Free Martial Law 1: Patriotic Treason by Christopher Nuttall

shuttle that would be impossible in a jet aircraft. I could even turn on a credit piece.
     
    “They’re acknowledging,” Alice said. I allowed myself a moment of relief. We were legally authorised to inspect any starship, but the independent freighter crews tended to dislike us encroaching on their territory. It wasn't unknown for shuttle crews to suffer accidents. In theory, all of the freighters were unarmed; in practice, there were dozens of interesting tricks freighter crews could pull to give them some teeth. The Captain would avenge our deaths, unless the freighter made it clear before the starship could intercept, but that wouldn’t save our lives. “They’re demanding a full copy of our authorisations.”
     
    “Send it,” I ordered. The Senior Chief had warned me about that too. We harass them, they harass us…and the winner is the one who keeps his cool. “Order them to open a docking port for us and signal location.”
     
    “Done,” Alice said. A new icon blinked into existence on my display. “They’ve opened a port, sir.”
     
    I nodded. By law, all starships have to have compatible equipment, but I wouldn’t have put it past a freighter crew to tamper with it in some way to make docking harder, particularly as it wasn't something I could charge them for. Freighters operate close to the margins and it wasn't unknown for them to have maintenance problems that couldn’t be handled outside a shipyard. I slowed the shuttle, carefully matched course and speed, and linked the two ships together. A moment later, we were docked.
     
    “Matching pressure now,” Crewman Frederick Jones said. He was a big hulking man who didn’t look as if he could be intimidated by anyone short of the Senior Chief. I had the impression that he was the real escort for me, as well as the real inspector. What did I know about searching a starship? I’d barely had a chance to inspect the diagrams of the freighter. “Hatches opening.”
     
    I reached for my cap and set it on my head. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s go meet the neighbours.”
     
    The freighter captain and two of his crew were waiting for us as we stepped out of the airlock. The captain reminded me of Captain Harriman, except he had a long beard – forbidden to UNPF naval officers – and a slight paunch. His expression was carefully controlled, but I was sure that I could sense an underlying anger and concern. The Senior Chief had briefed me carefully and warned me to ignore anything apart from actual smuggling, but the Captain wouldn’t know that. A proper examination of his ship would probably end up with his licence being confiscated on the grounds his ship was unfit to fly. The other two crewmen didn’t bother to hide their disdain.
     
    “Welcome onboard my ship,” the Captain said, calmly. “I am Captain Scott, master of the Underlying Liberty, out of Williamson’s World. I also have a cleared window to depart in an hour, so I suggest that we move along with it.”
     
    “Yes, sir,” I said, and then caught myself. He reminded me so much of my Captain that obedience was automatic. “Ah, we can clear a later window if necessary, but I’m sure it won’t be. May I see your manifest?”
     
    The Captain nodded to one of his crewmen, who passed me a datapad. I pulled out my terminal and compared it briefly to the manifest System Command had sent me. It was largely identical, although two crewmen on the original list were missing, replaced with new names and faces.
     
    “They decided that they would prefer another ship,” the Captain explained, when I asked. “There’s no shortage of berths around here for qualified crewmen and some other Captain made them an offer. I had to take on two more to replace them.”
     
    “I see,” I said, puzzled. “Didn’t they sign a contract to work for you for several years?”
     
    He smiled at my naivety. “Not in the real world,” he said, dryly. “A senior crewman can earn far more by