Cargo

“Jack” walked into the bar as if he owned it. He didn’t pause at the door to adjust to the dim lighting or to suss out the crowd. His broad frame nearly filled the width of the door, while his stained, blue baseball cap with a daisy logo nearly brushed the top of the frame.

As he made his way to a table in the back, he adjusted the leather bomber jacket he wore that matched the brown of his hair. Anyone watching closely enough might have caught a glimpse of the weapon hidden in his waistband at the rear. That didn’t happen, however, as the bar’s patrons were more interested in not catching his attention.

He was the biggest person in the bar — not that big of an accomplishment when he was the only human. The small, flat faced, large eyed, bewhiskered, pale blue aliens that called themselves murins filled the bar.

Jack had to remind himself that this was not Earth, this was Kula, and he was the alien here. He sat across the table from “Jill,” the small, female murin whose pale blue skin was crossed by faint stripes of even paler teal. The size of the table and bench meant that his knees were spread wide and pressed against the table. It felt like sitting a child’s school desk.

“Jill,” he said, “good to see you.”

She pushed a glass full of an amber liquid across to him. Her whiskers moved up and forward from their relaxed position where they had hung parallel to her face with a slight droop. “Good to see you, Jack. How are things going for you?”

“Nothing exciting, but that’s good for a freight pilot.” Jack smiled at Jill’s obvious excitement at seeing him. He took a sip of the warm liquid, letting it coat the inside of his mouth. It was like a cross between Amaretto and maple syrup. Too sweet, but he’d grown accustomed to it.

Jill let her whiskers relax. She focused on her drink, tipping the glass and turning it, letting the liquid coat the glass. She slid a foot under the table until her toe bumped into Jack’s boot and held it there.

Jack knew something was bothering her. “How’s business been?”

Her whiskers pulled back tight against her face and her eyes opened wide enough that the whites showed. Jack put a hand over hers on the table and she got herself under control.

“What’s got you stressed?”

“Ella’s moving to another city. I want to follow, but I don’t know if I can get out of my job here.”

“Just go, then. Ella will be happy to have you, and you can probably work for Ella.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Contract?”

Jill nodded.

“And it covers the new city, too?”

“The contract severely limits my mobility,” she said.

Jack gave her hand a light squeeze. “Tell you what, ma’am. You don’t worry about your contract, I’ll sort that out. I’ll have my lawyer call his lawyer.”

“You’d do that for me? Even if I want to work for you, instead?”

“Of course I would.” Jack cocked his head. “Why is Ella moving, though?”

“One of the stepsisters, again.”

“Snooping around, putting their noses where they don’t belong?” Jack sighed. “Annoying.”

“Speaking of annoying,” Jill said with a slight twitch of her whiskers toward to the door.

Jack looked at the three murins that had entered. Slightly larger than the average, each was dressed in the armor of Enforcers, with their shock sticks held at the ready.

One of them held up a device and swept it around the bar. When the device was silent at the end of the sweep, he said, “Not here. We’re getting closer, though.”

“You!” he barked at the waiter nearest him. “You’re the new squad laborer for the day. Get up and follow us.”

The waiter’s eyes were wide, the whites showing, his whiskers plastered against his face. He set down the tray of drinks he’d been carrying, careful not to make eye contact with any of the Enforcers, and followed them, his head bowed, his legs shaking.

“The Enforcers’ powers were meant to be temporary,” Jill said with a sad droop of her whiskers.

“No power, once gained, is ever relinquished freely. Power corrupts, and all that.” Jack took another sip of the warm, sweet drink. “I get that Ella’s moving and all, but did she leave anything for me? I’d hate to leave with an empty cargo hold.”

Jill took a solid swig from her drink. “Yeah, twelve crates of assorted textiles. I think one might be blankets.”

“It’s good to know her sisters haven’t slowed her down.” He took another sip of the sweet drink. “Do we have the lading bill?”

“We do. The crates, customs paperwork, and bill of lading will be waiting at your ship by the time you get there.”

Jack thought for a moment. “I’m going to stop by my lawyer’s office then come down. Why don’t you meet me at the slip? You know how to open up the ship and settle the cargo.”

“I’ll see you there.” Jill left the bar with the sort of determined walk that advertised places to go and things to do. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was the best way to keep from being picked up by a roving Enforcer squad looking for someone to humiliate.

Jack left the bar with the kind of ambling walk that said he had nowhere in particular he had to be, and no kind of schedule to be there. The Enforcer squads avoided him anyway. He wasn’t a citizen, and the Enforcers weren’t looking to create an interstellar incident.

His wandering took him to a warehouse. He’d been there before, but his business was different then. When his knock on the door was ignored, he kicked it open while drawing his weapon from his waistband.

He reached his ship an hour later, the crates all loaded and pasted with customs stamps and inspection stamps. Jill’s whiskers pointed up and forward. “Here he is,” she said.

“I suppose you need my sign on your paperwork,” he said.

“Yes, please, thank you.” The dockworker was stout for a murin, with a grizzled mien; the politeness felt artificial and more driven by fear to Jack.

“Hey, no problem.” Jack signed with his print, and said, “You can relax around me. Next time just say ‘Hey asshole, hurry up and sign this so I can get back to work.’ I won’t take it personally.”

The dockworker’s whiskers wiggled in the manner of murin laughter and he said, “Good to know, asshole. Now get out of here so I can go home.”

“Even better! Have a good day.” Jack waved at the dockworker before walking up the ramp to the cargo bay of his ship. Jill was there, waiting for him.

“Everything’s secure,” she said. “What did your lawyer say?”

“Your contract is null and void. If you still want to work with me, you can, but I need to get this cargo in space right now.”

“Show me where to strap in.”

After takeoff, clearance to high orbit, clearance to depart orbit, then entry into slip-space, Jack left the cockpit and made his way to the cargo bay. “Jill, we’re in the clear,” he called out.

Jill joined him in unstrapping the crates and opening them up. From each, a murin climbed out from under the piles of cloth in the crates; political dissidents in danger of being “disappeared” by their repressive government. The largest of the crates, marked “blankets,” contained a murin female and her three children.

Jack made sure everyone was safe and healthy, and invited them to make themselves at home in the large galley where a feast awaited them. Once everyone was settled, he told Jill to follow him to the bridge.

They strapped into the chairs in the bridge, and he said, “Tyler Mitchell, pleased to meet you.”

“Inkira sal-Birna, my pleasure.”

“It’ll probably be a long while before you can go back, Inkira.”

“I know. Ella warned me it was getting too dangerous, but without getting rid of —”

“Yeah. I figured he was tracking you. And he would’ve sounded the alarm if he saw you were at the docks.” He removed the pancake holster from the back of his trousers with the revolver. Stamped on the holster was a balance scale. “I don’t like killing, but good riddance. The Enforcers can fight over who wanted him dead more: the Enforcers he was paying off or the drug runners.”

“When are you making your next trip?” she asked.

“We’ll get these folks settled, then I’ll have to get another ship, a new alias, and see where our agents make contact with Ella. It’ll be a couple months, at least.”

“That’s a long time?”

“About sixty Earth days, so around seventy-five of your days.”

“Not too long, then.”

Tyler, a.k.a. Jack, turned toward the small murin woman. “Are you sure Cinderella is safe?”

“She is. Very safe. Last night was the first time I ever met her in person. She scared me half to death.”

“Why’s that?”

“She showed up in her Enforcer uniform. I thought she was there to arrest me.”

“Oh, she made it in. Good to hear.” Tyler smiled.

“You knew she was an Enforcer?”

“I knew we asked her to try, and we provided all the help we could to get her there. For her own safety and for the safety of the people we smuggle out. Plus, it gives her access to places and people she wouldn’t have otherwise.”

“When we finally overthrow the government, and get our democracy, what will you do then? I’ll want to help rebuild, of course. I suppose you aren’t a smuggler by trade.”

“You’re right about that; I’m not. But when the time comes, rebuilding requires a lot of materials and supplies. I’ll go back to hauling normal freight and make Kula my home port. Maybe even buy a house there. I’ve grown fond of it.”

“Just Kula?” she asked.

“Well, you too. Makes it that much better.” He winked.

Her whiskers wiggled. “I do, don’t I? Come on, ‘Jack,’ let’s see if our guests need anything.”