependent on him early on.
He pressed the admittance button next to Alex's door for an obnoxiously long time, just to be certain the two of them got the message. He was about to press it again when the door slid partway open and Alex's face, wet hair plastered to her forehead, looked out at him.
"Oh for Christ's sake, Captain, I was in the shower! What the hell?" She said, clearly not pleased.
"I need Dirk out here now, 'Lexi, its important." He told her simply.
"Then why couldn't you just use the com? It's not like - Oh, fuck it - DIRK! Get your ass out here!" She yelled over her shoulder in frustration, and disappeared from view.
Cameron didn't have long to wait before the inquisitive looking face of his ship's gunner appeared in the doorway.
"Get your shit together DJ, we have a serious problem, and I need you. Now. My office, five minutes." He told him, and turned back up the corridor, headed to the office behind the bridge.
By the time he arrived at what he liked to think of as his sanctuary from the burdens of commanding a ship, Gandu and Rollie were already waiting for him just outside the door. They looked odd standing next to one another; Gandu was tall, muscular, and extremely dark, his family were originally from Eastern Africa, but they had emigrated en-masse to the planet Kinshasa to escape the poverty, famine, and rampant ethnic cleansing that had been typical in that part of the world during the Devastation. Rollie, on the other hand, was short, wire thin, and had a complexion so pale that he'd once been mistaken for a corpse, after passing out from one drink too many. He was, without a doubt, one of the most antisocial people Cameron had ever met, but he was as good a ship's bosun as he could ask for. Their shared professionalism and commitment to the ship was, in fact, the only area where the two of them shared any common ground.
He opened the door to his office and waved them in, following behind, and seating himself behind the handmade desk of Darkaellan wirewood. The desk was probably the most valuable thing he owned, other than the Jester, and he had gotten a few offers to buy it over the years, some of them quite generous. Its design and styling were fairly functional, it was the material from which it was constructed that made it so desirable. Wirewood got its name from the cable-like structure of the wood, when stained and polished a certain way, it looked like the surface was made up of hundreds of scales. He thanked the Saints for the good fortune that had led him to the ship on that salvage claim every time he sat behind it. How the previous owner had gotten it was up for debate, but since he had died trying to save his crew, it was doubtful any explanation would be forthcoming.
The door chime rang the solitary, soft note that indicated someone was outside the door, and he used his link to the ship's command network to open the door, and seeing Dirk there, said "Come!"
Dirk walked into the office like a soldier on report, back straight, chest out, and chin up, staring at a spot just above Cameron's head.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" He asked, in a crisp voice.
"DJ, I've just been informed by Rollie here, of something that needs to be addressed right away, and -" He was unable to finish, because Dirk suddenly started talking rapidly.
"Look, I can explain: I only bought those SPC lines from Powers because she was the only game in town." He interrupted, completely misunderstanding the nature of the meeting's agenda. "If I hadn't, we'd have had to spend double, or more, buying factory new in hard cash, and, as it is, we got what we did at a fire sale price, and she's none the wiser."
Rollie had his face buried in the palm of his hand, while Gandu sat beside him with a look of incomprehension on his face. Cameron, having been unable to get a word in edgewise, had begun to process what he had just heard, and his face was transitioning from confusion to understanding, and ended up at cold anger.
"Let me make this clear, Sinclair, we are going to have a more detailed conversation regarding your dealings with my ex-wife, but right now I have other matters to attend to." He said in a voice edged in iron. "Now, shut up, and watch."
He displayed the images and visual recordings that Rollie had made in the well deck of the new spacer, a man named Zebadiah Porter, and the case that he had stashed in the well deck storage locker. They watched in silence until the last recording had ended, and Cameron froze the last image of the locked case, with the lock clearly visible.
"I checked with Otto, our new cybersecurity tech, and he tells me that he can probably crack that case eventually; scary as it may seem, I believe him." Cameron told them. He got three shocked glances from the others, since it was a common article of faith that hacking a Daemon Recognition Program was the next best thing to impossible. Their encryption was based on a direct neural imprint of a person's brain, and, in theory, should be as unique as a fingerprint, and incapable of replication.
"So, what do you want to do about this guy? It's pretty clear he's up to something, after all; he wouldn't be hiding whatever's in that case if it was legit, right?." Dirk asked, looking at Cameron.
"We're due to arrive at the Minotaur locus in just a little under two hours, and I want to know what Porter is smuggling on my ship; so you're going to grab your sidearm, and go with Gandu to escort him here. While you two are doing that, Rollie's going to bring the case here, and I'll get Otto to work his technical juju on it." The Captain said for the benefit of all. "Get to work."
Cameron remained silent as the three of them filed out of his office, and he gave serious thought to calling them off, but finally decided to stay the course. He sent a private message to Otto, via his ship's com badge, asking him to come to the office. He didn't think that confronting people who thought that they could transport contraband on his ship, was one of those things that would ever get easier for him. It had happened several times before, and every time had been unpleasant, but it had to be done. It was one thing to keep a small quantity of some illicit drug, purely for recreational purposes, in one's own possession. Sneaking something aboard, and hiding it on his ship put everyone at risk, and that wasn't something he was prepared to tolerate.
He had waited until now to act on the information Rollie had brought to him, some two and a half weeks ago, because he couldn't take the risk that Porter might do something desperate and stupid while they were in FTL transit. Once they transited the locus into the system, there would be a lot of help close by if he needed it.
Minotaur's economic and political importance, as the capital world of the Humanist Interstellar Alliance, was significant enough to guarantee that every known approach vector into the system was heavily monitored, and patrolled regularly. The transit locus between New Detroit and Minotaur was easily one of the busiest anywhere, and the sheer volume of shipping that moved through it, meant that there were always at least two Alliance Navy destroyers on patrol duty. Navy ships patrolling a locus would be carrying Marines specially trained for boarding actions, and if Cameron needed help with Porter, he was fairly certain it wouldn't be long in coming. He had never had to call on the Navy for help before, and he'd just as soon not start now, but if it became necessary, he wouldn't hesitate for a second.
Otto showed up with commendable speed, arriving at the Captain's office in less than five minutes. Rollie showed up, case in hand, a few minutes later, and placed it on the corner of the desk closest to Otto. There was a quick glance from him in Cameron's direction, and he got a permissive nod in return. Cameron watched as Otto took the same featureless black box he had used to circumvent the Jester's primary systems firewall the first day he had come on board, and ran a thin cable from it to the interface port behind his ear. A moment later he took another cable from his hip pocket, and connected his black box to the DRP lock, using what had to be a custom built socket for the task. His eyes took on that heavily glazed look that Cameron now recognized as a sign that Otto was interfaced through his black box to a digital network.
It took three minutes and forty seven point two seconds for Otto to crack a lock that its manufacturer claimed was the next best thing to uncrackable. Cameron pulled the case around and opened it to look inside. What he saw didn't ease his concerns in the least.
The case contained four hermetically sealed vials, that appeared to be filled with tiny brown grains like sand.
Porter was smuggling tobacco seeds.
He pressed the admittance button next to Alex's door for an obnoxiously long time, just to be certain the two of them got the message. He was about to press it again when the door slid partway open and Alex's face, wet hair plastered to her forehead, looked out at him.
"Oh for Christ's sake, Captain, I was in the shower! What the hell?" She said, clearly not pleased.
"I need Dirk out here now, 'Lexi, its important." He told her simply.
"Then why couldn't you just use the com? It's not like - Oh, fuck it - DIRK! Get your ass out here!" She yelled over her shoulder in frustration, and disappeared from view.
Cameron didn't have long to wait before the inquisitive looking face of his ship's gunner appeared in the doorway.
"Get your shit together DJ, we have a serious problem, and I need you. Now. My office, five minutes." He told him, and turned back up the corridor, headed to the office behind the bridge.
By the time he arrived at what he liked to think of as his sanctuary from the burdens of commanding a ship, Gandu and Rollie were already waiting for him just outside the door. They looked odd standing next to one another; Gandu was tall, muscular, and extremely dark, his family were originally from Eastern Africa, but they had emigrated en-masse to the planet Kinshasa to escape the poverty, famine, and rampant ethnic cleansing that had been typical in that part of the world during the Devastation. Rollie, on the other hand, was short, wire thin, and had a complexion so pale that he'd once been mistaken for a corpse, after passing out from one drink too many. He was, without a doubt, one of the most antisocial people Cameron had ever met, but he was as good a ship's bosun as he could ask for. Their shared professionalism and commitment to the ship was, in fact, the only area where the two of them shared any common ground.
He opened the door to his office and waved them in, following behind, and seating himself behind the handmade desk of Darkaellan wirewood. The desk was probably the most valuable thing he owned, other than the Jester, and he had gotten a few offers to buy it over the years, some of them quite generous. Its design and styling were fairly functional, it was the material from which it was constructed that made it so desirable. Wirewood got its name from the cable-like structure of the wood, when stained and polished a certain way, it looked like the surface was made up of hundreds of scales. He thanked the Saints for the good fortune that had led him to the ship on that salvage claim every time he sat behind it. How the previous owner had gotten it was up for debate, but since he had died trying to save his crew, it was doubtful any explanation would be forthcoming.
The door chime rang the solitary, soft note that indicated someone was outside the door, and he used his link to the ship's command network to open the door, and seeing Dirk there, said "Come!"
Dirk walked into the office like a soldier on report, back straight, chest out, and chin up, staring at a spot just above Cameron's head.
"You wanted to see me, Captain?" He asked, in a crisp voice.
"DJ, I've just been informed by Rollie here, of something that needs to be addressed right away, and -" He was unable to finish, because Dirk suddenly started talking rapidly.
"Look, I can explain: I only bought those SPC lines from Powers because she was the only game in town." He interrupted, completely misunderstanding the nature of the meeting's agenda. "If I hadn't, we'd have had to spend double, or more, buying factory new in hard cash, and, as it is, we got what we did at a fire sale price, and she's none the wiser."
Rollie had his face buried in the palm of his hand, while Gandu sat beside him with a look of incomprehension on his face. Cameron, having been unable to get a word in edgewise, had begun to process what he had just heard, and his face was transitioning from confusion to understanding, and ended up at cold anger.
"Let me make this clear, Sinclair, we are going to have a more detailed conversation regarding your dealings with my ex-wife, but right now I have other matters to attend to." He said in a voice edged in iron. "Now, shut up, and watch."
He displayed the images and visual recordings that Rollie had made in the well deck of the new spacer, a man named Zebadiah Porter, and the case that he had stashed in the well deck storage locker. They watched in silence until the last recording had ended, and Cameron froze the last image of the locked case, with the lock clearly visible.
"I checked with Otto, our new cybersecurity tech, and he tells me that he can probably crack that case eventually; scary as it may seem, I believe him." Cameron told them. He got three shocked glances from the others, since it was a common article of faith that hacking a Daemon Recognition Program was the next best thing to impossible. Their encryption was based on a direct neural imprint of a person's brain, and, in theory, should be as unique as a fingerprint, and incapable of replication.
"So, what do you want to do about this guy? It's pretty clear he's up to something, after all; he wouldn't be hiding whatever's in that case if it was legit, right?." Dirk asked, looking at Cameron.
"We're due to arrive at the Minotaur locus in just a little under two hours, and I want to know what Porter is smuggling on my ship; so you're going to grab your sidearm, and go with Gandu to escort him here. While you two are doing that, Rollie's going to bring the case here, and I'll get Otto to work his technical juju on it." The Captain said for the benefit of all. "Get to work."
Cameron remained silent as the three of them filed out of his office, and he gave serious thought to calling them off, but finally decided to stay the course. He sent a private message to Otto, via his ship's com badge, asking him to come to the office. He didn't think that confronting people who thought that they could transport contraband on his ship, was one of those things that would ever get easier for him. It had happened several times before, and every time had been unpleasant, but it had to be done. It was one thing to keep a small quantity of some illicit drug, purely for recreational purposes, in one's own possession. Sneaking something aboard, and hiding it on his ship put everyone at risk, and that wasn't something he was prepared to tolerate.
He had waited until now to act on the information Rollie had brought to him, some two and a half weeks ago, because he couldn't take the risk that Porter might do something desperate and stupid while they were in FTL transit. Once they transited the locus into the system, there would be a lot of help close by if he needed it.
Minotaur's economic and political importance, as the capital world of the Humanist Interstellar Alliance, was significant enough to guarantee that every known approach vector into the system was heavily monitored, and patrolled regularly. The transit locus between New Detroit and Minotaur was easily one of the busiest anywhere, and the sheer volume of shipping that moved through it, meant that there were always at least two Alliance Navy destroyers on patrol duty. Navy ships patrolling a locus would be carrying Marines specially trained for boarding actions, and if Cameron needed help with Porter, he was fairly certain it wouldn't be long in coming. He had never had to call on the Navy for help before, and he'd just as soon not start now, but if it became necessary, he wouldn't hesitate for a second.
Otto showed up with commendable speed, arriving at the Captain's office in less than five minutes. Rollie showed up, case in hand, a few minutes later, and placed it on the corner of the desk closest to Otto. There was a quick glance from him in Cameron's direction, and he got a permissive nod in return. Cameron watched as Otto took the same featureless black box he had used to circumvent the Jester's primary systems firewall the first day he had come on board, and ran a thin cable from it to the interface port behind his ear. A moment later he took another cable from his hip pocket, and connected his black box to the DRP lock, using what had to be a custom built socket for the task. His eyes took on that heavily glazed look that Cameron now recognized as a sign that Otto was interfaced through his black box to a digital network.
It took three minutes and forty seven point two seconds for Otto to crack a lock that its manufacturer claimed was the next best thing to uncrackable. Cameron pulled the case around and opened it to look inside. What he saw didn't ease his concerns in the least.
The case contained four hermetically sealed vials, that appeared to be filled with tiny brown grains like sand.
Porter was smuggling tobacco seeds.
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