"She shines like she's plated!" Bran reported. "Evidently the nebula's dust scoured off the coating, and polished the metal to a high gloss."
"Good!" Jirik enthused, "That means that no one is going to recognize the old bitch. That may make it easier for us."
"It also means that we're going to have to have her recoated as soon as we get to Alpha," Bran grumped. "Those hull plates rust in a heartbeat."
Jirik shrugged. "It was worth it. It got us out of that situation at the last recal point, and it might help us again."
Via completed her recalibration and reorientation, and they jumped without incident, to everyone's fervent relief.
Once they were safely supralight, Jirik assembled the crew to discuss their plans. He told Bran and Tor of Via's suggestion, which was enthusiastically received. Bran, however, had foreseen a possible problem.
"Captain," he said, "With no hull coating and polished plates, we stick out like a Brachian's antennae. I'm sure that there aren't two polished ships cruising around the Empire. If we use our own ident beacon at our next five stops, and then show up somewhere else, claiming to be an alien, we're asking for trouble. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend the next few years on a prison planet."
"You're right." Jirik sounded worried. "We've got to do something, and we've got . . . " he glanced at his ring watch, "eighty-three hours to figure it out and do it. Anybody got any ideas?"
Via shrugged. "I don't see the problem. We can fake up the alien ident beacon, and make sure that it says we're from a planet that's fairly distant, preferably one that has few ships. Most Planetary Guardsmen, and probably a lot of Patrolmen, will assume that ships from that planet are normally plated instead of coated. Then, we can always claim that the plague broke out while we were supralight, between the last guarded system and the first unguarded one."
"Yeah," Tor agreed, "If we fake up the beacon now, and use it at all the rest of the recal points, we'd be a lot safer."
"That might do it," Jirik replied, "Bran, what do you think?"
Bran shrugged. "It's as good a chance as any. I say we do it."
"All right," Jirik decided, "Tor, you and Via work out a good alien planet and fake up the ident beacon. Bran, when we emerge, I want you to modify our exhaust traces; Nonhumans would probably have modified the reaction drives to suit them. I'm going to try to rig the parts of the bridge visible on the comm to look more alien, just in case someone wants to talk to us."
By the time they were ready to emerge, the crew had taken every precaution that they could think of. The ident beacon now revealed them to be the K'laakriit, of K'jinnthian registry. K'jinnth was a planet halfway to the far edge of the Empire. It was not a wealthy world, and had fewer than 50 ships of all types. It would be easy to believe that the K'jinn had purchased a worn-out DIN Class freighter and refurbished her. During the rest of the jump, the crew endlessly discussed their charade, adding details and anticipating contingencies.
As the jump timer clicked off the final hours, Jirik had to caution Bran and Tor to relax several times. Inevitably, though the tension built.
They emerged without incident. There was moderate traffic, but no one seemed unduly interested in the alien freighter, and no other ships approached near enough to alarm the crew. When the recalibration had been completed, and they maneuvered to their next jump point, Jirik was amazed to find that he was disappointed. As soon as they jumped, Tor made it clear that the captain wasn't the only one to feel that way.
"That was just boring!" the young man exclaimed, "I thought it would be more exciting than that!"
Via chuckled. "You sound like you wish someone had jumped us."
"Well, no," Tor replied in a confused tone, "Not really, But . . ."
Jirik laughed aloud. "Don't try to explain, Kid," he replied as the others' heads turned toward him, "I think we all understand. After all our plotting and planning, it's a bit of a letdown to have no one seem to notice us."
"Really?" Via put in, "Well, I hope that all the rest of the recal points are as easy. The trouble is, I'm afraid that they won't be!"
Via's fears went unrealized for the next four jumps. The farther in toward Alpha that they emerged, the more cosmopolitan the systems became. Alien vessels were no novelty this far inside the Empire, and they attracted no noticeable attention. The crew began to relax, and the voyage became routine, though Jirik constantly reminded himself that he was aboard the K'laakriit, and not the Lass.
Meanwhile, Tor's infatuation showed no signs of letting up. He followed Via everywhere, trying desperately to monopolize her attention. The situation peaked when Via's only escape from Tor's constant presence became taking refuge in Jirik's cabin, where the conversations begun before the first jump had continued daily.
Via finally took Tor into her cabin and tried to tactfully discourage the young man. Her efforts met with little success; Tor moped about with an injured air for a few ship-days, then began once again to intensify his inept courtship. Via was finally forced to call in the Captain, though she cautioned him to be gentle with the lovestruck young man.
Jirik didn't relish the job. He was sensitive to the emotional turmoil of first love. He was also painfully aware that tact and gentility were not his long suit. Complicating Jirik's problem was the fact that he was himself becoming very attracted to Via. Her visits to his cabin and their long, rambling conversations had become the high point of Jirik's days. This added a feeling of hypocrisy to Jirik's already confused state. As Captain, however, he knew that protecting a crewmember from the unwelcome attentions of another crewmember was his responsibility, and he took his responsibilities very seriously.
When the teenager entered Jirik's cabin in response to his summons, Jirik sensed immediately that Tor would not make his task easy. Tor's body was tensed, and his attitude belligerent.
"This is about Via, isn't it?" the boy demanded in a surly tone.
"Yeah," Jirik replied, "Son, you've got to leave her alone. You're forcing unwelcome attentions on her, and she doesn't have to tolerate that. I warned you about this before Via came aboard. Now I'm making it an order. Leave Via Telson alone."
Tor leaped to his feet. "I won't! I love her, and someday she's going to love me, too! You said that emotional relationships between two crewmembers were their own business, so you can't order me to give her up!"
Jirik clamped down on his rapidly rising temper. "If it were between the two of you, I wouldn't interfere; but it isn't. It's all on one side: yours. From her point of view, you're harassing her!"
"She didn't say that!" Tor exclaimed. "She wouldn't! She's so wonderful, so beautiful . . ." his voice trailed off into confusion.
Jirik's stony expression softened. Damn! this was even harder than he'd thought it would be. "I know, kid. But you have to leave her alone. All our lives depend on her doing her damnedest to get us through. You're irritating her and distracting her; and we need her at her absolute best."
Tor's expression had become wounded. "But I love her!" he wailed. His face hardened. "Don't think I don't know what's going on You think that you can order me to leave her alone so that you can have her all to yourself!"
"Sit down!" Jirik snapped. "You're acting like a fool! What's wrong with you?"
Tor's hardened expression dissolved into despair. He was nearly in tears. "But I love her!" he repeated softly.
Jirik nearly turned away from the naked misery on the young man's face. "I know you do, Tor. But she doesn't love you. She likes you very much, but not in a romantic way. I'm really very sorry. I know that this hurts, and I'm not having a bit of fun myself."