ships as out of the Freehold to give themselves political cover.
None of that constituted suitable probable cause to detain the ship. If its registration information was outdated or forged, that was a job for the Colonial Customs Service, not the marshals.
This has to be the ship, Marcus thought to himself. Why else would a free trader land way the hell out here? With only two million total inhabitants, Las Cruces Spaceport was remote even by the standards of a frontier colony world. It was a former Concordiat Defense Force auxiliary landing field, built a century prior during the height of the Second Interstellar War. It wasn’t used much then, and was effectively abandoned after the Concordiat achieved its hard-fought victory against the Maggots. It was run by one of the big mining firms on New Austin, who let non-company ships use it for a fee to pay for the cost of maintenance.
Private spaceports were supposed to have their personnel make sure that customs regulations were adhered to, but there wasn’t much oversight. Las Cruces was a good place to get stolen goods off-world.
The perspiring traffic controller was one of a handful who manned the spaceport full-time. Most of its operations were automated and didn’t require much oversight. “Marshal, please,” he said. “The Luxor has come through here numerous times. I’ve met with Captain Oleander and have inspected his manifests. Everything is in order.”
“Is that right?” Marcus asked. “When are they due to depart?”
The controller glanced at the transparent eyepiece over his right eye, as if he really needed to check the schedule to know when the only ship at the port was supposed to leave. “They’re, ah, due to depart in two hours, sir.”
“I see. Have they finished loading their cargo, then?”
“Yes sir, they have. I can send you their manifest.”
“Please do. Is the crew all back on board?”
The controller looked around. “I’m not sure. It’s not my job to keep track of spacers once they land.”
Wade raised an eyebrow. “This spaceport is a controlled facility, isn’t it? We went through a gate and were checked by security when we came in. I know you don’t let whoever happens to show up come onto private property as they please.”
A slightly overweight man wearing the gray and orange uniform of the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern’s security patrol had been standing in the corner and hadn’t said much so far. He piped up when Wade asked about security.
“No sir, we do not,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Company security protocols require all visitors to identify themselves, and we keep a log of when they come and go from the facility. Their movements while at the spaceport are monitored by our security system. As of right now, every individual who left the Luxor is back on board. The manifest lists the ship’s complement at twelve.”
Marcus nodded. The security guard had a ridiculous mustache and could stand to get more exercise, but at least he knew his business. The marshal also noticed that the spaceport controller had tensed up even more. Marcus and Wade exchanged a knowing glance. There was definitely something unusual going on here, but it didn’t yet constitute probable cause. Marcus could probably bully his way onto the Luxor if he wanted to, but the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern and the owner of the Luxor would both have grounds for a lawsuit if he didn’t find anything, and that would be the end of his career. Wade had sent the local judge a request for a warrant to detain the ship, but it had been declined.
Marcus shifted tactics, softened his tone, and addressed the controller again. “Listen, Mister…uh…”
“G-Greely,” the controller stammered. “Odin Greely.”
Odin? “Right. Mr. Greely. Here’s the situation. Thirty-one hours ago, an unknown group of individuals executed a daylight robbery of a Sierra Nevada cargo train. They cut the tracks, knowing full well that the
None of that constituted suitable probable cause to detain the ship. If its registration information was outdated or forged, that was a job for the Colonial Customs Service, not the marshals.
This has to be the ship, Marcus thought to himself. Why else would a free trader land way the hell out here? With only two million total inhabitants, Las Cruces Spaceport was remote even by the standards of a frontier colony world. It was a former Concordiat Defense Force auxiliary landing field, built a century prior during the height of the Second Interstellar War. It wasn’t used much then, and was effectively abandoned after the Concordiat achieved its hard-fought victory against the Maggots. It was run by one of the big mining firms on New Austin, who let non-company ships use it for a fee to pay for the cost of maintenance.
Private spaceports were supposed to have their personnel make sure that customs regulations were adhered to, but there wasn’t much oversight. Las Cruces was a good place to get stolen goods off-world.
The perspiring traffic controller was one of a handful who manned the spaceport full-time. Most of its operations were automated and didn’t require much oversight. “Marshal, please,” he said. “The Luxor has come through here numerous times. I’ve met with Captain Oleander and have inspected his manifests. Everything is in order.”
“Is that right?” Marcus asked. “When are they due to depart?”
The controller glanced at the transparent eyepiece over his right eye, as if he really needed to check the schedule to know when the only ship at the port was supposed to leave. “They’re, ah, due to depart in two hours, sir.”
“I see. Have they finished loading their cargo, then?”
“Yes sir, they have. I can send you their manifest.”
“Please do. Is the crew all back on board?”
The controller looked around. “I’m not sure. It’s not my job to keep track of spacers once they land.”
Wade raised an eyebrow. “This spaceport is a controlled facility, isn’t it? We went through a gate and were checked by security when we came in. I know you don’t let whoever happens to show up come onto private property as they please.”
A slightly overweight man wearing the gray and orange uniform of the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern’s security patrol had been standing in the corner and hadn’t said much so far. He piped up when Wade asked about security.
“No sir, we do not,” he said, his voice filled with pride. “Company security protocols require all visitors to identify themselves, and we keep a log of when they come and go from the facility. Their movements while at the spaceport are monitored by our security system. As of right now, every individual who left the Luxor is back on board. The manifest lists the ship’s complement at twelve.”
Marcus nodded. The security guard had a ridiculous mustache and could stand to get more exercise, but at least he knew his business. The marshal also noticed that the spaceport controller had tensed up even more. Marcus and Wade exchanged a knowing glance. There was definitely something unusual going on here, but it didn’t yet constitute probable cause. Marcus could probably bully his way onto the Luxor if he wanted to, but the Sierra Nevada Mining Concern and the owner of the Luxor would both have grounds for a lawsuit if he didn’t find anything, and that would be the end of his career. Wade had sent the local judge a request for a warrant to detain the ship, but it had been declined.
Marcus shifted tactics, softened his tone, and addressed the controller again. “Listen, Mister…uh…”
“G-Greely,” the controller stammered. “Odin Greely.”
Odin? “Right. Mr. Greely. Here’s the situation. Thirty-one hours ago, an unknown group of individuals executed a daylight robbery of a Sierra Nevada cargo train. They cut the tracks, knowing full well that the
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