Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1) (42 page)

Natalya followed the captain down to the brow where two uniformed orbital security officers waited with Lyons just inside the lock. Lyons stood steadily enough but kept his head down, looking at his boots as nearly as Natalya could tell. The man’s hair had a few cowlicks, but his uniform seemed clean enough, if rumpled. The alcohol sting in the air fairly watered her eyes.

“I’m Captain Trask. How can I help you?”

The female officer jerked a thumb at Lyons. “Morning shift found him sacked out in a shipping crate down on oh-six with a couple of empty hooch bottles. Won’t say how he got there or how long he’d been there.”

“Any charges?” Trask asked.

The male officer shook his head. “Nope. We kinda hoped he’d talk to you since he wouldn’t talk to us.”

“I dunno how I got there,” Lyons said. His speech had a bit of a slur, like he didn’t have complete control of his tongue. He bit his lips together, his head turning this way and that, looking anywhere but at Trask or Natalya.

Natalya stepped forward and touched his arm. “Are you being a mope?”

The frantic head movements stopped and he looked up at her. His face had a heavy stubble, and his eyes looked pouchy but clear. His lips tried for a smile and almost made it. “I don’t remember. Last thing I remember was going ashore. Headed down the docks.”

“That’s the story he’s been giving us all morning, Captain,” the female officer said. “Nobody’s pressing charges. Nobody’s said boo about him. When we got him, he was a lot more confused. Rambling about cargo and spare parts. When we got his ident and found out he was your cargo master, we figured we might as well bring him along. He can sober up here as well as in our lockup.”

“Not drunk,” Lyons said.

The two officers rolled their eyes.

“Thank you, officers,” Trask said. “I appreciate the consideration.”

The male officer gave a jaunty wave. “You’re more than welcome, Captain. Saves us a ton of reporting.”

Trask chuckled at that. “I know how that works.”

The officers left and the spacer behind the desk keyed the lock closed.

“Thank you, Mr. Lamparty,” the captain said. He turned to Lyons. “Let’s head up, shall we?”

Lyons nodded, his head moving in an exaggerated arc up and down. “Coffee?”

“I’ll grab a mug on the way past the mess deck, if that’s all right, Mr. Lyons,” Natalya said.

Lyons looked around, one eye slightly squinting like the eyeball hurt. “Not drunk,” he said again.

The captain looped an arm through Lyons’s. “Come on, old son. Let’s find someplace comfy and dark to chat, shall we?” He gave Natalya a nod and she scooted ahead.

Scuttlebutt traveled faster than Natalya. By the time she got to the mess deck, Chef Marah already had a tray ready with a carafe of coffee and a small plate of pastries. She thrust it into Natalya’s hands almost before Natalya got into the galley. “Here you go, sar.”

“Thanks, Ms. Marah. Appreciated.”

The captain and Mr. Lyons had only barely cleared the ladder from the brow, so Natalya scooted up the ladder to the cabin and pushed through the door, balancing the tray precariously as she navigated the doorknob.

By the time she got the tray settled on Trask’s desk, the two of them loomed through the doorway, Lyons all but stumbling and the captain’s bulk turned sideways to get them both through the door. Natalya took Lyons’s arm and helped him to a chair.

The captain closed the door behind him and blocked the curious glances of too many spacers walking past. He crossed to his desk and took a seat while Natalya poured half a cup of coffee from the carafe, handing it to Lyons, who took it in two rather shaky hands.

“Thank you,” Lyons said with a jerky nod. “Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Regyri,” Trask said. “I think we can handle it from here.”

Natalya felt a stab of frustration but nodded. “Of course, Captain.” She started for the door when Lyons spoke again.

“Stay. Please.” Lyons looked at the captain. “She can stay.”

The captain glanced at Natalya and shrugged before nodding at the empty chair. She sat.

“When you’re ready, Mr. Lyons,” the captain said, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands over his chest.

Lyons gave another jerky nod and took a sip of the coffee. “I’m not drunk.” He opened his eyes wide and then closed them tightly as if trying to exercise his face muscles. “Somebody slipped me something.” He took another, longer, sip, then worked his nose and lips back and forth. “Feeling’s coming back.”

“What do you remember?” Trask asked.

“I signed off the ship and headed down the dock.”

“Do you remember where you were going?”

Lyons squinted. “Burger,” he said. “I wanted a burger. With onions.”

Natalya watched the amusement flit across the captain’s face. She felt herself grinning.

“Did you have any place in mind?”

“No. Figured I’d find one on the oh-two.”

“Lots of bars on the oh-two,” Trask said. His words carried no more weight than your average observation about a pleasant day.

Lyons stiffened as if he’d been stabbed. “No,” he said, staring into his mug. He glanced sideways at Natalya. “No,” he said again, quieter this time. “I wanted a burger. No booze. No beer. I hate beer.” He shuddered. He stretched his mouth open and closed. “It’s wearing off.” He lifted the mug a bit. “This helps.”

“You’re not drunk,” Natalya said. “I’ve seen you drunk.”

“You’ve smelled me drunk,” Lyons said with a crooked grin. “Do I smell drunk?”

She laughed and leaned over to give him a good sniff. She sat back, and frowned. “No, you don’t smell drunk,” she said, looking at the captain. “He smells like somebody spilled booze on him and left him. There’s something else there, too. A mouthwash smell.” The scent tickled her memory. “Pritchard. He smells like Pritchard.”

“Pritchard?” Trask asked, his face slack. “Are you sure?”

“He uses that god-awful aftershave or cologne or whatever it is. Seems like he must bathe in it some days.”

Trask stood and crossed to Lyons. “Nothing personal.”

Lyons gave a short laugh that sounded more like a cough. “No problem, Captain.”

Trask leaned over and took a snootful. “That fruity smell?” he asked, looking at Natalya.

“Yeah. That’s not Mr. Lyons,” she said. “He’s got a milder, musky smell.” She realized what she had said and felt the heat rising over her face. “Sorry, Mr. Lyons.”

He laughed again. “It’s all right,” he said. “I do smell funny, even to me.”

Trask took his seat again. “The officers said you were talking about spare parts and cargo when they found you.”

Lyons frowned, his gaze centered on his coffee mug but his focus somewhere else. “Feels like a dream. Funny dream. Walking down the docks. There’s a cargo train. Tug and a few wagons full of stuff.”

“That’s not unusual on the docks,” Trask said.

“It’s slippery. Like the harder I try to remember, the more it slips away.” Lyons shook his head and closed his eyes. “It stops at our lock. Somebody comes out. I keep walking. Why did I keep walking?” He sighed and opened his eyes. “It’s like I’m not really there. It’s something happening to somebody else. Not real.”

“You’re getting more coherent as you go, Mr. Lyons,” Natalya said.

“Can you see who comes out in your dream?” Trask asked.

Lyons sips his coffee. “It’s gone again. I know I saw it. I remember seeing it, but I can’t pull it together.” He grimaces. “This is maddening. Like it’s on the tip of my tongue but I can’t think of it.”

The captain nodded. “Take a little break. Have a pastry. You’re probably hungry.”

Lyons looked at the plate of dainties and swallowed hard. “I—uh—I’m not ready for food right now.”

Trask sighed and ran a hand over his cropped hair. “I wish I knew where Charlie was,” he said, a mutter barely audible over the blowers.

“Blanchard? He’s dead,” Lyons said. His eyes widened in surprise. “Did I just say that?”

Trask sat forward, leaning over his desk, his eyes practically bulging. “Dead?”

Lyons’s eyes started darting left and right; even his head turned in tiny jerking arcs. “I don’t know. It just came to me. I don’t know.”

“Auto-doc. Now.” Trask stood and picked the cup out of Lyons’s hands. “Come quick. There’s probably still enough drug in your system for the auto-doc to identify.”

The cargo master stood, considerably more stable on his feet after only a few ticks of sitting. “Of course. Yes,” he said. He still stumbled and Trask took an arm to steady him.

“Damn me for being a fool. We should have started there. Can you make it?” the captain asked.

“I made it up here,” Lyons said, a bit of spark showing. “I can probably make it down.”

In a matter of moments they had him buttoned up in the auto-doc. After a quick scan, the machine closed down the lid and diagnostic processes scrolled along the readouts.

“What the hell?” Trask asked nobody in particular as he leaned in to watch the data from a few centimeters away, like that would make the process work better or faster or something.

After nearly a quarter stan, the auto-doc beeped and the lid drew back again, exposing Joshua Lyons lying on the diagnostic bed, his eyes closed and breathing regularly.

Trask looked at Lyons and then at Natalya. “Auto-doc says he’s sleeping.”

“That was more of a response than I expected,” Natalya said. “Did it detect any kind of drugs in his system?”

“Some kind of benzodiazepine derivative according to this.” Trask’s finger pointed to a line on the monitor. “And something else I don’t recognize. Auto-doc says it’s a soporific.”

Natalya read the line and nodded. “Knock him out and keep him out.”

Trask looked at her.

“My mother had issues with insomnia. She took that for a few stanyers.” Natalya shrugged. “Better living through chemistry.”

Lyons stirred in the pod. His eyes blinked open and he looked at Trask, then Natalya. “This can’t be good,” he said after running his tongue over his lips and stretching his mouth a little.

“Have a headache?” Trask asked, his voice low.

Lyons considered the question. “A little. Nothing serious.”

“The auto-doc flushed your system,” Trask said. “You’ve been asleep for the last quarter stan or so.”

The cargo master yawned. “Clearly not long enough. Am I injured?”

“Drugged,” the captain said.

Lyons pursed his lips for a moment and blinked his eyes. “Sorry I missed it,” he said.

“You remember anything?”

“I left the ship. Don’t remember coming back, but I had the oddest dream.” He looked back and forth between Trask and Natalya. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?”

“Start from the beginning, you left the ship. Wolk had the duty. You must have checked out with him,” Trask said.

Lyons closed his eyes and, for a moment, Natalya thought he’d drifted off to sleep again.

“Wolk, yes. Left the ship, turned to starboard. Headed for the lift. Met a cargo tug with three or four trailers full of stuff. I had to step out of the way. They practically hit me. They stopped at the lock and Wolk came out to talk to them. I kept going.”

“Then what?”

“I woke up here.”

“You don’t remember coming back to the ship with Orbital Security?” Trask asked.

Lyons squinted a little but shook his head. “No. Not really. Maybe?” He shrugged. “Everything’s a bit hazy and … did I have coffee in the cabin?”

Trask nodded. “Yeah. You made some pretty astonishing claims.”

“Like what?”

“You talked about Charlie Blanchard, for one,” the captain said.

The cargo master blinked several times. “I don’t remember it.”

“Do you like Charlie?” Trask asked.

“Well, sure,” Lyons said. “Everybody likes Charlie.”

“Will you miss him?” Trask asked.

“Miss him? Why? Has he gone somewhere?” Lyons looked from Trask to Natalya. “He’s all right, isn’t he?”

“Haven’t seen him since he left the ship yesterday,” Trask said.

“That’s not good.” Lyons glanced around. “Say, could I maybe get out of this thing? I need to find the head and don’t relish what this devil box might decide it needs to do about that.”

Trask pushed the release button and the auto-doc tilted up to let him step out on his own.

“Thanks,” he said. He staggered a little as he took his first steps.

Natalya grabbed his arm to hold him up.

Lyons nodded to her. “I guess I’m not as steady as I thought.”

“Up to your stateroom, if you please, Mr. Lyons,” the captain said.

Lyons nodded. “That’s my goal, Captain.” He looked at where Natalya still held his arm.

She released him and felt a blush building across the back of her neck.

He smiled at her before taking his first tentative steps out of the medical closet and up the passageway.

Chapter 48
Siren Orbital: 2363, August 2

Trask sighed and ran a hand across the back of his neck before looking over at Natalya. “You and Ms. Usoko are getting quite an introduction,” he said.

“He’s not drunk.”

“I know. Do you think he was actually going out for a burger?”

“I wouldn’t blame him if he were. Ms. Marah’s meals are wonderful but if a burger is his comfort food? Sure.”