Tanecha looked over at Reston as they waited by the airlock. Her first mate’s eyes flicked briefly in her direction and then returned to attention. It was the only concession of nerves that she’d get from him. Rock Solid Reston, the crew called him– for good reason.
As Captain of the Megalyth, she could afford to be a little more relaxed, but not so much so that her “honored” guests might take offense. Customs officers were notoriously touchy, especially at docking rings hosted by backwater planets. Being the only authority around led to an over-inflated self-importance. In honor of the occasion, she’d worn her jacket and even combed her hair.
She winced as the docking tube bumped hard into Megalyth’s side. That would ding the ablative coating on the hull for sure. “Sons of goat-rapers!”
“Steady, Captain,” Reston advised.
Easy for him to say. He didn’t pay the maintenance and repair fees for Megalyth. After a few more ominous bumps and scrapes, the tube was secured and the airlock door was ready to open.
Tanecha blew out a couple of lungfuls of air and then nodded to Reston. He opened the door with all the caution of a man who’d served with pirates. Because he had.
“Captain Tyrin, I presume?”
The dour and doughy-faced customs officer gave her a disinterested once over and addressed his inquiry to Reston. Great. Argus V was a patriarchy. His partner didn’t even look her way.
“They need to update the guidebooks,” Tanecha said in an undertone.
Reston shook his head and took a step back. “This is sy Tyrin, Captain of the Megalyth,” he said to the customs men. He gestured toward Tanecha and then added a salute, all done gracefully and diplomatically, with no hint of rebuke for the mistaken officials.
“I see.” Dough Face turned toward her and sighed. “Captain Tyrin. Although your registrations seem to be in order, we are authorized by the general compacts of the United Planetary Authority to search your ship for contraband upon entrance into our space lanes.”
“Yes. Proceed.”
“If you want to file a former complaint, we shall impound your ship and remove your crew until the complaint is resolved,” the man continued, while his companion elbowed him urgently in his soft midsection.
“Sir.”
“Don’t interrupt the reciting of the Rights, Drummel.”
“But Sir. She’s said that we can proceed with the search.” Drummel’s pale face flushed as his superior finally turned his way.
“Be that as it may, we must recite the Rights to every foreigner entering our space lanes. You know this, Drummel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You have a blot on your record, Captain. You were caught smuggling a class III potential narcotic.”
“Oh no you don’t!” Tanecha broke in. “Nutmeg is an approved culinary item. It’s none of my concern if some people try to smoke it. I was acquitted.”
“Indeed you were, but we must insist on a full sweep to make sure that there are no similar misunderstandings while you are here trading on Argus V.”
“We’re not here to trade.”
“Beg pardon?” Drummel gasped.
“Just what is your business here, then, Captain Tyrin?” His oily glance traveled down the spill of her hair over her shoulder to rest briefly on her body before his eyes returned to her face with an insolent sneer.
“We just stopped in to buy some water. We’re running a little low. Maybe have a few days of shore leave at your port. If that’s not acceptable, we’ll move on.”
The lead customs officer turned back to Reston.
“Please let the women of your crew know that they’re not to be abroad in the port after second shift, and must remain decently covered at all times.” He turned back to Tanecha with a beleaguered sigh. “The sweep crew has arrived. Permission to board, sir? Ma’am? Whatever they call you?”
“Captain. They call me Captain. Permission granted.” She nodded to Reston to open the hatch again and then turned on her heel to return to the bridge. Her bridge, not Reston’s, no matter what these apes of Argus V thought.
As the sweep crew worked their way methodically through the ship, she eavesdropped on them chattering among themselves when they thought they were free of surveillance. They were uneasy to be on a ship captained by a female, that was no surprise.
They were more surprised that she hadn’t lodged a complaint to try to avoid the sweep altogether. But why should she? She had nothing to hide. Or, more precisely, she had nothing to hide that they’d find, or recognize if they did.
Meanwhile, her temporary crew members bustled about with their usual lack of efficiency.
“I’m telling you, we clean the deck and then we sort the dinners,” Sargent Hank said firmly to the rest of his detail.
“But that don’t make no sense. We’ll just get dirty footprints all over the mess deck goin’ back and forth with the dinner packs!”
“Reston said that Captain said we’re low on water. How are we going to clean the deck if we’re low on water?”
“What, you think we mop it with a squeegee like on planetside? Don’t be stupider than you look!”
Youthful voices broke out into a four-way verbal brawl. Time to break it up.
“Crew. Crew!” Tanecha yelled over the din. “Do recall that we have guests.”
Four mortified young faces turned her way. “Beg pardon, Captain,” Hank said. His tiny shadow, a boy named Abe, clung to his workbelt and looked up at her with saucer-sized eyes. “We’re trying to do as you said and go about our duties.”
“Yes indeed. Carry on. Without the bickering.”
They all scampered off into the mess deck again, still squabbling but at least doing it at a lower volume. The youngest of them all, Cyrella, who was only six standard years old, came skipping back to Tanecha. The girl presented her with half a square of chocolate and a heartfelt, squeaky little “sorry” before returning to her group.
As she suppressed a chuckle and stuck the treat into an empty pocket, The customs man appeared at her elbow.
“Beg pardon ma’am. I didn’t realize that you have family on board.” His eyes were locked on Cyrella.
With her brown pigtails streaming down her back and tied with strips from a polishing rag, she might be mistaken for Tanecha’s daughter. Unless someone did a DNA scan, an appalling possibility that Tanecha would do almost anything to avoid.
“We don’t.”
“Then who is that child?” Drummel asked.
“She’s not a child. She’s a dwarf,” Tanecha said with a shrug.
It was the story that Cyrella’s totally fake ID told. As long as nobody talked to her directly, the story might hold. Probably would hold. Had to hold, if Tanecha wanted to avoid a long stay in prison.
“Dwarf?”
“Tragic DNA damage in the family line.”
“Surely her family could have taken her to the D’Abraxans. . .”
“Gene therapy is against her religion,” Tanecha said, adding a touch of faux regret to her tone.
“I see.”
“I feel lucky to have her on my crew. Such a brave soul! Very good at her job, too.”
They both winced as Cyrella dropped a crate of dinner packs and rations flew everywhere.
“Perhaps we’re making her nervous, watching her?” Drummel suggested.
“You’re a very discerning man, Agent Drummel. Can I buy you a drink after your shift is done?”
Drummel blushed again and looked at his toes. “You’re a lovely woman, Captain Tyrin, and I would be honored. But women aren’t allowed in bars on Argus V.”
“Of course we’re not,” Tanecha muttered. “Well, it’s the thought that counts, right?” She clapped him on the shoulder, steered him to the airlock, and then headed off in search of the only other actual adult on the Megalyth.
“sy Tyrin. We’ve got trouble,” Reston said the instant she was within speaking distance.
Continue reading Part Two Here: https://www.tlryder.com/2025/05/30/the-secret-part-2-sf/
