The ship was cleared, all non-essential personnel and the remainder of the cargo disembarked, and so it was quiet by the time the Crescentia Port Authority's delegation arrived to survey the sad scene some hours later. Mott hovered nervously on the sidelines as the Duty Port Director and his staff clustered around the open crate. The appalling contents had been left where they were, pending examination.

The Duty Director was a stocky Arcturian in a waistcoat richly embroidered with gold and an outsized tricorn hat. He cast a jaded eye over the scene and sighed resignedly.

"Always a bother when this happens. Any ideas about who they were?"

"No, sir," said Amelia. "But they must have come aboard at Briga. This crate was part of a cargo consignment we took on at the last minute."

"Took on for whom?"

"It was by spot charter from the local agent. It's being independently shipped so we took it on, along with a number of other single items." Amelia shrugged. "I'm afraid you'd have to speak with your counterparts at the Port of Briga to track it back to the original owner. They might be able to tell you more."

"It'd take weeks to get a message to them. Assuming that they know. These small independent cargoes are damnably hard to trace." The Duty Director rubbed his chin. "And that too is assuming that the owner knows anything about it. Stowaways, most likely. They see an opening, take their chances. It happens often. Isn't that so, Mr Mott?"

Mott nodded miserably. "Yes, Mr Coleridge."

"We see it all the time." Coleridge straightened up and adjusted his tie. "Tragic, naturally. But there's nothing to be done about it. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, Captain. We'll have the bodies and the crate cleared away and then you can be about your business."

Amelia nodded. "Thank you, sir. But can I ask to be kept informed of the progress of the investigation?"

Coleridge blinked. "What investigation?"

Amelia stopped for a moment. "The one into what happened at Briga to bring these poor souls aboard my ship?"

"What happened at Briga would be a matter for the Brigan port or planetary authorities, Captain," said Coleridge. "It's no business of the CPA. We don't have jurisdiction over other ports."

"But…" Doppler raised a hand. "The bodies are here, Mr Coleridge. Surely that counts for something?"

"The bodies are here, yes. But the crime, if crime it were, occurred elsewhere." Coleridge tucked his hands into his waistcoat pockets. "I understand that you're upset, doctor. Who wouldn't be at such a sight? But I can assure you that we see cases such as this on a regular basis. Every major port does. Not everyone who wants to be somewhere else can afford to pay, so they smuggle themselves onto ships, into cargoes, trusting to luck and providence to see them through. Sometimes it does. Often it does not. There's really nothing more to say about it."

"There were air holes drilled in the wood at the top of the crate," volunteered Lockwright. "Does that suggest anything?"

"Nothing other than that your now-former stowaways came at least partially prepared," said Coleridge casually. "Sometimes they carry a drill, or a knife. Try to do what they can for themselves. But in this case, it doesn't seem to have worked. Perhaps they drilled the holes too small."

"The crate was packed at the bottom of the hold," said Lockwright. "Everything else was on top of it."

"There you are, then. Simple suffocation." Coleridge smiled sadly. "Don't look so downcast, young man. It's not your fault. You didn't know they were in there. Besides, judging by the state of them, there's every chance they were already dead by the time the crate was loaded on. You said it was a spot charter, Captain? From another ship that had engine trouble?"

"Yes, sir," said Amelia. "The Tycho Voyager that should have departed a fortnight earlier. But if I can return to the subject of the investigation-"

"More bad luck for them. Perhaps if that ship had sailed on time, they'd have made it here alive. But then her engines malfunctioned, the crate languished in her hold or in a warehouse until it came to you, and then...well, you can see the rest of the story." Coleridge nodded to Mott. "Note it down as a case of stowaways, Mr Mott. Have someone come down here and give the Captain a hand in getting it cleaned up."

"Excuse me, sir," said Amelia, in a tone of voice which Doppler had already learned to worry about. "The matter of investigating this. If you won't-"

"Can't," corrected Coleridge. "The 'C' in 'CPA' is for Crescentia."

Amelia bit back an unsolicited opinion before continuing as politely as possible. "Then who should be informed of this?"

"Well, we can send word to the Port of Briga. They'll decide what to do next," said Coleridge.

"And if that's nothing? If they say it's not their business because the bodies were found here?"

"Then that, I'm afraid, is the end of the matter." Coleridge shrugged.

Amelia looked at one of the other officials, a thin blue-skinned female in the uniform of the Imperial Customs and Excise Service. "And what about your agency, ma'am?"

The woman shrugged. "Customs and Excise deals with cargoes, Captain, not passengers. The obvious false declaration of the crate's contents are the limit of our jurisdiction here. Passengers are a matter for the local authorities. The Montressorian Government, in this case. Mr Outtrim, would the Bureau of Migration have anything to say about this?"

Outtrim, a Benbonian in a rumpled uniform rubbed his chin. "Hard to say. Bit difficult to call them migrants when they're dead. It's not like they've sought entry."

"But isn't it obvious they were trying to come here?" said Doppler. "Why else would they have tried so hard to be a ship headed for Crescentia?"

"Who knows? Maybe they were going to jump to another ship and go somewhere else," Outtrim made a vague gesture. "As for them being on board...well, traditionally, it's the responsibility of a ship's captain to vet the passengers and make sure nobody's on board who shouldn't be…"

Amelia bridled, but even Coleridge seemed to notice as he raised a hand diplomatically. "I'm sure nobody could attribute any blame or level any accusation of negligence against Captain Amelia. The unusual nature of this cargo is such that it wouldn't have aroused suspicion even from the most vigilant of spacers."

Amelia seemed to settle somewhat. "So," she said in an even tone. "It's not the problem of the Customs Service because it's people, not goods. It's not the problem of the planetary government because the people are dead. And it's not the problem of the CPA because they embarked and died somewhere other than Crescentia."

"In a nutshell, Captain? That is so," said Coleridge.

Amelia stood stock still for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. Thank you for your time, Duty Director, ladies and gentlemen. Mr Mott, may I ask when your party will arrive to clear this mess?"

"They'll be here tonight," said Mott.

Amelia nodded again. "So be it. You can see yourselves off, sir. And Mr Lockwright? You may stand relieved. Go about your shore leave."

The official party disappeared down the gangway, their talk already moved on to other matters, while young Lockwright soon followed them with a duffel bag over his shoulder after exchanging salutes with Amelia. Doppler lingered behind, watching her carefully.

"Amelia?"

She shook her head. "It's unbelievable, isn't it? Lives lost, and it's nobody's problem."

"Y-yes...it does seem strange…"

"I'm glad I'm not the only one," Amelia crossed her arms. "But that's the galaxy of interplanetary shipping for you. It's a cut-throat game. Enforcing planetary laws aboard ships has never been easy."

"Do you think the authorities at Briga will look into it?" Doppler suggested hopefully. "If they get word about it…"

"Briga's not much smaller than Crescentia in terms of shipping volume," said Amelia. "If the CPA doesn't regard it as worth their while investigation, their Brigan counterparts are hardly more likely."

She knelt in front of the crate, staring into the foetid interior. Doppler felt he had to say something.

"Yes, I...I see what you mean. There's nobody whose job is to care for stowaways."

"Even if they're not stowaways…"

Doppler blinked. Even his ears had barely picked up Amelia's murmur. "Excuse me?"

"These airholes…" Amelia reached out a finger to touch one. "Coleridge said the stowaways made them with a drill or something. But they couldn't have. These holes weren't drilled from the inside…"

Doppler bent down to see, steeling himself against the stench. "Oh...yes, I see." He stood up, stretching onto tiptoes to see along the top of the crate. "Yes, there are no splinters on this side but there are on the interior. So...should we call the Director and the others back to see this? Surely that proves them wrong about that…"

"But only about that," said Amelia. "They could still be stowaways. No doubt Coleridge or Outtrim or someone would say that they just had help."

"Someone at Briga? Then maybe that would get the Brigans to investigate-"

"And the Brigans could blame the crew of the Tycho Voyager, to which the Tycho Shipping Corporation would no doubt protest, and nobody would get any nearer the truth," said Amelia. She straightened up and shook her head. "Protocol and bureaucracy, Delbert...that's why I left the Navy, and now I find myself dealing with it more often than I did then! At least in the Navy there's always one authority with absolute responsibility - the Admiralty controls everything that happens aboard every Royal Light Ship."

Doppler's ears twitched. "Every Royal Light ship?"

Amelia nodded, slowly, clearly thinking about what she'd just said. "Including the Legacy."

Doppler smiled. "So...there is someone else you can go to?"

"Perhaps…" Amelia looked past him to the teeming spaceport. "We need to get to the Crescentia Naval Base, and soon."

It took a long time to get into the office. The commanding officer of the Royal Navy base on Crescentia was a busy man, though it seemed to Amelia and Doppler, waiting in the plush anteroom, that there was little enough happening around the base headquarters that was out of the ordinary. After being shown in by a well-groomed flag-lieutenant, Amelia marched to the middle of the office in front of the big desk and saluted crisply.

"Captain Amelia of the RLS Legacy reporting, sir. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice."

The base commander stood and returned the salute. He was a rotund, older man with curly white hair, clearly more accustomed to life behind a desk ashore than at the helm of a ship in space, and also clearly the type who took delight in the pomp and protocols of office. His desk was large and polished almost to a mirror-like shine, and two Royal Navy flags flanked the bay window behind his desk.

"Commodore-Superintendant Stavris Devaux, Her Majesty's Captain of the Port. A pleasure to meet you, Captain Amelia. Your reputation precedes you, of course. And Dr Doppler of the University of Montressor. I believe we count on your observations for most of our weather forecasts."

"Er, yes," Doppler shook his hand, still wondering whether what he'd said to Amelia was meant to be a compliment or not. "Hello, Commodore."

Devaux sat down, motioning to a couple of chairs on the other side of his desk. "Can I offer you tea? Or coffee? I understand from my aide that you had a spot of bother at the dock earlier today."

"You could say that, sir," said Amelia. "And no, thank you, we'll be leaving immediately after this meeting."

"I have your report here," Devaux held up a piece of paper. "As you told it to my staff. Stowaways, it appears."

"That's the opinion of the Crescentia Port Authority," said Amelia. "But as the report says, I have reason to doubt that."

"Yes. The airholes. An astute piece of observation." Devaux put the paper down. "But not much by way of evidence. So my question is...what do you want from me?"

"An investigation into how they came to be aboard a vessel of the Naval Reserve, sir," said Amelia. "I'm a commissioned Queen's officer. I have the right to seek Admiralty investigation."

"You do. But the situation isn't the same, is it?" Devaux sat back. "You know full well how those souls came to aboard the Legacy. You just don't know why. And that question, Captain, is one for the civil authorities rather than the Royal Navy."

"The civil authorities have already washed their hands of the matter," said Amelia bluntly. "If we want to know how this came to pass aboard a ship carrying our flag, then I see no choice but to take up the case ourselves."

"Even if we did," said Devaux, "the Navy's jurisdiction applies only to the Legacy. We have no power to investigate at Briga, or Crescentia."

"But you could request assistance, couldn't you?" said Doppler. "Get help from the authorities there?"

"The civil powers call on the military when they need help, doctor," said Devaux. "It doesn't work the other way around, and nor should it. I run this naval base, not the spaceport."

"So there's nothing you can do? Even though it was on one of your ships?"

Devaux sat back, hands crossed on his belly. "I'm afraid I don't see what we could do. If the Legacy was a main line warship with a naval crew all subject to the discipline of the Articles of War, we could certainly bring them in for questioning. But since the Captain operates a ship of the Reserves with a contracted civilian crew, that doesn't apply. Oh, granted, we could invoke the Articles to question her and her officers, but I see no reason to do that."

"Quite so. I have no complaints about my officers," said Amelia. "Aside from their wetness behind the ears, though I don't blame them for that."

"Indeed. There's no suggestion that there was any wrongdoing aboard the Legacy herself. And Navy jurisdiction applies only to the Legacy." Devaux nodded. "I'm sure you understand the position."

"Yes. Clearly." Amelia stood up. "Come along, doctor. Good day, sir."

"I don't mean to be obstructive, you understand." Devaux stood up to return her salute. "It's just that you don't have anything right now that is certain to engage any authority's interest. Should you find it...present it compellingly to the right people...that may change…"

"Yes, sir."

"And, Captain...be aware...that just as the Navy has no jurisdiction over the spaceport...neither does the spaceport over the Navy's ships." Devaux gave a smile that passed over his face so quickly that Doppler wondered if it had ever been there.

Amelia looked at him again, a glimmer of something approaching respect in her eye. "Yes, sir."

Devaux smiled knowingly. "A couple of decades of dealing with the politics and overlapping jurisdictions here on Crescentia has taught me a few things, Captain. When people can palm off a problem, they will. But if you can nail it to their foreheads and make it clear that it's theirs to solve...then doors start opening for you."

"I understand what you mean, sir." Amelia nodded. "Thank you for your time."

"Well, I don't understand it," said Doppler, as they made their way down the staircase from Devaux's office. "What was he saying?"

"He's saying that we need to find the evidence to make this a problem people can't avoid any longer," said Amelia. "I've got to give it the fat old bastard, you don't survive long in a job like his unless you can make things happen when nobody wants them to...and if I have to play the game, so be it. Because I have some cards to play as well."

They left the headquarters, which was set at the head of a generous square surrounded by other buildings. Personnel in naval blue or Royal Marines red criss-crossed it on various missions, though given the late hour of the day most of them appeared to be heading for the gates, carrying satchels or bags and preparing to go home.

"Such as what?" Doppler hurried to catch up with her, stepping aside to allow a large Cragorian officer to pass him.

"They can invoke jurisdictional matters. So can I. But that means that I also need to find someone ready to...take a creative interpretation of those matters so that they can help me." Amelia smiled as she looked across the square and caught a glimpse of a tall, long-eared figure wearing a white coat over a duty uniform and walking swiftly with little regard to anyone else. Unsurprisingly, it was not one of those joining the homeward exodus and appeared to be heading for the base hospital. "And in fact...I know just where to start..."

Surgeon Lieutenant-Commander Eleanor Gray peered into the crate. Few sights had the power to shock a military surgeon, and this one didn't. She surveyed the scene with a practised eye, then turned around and took a notebook out of her pocket.

THREE BODIES, she wrote with rapid penstrokes. ALL HUMANOID.

Doppler watched curiously. Amelia's brief introduction to Gray had told him little beyond the fact that the Macropodian was an old and trusted comrade, and that her unusual mode of communication was due to her deafness. His first impression was of a formidable but stern intellect and character, and one that he suspected had not judged him so positively based on the fact that she hadn't even bothered asking about him and seemed to take it as a given that anyone accompanying Amelia was at least some degree of acceptable.

"What else can you tell?" Amelia asked.

Gray shrugged. I'D HAVE TO FORENSICALLY EXAMINE THEM. BUT I AGREE ABOUT THE AIRHOLES BEING MADE FROM THE OUTSIDE.

"What facilities do you need to examine them?"

TIME. Gray stood up. I HAVE MY EQUIPMENT. BUT THE STATE OF DECOMPOSITION IS RAPIDLY DESTROYING WHATEVER EVIDENCE THERE IS.

Amelia nodded. "We could put the bodies into the ship's cold storage compartment. You could examine them there."

Gray thought about it. ACCEPTABLE.

Doppler raised a hand. "Um, does that mean we have to...move them ourselves?"

Amelia chuckled to see the look of disgust on Gray's face as his obvious hesitancy to touch the remains, so she shook her head.

"No. Remember that the CPA is sending people to help us move them." Amelia looked around at the sound of footsteps on the gangway. "Speaking of which…"

Mott touched his hat as he reached the top. "Permission to come aboard?"

"Granted, Mr Mott. I'm grateful for your assistance." Amelia nodded as the commissioner stepped onto the deck, followed by half a dozen larger people of the sort chosen for their strength rather than their powers of imagination. Mott grimaced at the smell of the crate and motioned to his men.

"All right, go ahead. Get the stretchers and the bags and let's get these out of here."

"These bodies stay aboard," said Amelia.

Mott blinked. "Pardon, Captain?"

"These bodies stay aboard. By my order." Amelia said. "I claim naval jurisdiction over this vessel."

"I...but…" Mott was taken aback. "The Duty Director said to remove them."

"Yes, he did. But while it may be his port, Commissioner Mott, this is my ship. Or more importantly, it's the Queen's ship. The CPA's authority ends at that gangway over there."

"Well, yes, that's obviously true, but-"

"Good. Then have your men carry the bodies down to the ship's cold storage area." Amelia crossed her arms. "Then you can go. Report to Mr Coleridge and tell him what's happening."

Mott looked uncertain. "My orders from him-"

"Were your orders. Not mine."

"I…what do you propose to do with them?"

Amelia gestured to Gray. "The Surgeon Lieutenant-Commander will be conducting an examination."

"Examination? Why? I thought there wasn't going to be an investigation…"

"The CPA won't be investigating, no. But as I said, this is not the CPA's ship." Amelia raised an eyebrow pointedly. "Have you any objections, Mr Mott? Do you wish to tell a Queen's officer what they can and can't do aboard the Queen's ship?"

"I- well, not, of course not."

"Then you will do me the courtesy of lending your hands' assistance in moving the bodies down to the ship's cold storage," said Amelia, as if there was no possible alternative.

Mott stammered, before subsiding and waving to his men. "I - but - oh, very well, Captain. It's your ship, as you say. Do as she tells you, men."

The dockhands went about their work with an enthusiasm that surprised Doppler, until he realised that Amelia's curt commands meant that they only had to carry the bodies down a couple of decks instead of all the way back to a morgue ashore.

"When will you be able to report your findings to me?" Amelia was talking to Gray. The unspeaking surgeon shrugged.

NO LATER THAN MIDNIGHT. IT PROBABLY WON'T BE NECESSARY TO AUTOPSY ALL THREE. CAUSE OF DEATH IS HIGHLY LIKELY TO BE IDENTICAL IN ALL OF THEM.

"Very well. You know where I'll be."

Gray nodded, picked up her bag and moved to follow the last of the bodies as it was carried below.

"And Eleanor?"

She stopped and looked back to Amelia, who lowered her voice.

"Don't let this interfere with your regular duties. This is all...unofficial at this stage. We can't allow it to be noticed."

Gray nodded again. I UNDERSTAND.

"Thank you." Amelia watched her go, then turned to Doppler. "Well, doctor...there's nothing more for us to do here. And I've kept you long enough. Let's go and find a shuttle to take us planetside."

"Oh. Yes, of course." Doppler gathered himself and began following Amelia. But as much as he was looking forward to getting home with her, part of him suspected that this wasn't going to be the peaceful reunion he had spent weeks dreaming of.

Much later that night, Gray pushed open the door to the small house she shared in the lee of the naval base, her face bearing a frown of concentration. Hanging up her coat and putting her medical bag by the door, she made her way up the narrow stairs. A light was on in the study and she peered in to see her companion working at her desk. Sergeant-Major Ko, a grey felinid with a scarred face in a Royal Marines uniform, looked up from her writing and smiled.

"Welcome home, ma'am. They kept you a little late, didn't they?"

Gray switched to sign language. Something came up.

It always does, Ko replied in the same way. But I'm glad you're back.

Actually, I have to leave again, Gray said. Amelia's ship is in port. I have to report to her.

The old Legacy? Ko smiled. I'd heard she was due in. What's so urgent that you'd go see her at this time of night?

Gray paused.

Something came up, she said.

Ko nodded slowly, connecting that phrase to its earlier use in the conversation. You're doing something for Amelia, ma'am?

Gray nodded.

Anything I can help with? Ko asked.

Gray hesitated, then shook her head. Ko smiled wryly.

Can I at least know what it is? she tried.

Gray hesitated again. But if she couldn't tell Ko, she couldn't tell anyone…

We should talk in the kitchen.

Ko nodded, sensing that this was going to be a long story. I'll put the kettle on.

That might be a good idea. Gray agreed. I could use a hot cocoa.

One with marshmallows coming up, Ko smiled, but she could see the serious look in Gray's eyes and wondered what her companion was getting herself involved with.