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  “You’re a lot shorter than I remembered,” he said.

  “And you’re a lot taller than I remembered, Nolan Peters,” she replied.

  “Everyone is taller than you remember, Boo,” he said.

  She smiled. “True enough. What I lack in height, I make up for in brains. Where’s Carl?”

  “He’s… not here,” Nolan said.

  Her smile vanished. “Then why are you here?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Good thing I have some free time, then. But don’t take too long in the telling. Our days are only twenty hours long here, and this one’s more than half over,” she said. She pointed to the ship. “And the rest of the crew?”

  “Not here,” he replied. “Can I move the ship into your hangar?”

  Her sandy eyebrows rose. “Afraid it will melt?”

  “No, I need to make a few changes, and I would like to keep it out of sight until the work is completed,” he said.

  “Carl and I had an understanding. Seeing as he isn’t here and it’s just the two of us, you and I need to have an understanding. My rules are simple. I’m here to make a profit. If you need something from me, it will cost you. Do you have something to offer?” she asked.

  “Will you take credits?” he asked hopefully.

  “If you’re talking about chips, yes. I don’t take payment cards.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’m offering chips.”

  Boo nodded. “You go and power up your retrograv. I’ll open the hangar doors.”

  The Independence settled onto its landing struts inside the hangar. The ramp motors whirred and the ramp slowly lowered. Boo stood waiting nearby as Nolan walked down and onto the hangar floor.

  “So, what’s this all about?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you come into the ship? It’s a lot cooler inside, and we can sit down.”

  She nodded and walked toward the ramp. Nolan turned and went up. After a few turns, they ended up in the galley.

  “I’m sorry I can’t offer you anything to eat at the moment. My food synthesizer is shut down,” he said.

  “I can sell you a working unit,” she said.

  “It’s not broken. I had to power it down to make the trip.”

  “Do you need a new power unit?” she asked.

  Nolan laughed. “No, thanks. My power unit is fine.”

  “No matter about the food. I don’t eat that computer-generated junk. It tastes like software,” she said. “You said it was a long story. I suggest you start telling it, because I need to decide if you’re staying or leaving.”

  Nolan had spent hours thinking about this moment, deciding what to say, how much of the story to share with Boo, a person who barely knew him and owed him nothing. He had worked out what he would say and decided to stick with that. Last minute changes could lead to mistakes. He began by telling her about the deaths of the four crew members and how SACOM had been responsible, giving her as many details as he felt he could. He told her about the trial, and then about Carl’s mysterious disappearance. Forty-five minutes had passed when he finally finished. “And that brings me here.”

  “I think I get the picture. What I don’t understand is what you are doing and why you’re here,” she said.

  “I need to find Carl. I think he may be in danger. I know for certain SACOM is desperate to get their hands on him again, and that can’t be good,” he said.

  “Okay, but why are you here?” she asked.

  “I have new registration data for the ship. I need to repaint the name and hull markings, and then I’ll be gone.”

  Boo nodded. “All right. Where SACOM is concerned, the less I know, the better. You’ve told me enough. I just want to know one thing—did they follow you here?”

  Nolan shook his head. “They tried to. They put a tracker on my ship, but I cut the power to it. I changed the registration in the core and made several jumps before I got here. As far as SACOM can tell, the Independence has vanished in deep space.” He spread his arms and said, “Welcome to the Griffin.”

  “Well, you have work to do. I suggest you get started,” she said.

  Boo brought a large stepladder over and set it up next to the ship. “You climb up and start looking for that tracker. I’m a decent artist. I’ll repaint the markings.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

  “My time is mine to spend,” she said. “Carl always brought me the best goods. I’ve made a small fortune, thanks to him. If I can help, I’m glad to. You get up there and leave the painting to me.”

  As Nolan climbed the ladder, Boo turned and walked away. “I’m going to get my paints and brushes. Back in a few minutes.”

  The ladder was wobbly and a little too short, but Nolan managed to pull himself up onto the top of the ship. The tracker has to be on the outside of the hull. It wouldn’t work from inside. He knew this ship better than anyone. If there were anything new, he’d know it. He began carefully examining the hull bit by bit.

  Boo returned carrying a large box and set it down. “I’m moving the ladder!” she yelled. When Nolan didn’t respond, she shrugged and began dragging the ladder forward, positioning it next to the spot where ‘Independence’ was painted in large letters. She climbed part way up and studied the panel for a while. “The light in here sucks,” she said. “I’ll never get the colors right.” She climbed down and set off across the hangar again.

  Several minutes later, she returned carrying a tripod with several lamps mounted on top. The power cord was trailing off into the shadows near the far wall. Putting it down, she turned on the lights and then adjusted them to shine on her workspace. With the panel brightly lit, she stared for a while. Then she rummaged through her box, setting various items on the floor. She poured some grey paint into a bucket. Then she stirred in a little white. She eyed it critically, and then added a touch of green, stirring it again. Grabbing a broad brush, she climbed the ladder and painted a small patch, then climbed down again and stared.

  Nolan appeared above her, wondering what the bright light was for, and watched as she stood there looking up, motionless. Finally, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  Without taking her eyes off the patch, she smiled and said, “I’m watching paint dry.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Why are you watching paint dry?”

  She sighed. “Because paint changes color as it dries. I need to know if I got the color right before I paint the entire panel.”

  He leaned a little farther over the edge and looked. “It looks good to me,” he said.

  “Hah!” she exclaimed. “Shows what you know. You just look for the tracker and let me work,” she said sharply.

  Nolan turned and resumed his search.

  “It needs a touch of blue,” she said.

  It was nearly two hours later when Nolan appeared above the spot where Boo had been working. She was now sitting on the floor, staring up at her work. “I found the tracker and removed it,” he said, holding a small box with wires hanging out of one end. She didn’t respond. “I’d like to come down now,” he added.

  Without a word, Boo stretched out one arm and pointed. Nolan looked and saw that the ladder was back where he had climbed up. He watched her for a moment. She just stared. He turned and went to the ladder.

  When Nolan came around behind her, he stopped short and gasped. Then, eyes fixed on the artwork, he stepped forward and sat beside her.

  Boo, having studied her handiwork for some time, turned to him and asked, “What do you think?”

  The entire panel, which once had sported the single word “Independence” in simple, block text, had been given a fresh coat of paint. Over that, Boo had painted the most lifelike portrait of a Griffin he had ever seen. The lion’s body had shading outlining its powerful muscles. Its fur was a golden brown. Individual hairs could be seen in the tuft at the end of its tail. The creature’s eagle head was detailed down to individual ridges on ea
ch feather. There was a glint of light in its steely eye. Below the creature in a bold, Gothic script, “Griffin” was written. As he stared, something bothered him. Something wasn’t as it should be. Then he realized that Boo had added stains and streaks to match the adjacent panel. She had painted on stains. It was all new, yet it looked twenty years old.

  “It’s remarkable,” he said. “I mean… it looks like a beautiful work of art that was painted two decades ago and then flown to half the spaceports in the galaxy.”

  “That’s the point,” she said. “What were you going to do? Paint a black line through ‘Independence’ and write ‘Griffin’ below it?”

  “No, I… I don’t know what I was going to do.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you came here,” she said with a laugh.

  “Wow!” he said.

  “You’ll probably say that again when you get my bill.” And with that, she stood. Picking up her box of supplies, she began walking around the ship. “I charge extra for moving my own ladder,” she said as she disappeared around the front landing strut. Nolan jumped up, grabbed the ladder, and began dragging it after her. “It’s faster if you fold it and carry it,” she said. He stopped, folded the ladder, and then jogged around the ship.

  “Once I finish this, I need to repaint the hull numbers,” she said as Nolan began unfolding the stepladder.

  “And then I’ll be on my way,” he said.

  “You need to let the paint dry. You can’t take wet paint streaking through the atmosphere and off into the vacuum of space. You’ll destroy my work,” she said as she climbed the ladder.

  “How long will that take?” he asked.

  “In this heat, with low humidity, about fifteen hours. Give it until tomorrow night. In the meantime, I suggest you go over the rest of the hull.”

  “Why?” Nolan asked.

  “Are you willing to bet your life that SACOM only put one tracker on the ship?” she asked.

  He looked at her for a moment, and then said, “I’ll grab a light and check the underside.”

  It was long after dark when Boo finished repainting the hull numbers. Nolan had scoured the underside of the ship, but found nothing. He helped Boo pack up her paints and carried the box as she led the way across the hanger to her workroom.

  “Just leave the box on the table. I’ll take care of everything in the morning. I’m going to bed. You’re welcome in the house, if you’d like,” she said. “I’ve got a couple of spare rooms.”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine in the ship. It’s been my second home for a long time.”

  She nodded. “Suit yourself. You get some sleep. I’ll call you for breakfast.”

  “Now that I’ve removed the tracker, I can use the food synthesizer,” he said.

  “You can eat software when you’re skipping around the galaxy. I’ll cook you some real food,” she said as she turned and walked out of the building. Standing in the doorway, he watched as she crossed the yard and went into her house. Afterward, he turned and walked to the Griffin.

  * * * *

  “Hey, Nolan!” Boo yelled as she walked along the Griffin’s main corridor. “It’s time for breakfast! Where are you?”

  Nolan stepped out of his cabin wrapped in a sheet. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were barely open. “Is it morning already?” he asked groggily.

  “Twenty hour days. Shorter days, shorter nights. It’s a package deal,” she said.

  “I’ll get dressed as fast as I can,” he said.

  “The kitchen is just inside the back door. I’ll start without you.” And with that, she turned and headed back toward the ramp.

  Nolan went into his cabin and climbed back into bed. He barely managed to untangle himself from the sheet before he was asleep.

  He awoke feeling refreshed until he tried to move. He groaned as he stretched, feeling the tightness in his calf muscles from having climbed all over the top of the ship, and in his back from crouching under it for two hours. He looked at the clock, which automatically displayed local time. Jumping out of bed, he ran to the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, he sprinted down the ramp and across the hanger to the front door. As he stepped out into the mid-morning light, he heard bumping and clanging sounds somewhere to his right. He turned and followed the noise.

  “Boo, I’m sorry. I fell back to sleep,” he said as he approached her.

  She picked up a hyperspace transmitter and began walking toward a small shed. “Good thing I made my favorite for breakfast today. I had two servings,” she said with a smile.

  “We worked late last night, and I’m not used to your twenty hour days,” he said. He followed her into the shed where she put the transmitter on a bench. Above it, a shelf was lined with electronic test equipment.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It was breakfast, not a night at the opera.” She picked up a screwdriver and pointed it at him. “Now, if you had stood me up for the opera, you’d be in serious trouble about now.” She pulled a stool over and sat, and then began unscrewing the cover of the transmitter.

  Nolan saw another stool in the corner, not often used judging by the layer of dust, and dragged it over near her. He did his best to wipe it clean without kicking up a cloud, and then he sat. “You’re an amazing artist and an opera fan. How did you ever end up in the junk business?”

  Her arm swung around, screwdriver aimed at him again. “I am not in the junk business. This is worth a fortune to the right buyer. I noticed Carl didn’t install a hyperspace comm system in his ship. He always said it was the most advanced privately owned ship in the system. Didn’t you ever wonder why it has no hyperspace comm?”

  “I assumed he didn’t feel the need for one,” Nolan said.

  Boo smiled. “He couldn’t afford one! This one is used, several years old, and I’ll get about fifty thousand for it. And this is just the transmitter. The matching receiver is out there waiting to be cleaned and adjusted. That will bring another fifty. Then there’s the antenna coupling system, antennas, and the time-domain processor unit. I’m looking for two hundred thousand credits for the complete system. Of course, it will be in perfect operating condition once I’m done with it.”

  “You’re a remarkable person, Boo. Artist, opera lover, electronics technician, and you have a head for business, too.”

  “I won’t argue with you,” she said with a smile. They were silent for a while as Boo worked on the transmitter. Suddenly, she asked, “Where is Carl?”

  “I don’t know,” Nolan said.

  “It’s a big galaxy. I know you’re not planning to visit every planet asking for him,” she said.

  “No, of course not. I’m taking the Independence… I mean the Griffin, to a spaceport where I’ll leave it and go back home. I have people there who are searching for leads right now. Once we put together a list of possible destinations, I’ll check them out.”

  “You’re not going to last long if you don’t remember your ship’s name. And now I’ll give you some free advice. You have the rest of the day to wait while the paint dries. Go through your ship and clean it out, removing anything that could possibly identify it. That includes all the crew’s personal belongings. I have an incinerator. We can burn it all.”

  Nolan stared at her, shocked at the thought of going through the crew’s things and burning them. Of course, she was right. It had to be done, but that didn’t make it any easier.

  In the silence, she looked over at him and saw his expression. “It’s just stuff, Nolan.”

  “I guess if I find something important, I can take it back to Caldon with me,” he said.

  “Look, this isn’t a game you’re playing. You can’t risk everything you’ve done and everything you want to accomplish for some sentimental trinket,” she said. “What if you get flagged for a random search by a customs officer when you get back to Caldon?”

  “You’re right, again,” he said. “All right, I’ll go and start cleaning out the ship.”

 
; “There are some large bins on wheels in the hanger by the far wall. Put everything in those and we’ll take it all to the incinerator.”

  Nolan wheeled a cart up the ramp and turned right, heading for the rear of the ship. He’d start with the galley and the aft crew cabins, then work his way forward.

  It was one of the hardest things Nolan had ever done. John and Earl had shared the first crew cabin with the Kerrigan brothers. John and Earl had died in this room, along with Becca and Vince. He had been on the bridge at the helm most of the time, and he suddenly felt guilty that he hadn’t come back here to see his friends before they were gone. He reminded himself that his job was to try to get them to Caldon for medical attention as quickly as possible.

  The next cabin had been shared by Rich, Ken, and Vince. Everything went into the bin, and Nolan’s guilt grew. He decided to move across the corridor and clean the galley before moving on to the next cabin. There were dozens of coffee mugs with ‘Independence’ printed on them. They would definitely have to go. There were more personal items here, too. They had been ordered to drop everything and move quickly into the SACOM interceptor as soon as the transfer locks had been linked.

  With the first bin full, he rolled it down the ramp and retrieved another. The next cabin was going to be the hardest. Rebecca had shared it with Donna and Karen. In his mind, he could see Ronnie’s eyes welling up, those eyes that had looked just like Becca’s. He pushed the bin into the cabin and went to work, starting with Karen’s stuff. He worked his way around the room until he came to Becca’s belongings. He tried not to look at things as he threw them into the bin.