With the arrival of Tycho Voyager not expected until early the next day, Amelia decided to spend the night on Crescentia. After pausing to send a message to Montressor to make her excuses to Doppler, she made her way back to the Legacy. Much as part of her wanted to spend the night planetside with her partner, she knew that only her ship gave her the time and privacy to think.

Boarding the ship, she turned to cross the quarterdeck towards her stateroom. Fishing the keys out of her pocket, she raised one to the lock and then hesitated. There was a scratch in the ivory-white paintwork just above the mechanism which she was sure had not been there during the voyage and which had no reason to have appeared there since then. Raising a hand, she gave the door a little push and heard the latch click into place as if it had been left locked but ever so slightly ajar. Frowning, and senses alert, she unlocked the door and pushed it open. Her cabin was as she remembered it - at least at first glance. But the drawers on her desk had clearly been moved, and when she opened the one containing the heavy tome of the ship's log she found clear evidence that it had been moved, the tassel of the bookmark - always kept religiously in place at the last entry - loose and flopping. She arched an eyebrow and curled her lip, more insulted than frightened at this violation.

She crossed the floor in silent steps and opened the locker containing her private arsenal. At first she thought that this, at least, had escaped the attention of the interloper, but there was a loose powerpack on the bottom, dislodged from its usual stowage place. She picked it up, selected a pistol and clicked it quietly into place, charging the weapon and removing the safety catch before she continued her search.

Nothing stolen, despite plenty of opportunity, she thought. But some things moved. Someone was looking for something. Not my logbook. Not my weapons.

A search of the cargo holds revealed them to be as empty as they should be. And there was no cargo on board either. So what…

A thought struck her. An unpleasant one, but one she couldn't ignore. Turning aft, she proceeded towards the corner of the orlop deck which housed the Legacy's cold storage unit. It too, she knew, would not hold any valuables - but there was something there: the bodies of the stowaways.

The steel door of the cold storage unit seemed shut at first, but as Amelia approached she felt a tell-tale chill. It was ajar, leaking cold air into the passageway. She reached out a hand and twitched it open. Inside it, laid out on shelves, were the three corpses, wrapped in old sailcloth. Gray had performed her autopsies on the floor of the little room before giving them their final shrouds, but Amelia saw that the stitching on them was not complete. Closer inspection revealed that they had been sliced open. She had no wish to draw the cloth back to reveal the partially-decomposed faces that she knew lay beneath, but it was already becoming apparent what had happened.

"Captain?"

Amelia turned, still holding the pistol but somewhat more at ease. The voice had been familiar enough to be reassuring. She stepped out of the unit and looked up the companionway, where Dr Rocca was peering down at her.

"Oh, Dandelion. It's you. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. I've got something you need to know." The surgeon started down the stairs. "Though I hadn't expected to find you down here. What's going on?"

"Someone boarded the ship," said Amelia. "They went searching through my cabin. And they've been down here too."

"Searching for what?"

Amelia hesitated for a moment. Rocca realised why.

"I know what's going on, Captain. I've been helping Dr Gray with the toxicology."

"Ah. I should have known." Amelia smiled wryly, tucking the pistol into her belt. "I don't suppose she actually told you?"

"No. I just have a devious mind." Rocca joined her at the doorway.

"Then you won't be surprised to know that I think that…whoever it was…was looking for the merchandise," Amelia said. "Those drugs you've apparently been working on with Dr Gray."

"That makes sense. They're worth quite a lot of money." Rocca nodded. "I suppose they didn't find them?"

"No, you've got all of them," Amelia confirmed. "So they must have left somewhat disappointed. What I want to know is…how did they get on board?"

"Security isn't airtight on these docks," said Rocca. "There's any number of ways to do it."

"Especially if you work for the CPA," Amelia said darkly. "But that's another problem. What is it you've found? Something more about those drugs?"

"No. Something about the courier. One of them, anyway." Rocca reached into her coat pocket to produce a folded piece of paper. "One of the bone samples Dr Gray took showed signs that the person was from Crescentia. The density was a match for their species under the station's gravity. So I took the liberty of consulting the CPA's missing persons register…and I think I've found them."

Amelia took the piece of paper and read it, glancing at the sketch of the person attached. "Michael Dormer. Age 28. Well, it certainly looks like one of the bodies..."

"So I was right?" Rocca grinned.

Amelia was still reading thoughtfully. "Last seen nine weeks ago…in K-District on Nightside…"

"That means something to you?" Rocca raised an eyebrow.

Amelia nodded. "There's a warehouse there which I'm sure is part of this. And nine weeks would be enough time for him to travel from here to Briga and then back again on this ship, so the timeline fits as well."

"Well, this might be a lead worth pursuing, then. Because our Michael Dormer had an address too. And there's still family living there." Rocca handed over another piece of paper.

"Evelyn Dormer. Aged 60. His mother, I presume?"

"Search me. But probably."

Amelia sighed. "You know…if she is, she won't know that her son's dead. I'll be the first one to tell her."

"It isn't anything you or I haven't had to do before," Rocca pointed out, not unsympathetically. "Informing next of kin."

"No." Amelia shook her head. "But it doesn't get any easier."

"Too true." Rocca nodded. "Though waiting doesn't help either. Should we go?"

"We?" Amelia smiled and rolled her eyes as she walked past Rocca and started up towards the main deck. "Are you inviting yourself onto this investigation, Dandelion?"

"The way I see it, I'm already involved." Rocca grinned.

"Yes, I suppose that ship's sailed already. But…" Amelia sighed again. "Look, it's not exactly official. And I don't think it's exactly safe. It's bad enough that I'm involved in this, let alone Dr Gray. I don't want to end up jeopardising you as well. Nobody knows that you're helping us. You should keep it that way."

Rocca frowned. "You don't have to worry about me, Amelia."

"The fewer people involved the better it is," said Amelia as they emerged onto the main deck. "I don't want this becoming a problem for the Navy, which it will be if half the medical officers on Crescentia get tied up in it. Besides, if you're going to insist on poking around behind the scenes, there's something I'd prefer you to look at. Namely, who the hell took it upon themselves to board my ship behind my back?"

Rocca nodded. "I could sweep for fingerprints. You say they were in your cabin?"

"Yes. They must have picked the door lock. They went through my desk, and the arms locker for starters," said Amelia.

"Fine. But only because it's you asking me to." Rocca smiled. "But…maybe I don't need to start in your cabin…"

Amelia followed her gaze to the deck and realised that she was looking at the planking underneath the gangway. There were a few small black specks scattered there. She knelt to examine them as Rocca picked one up and sniffed it.

"Bitumen. They use this to patch the roads." Rocca rolled the little stone in her fingers. "Relatively fresh, too. With such a small amount, I'd say that someone stepped on a patch of the stuff on the way here and a little bit got lodged in the tread of their boot. Then it got shaken loose when they jumped off the gangway."

"I don't suppose you happen to know every recent road repair on Crescentia?" Amelia asked with a grin.

Rocca laughed. "That's a bit beyond even me, Captain. But…it's a start…"

The journey back to Nightside was as long as Amelia remembered it, made longer by the knowledge of what she had to do when she got there. She had changed out of her uniform into civilian attire to blend in as she made her way through the twilit streets back towards K-District. The address that Rocca had unearthed for the Dormer family was a corner apartment in a crumbling tenement. A handful of residents were seated on the street outside, smoking and idly playing a game of dice, but they barely glanced up at Amelia's approach and entry through the front door. She made her way up a dimly-lit central staircase and then through a corridor which had more cheap plaster on the floor than on its walls, until she came to a door and knocked on it.

"Mrs Dormer? Evelyn Dormer?"

After a pause, there were some sounds of movement before the door opened a crack. Amelia was not surprised to see that the chain on its lock was kept in place as a faintly querulous voice answered.

"Yes? Who is it?"

"I'm Captain Amelia, Mrs Dormer. I-" Amelia steeled herself. "I'm here about Michael."

"Michael? You know where he is?" There was a rattle of chain and the door opened fully, revealing a short and slender grey-haired woman with a face heavily lined with cares. That didn't make it any easier. While Amelia had certainly had to inform the next of kin of spacers who had died under her command, she had very seldom ever had to do so in person, and she found herself suddenly very appreciative of the fact that she had normally been able to discharge this part of her duty with an appropriately solemn letter.

"Yes, ma'am. Can I come in?" Amelia wished that she had a hat to tuck under her arm as a show of respect, but the old woman didn't seem to mind as she showed her in with an eager politeness that didn't make Amelia feel any better.

"I haven't heard from Michael in weeks. I told the authorities but they didn't know anything either, so I'm very glad you're here. Please, sit down." She gestured around the tiny living room with its two battered old chairs. "Would you like some tea, Captain? I could put a pot on to boil if you don't mind waiting for the stove to heat up…"

"No, thank you." Amelia perched on the edge of a seat and her heart broke slightly as Evelyn sat on the other one, her hands clasped in her lap. She was clearly trying to keep her face polite, but there was no disguising the hope that shone in her eyes - a hope that Amelia knew that she was about to crush. She took a deep breath.

"Mrs Dormer…I'm afraid I have some bad news about your son…"

"Bad news? Is…is he…?" Evelyn's face fell.

Amelia nodded. "I'm afraid…he passed away aboard my ship, Mrs Dormer. I came here to tell you in person. There was...an accident with the cargo."

"Aboard your ship? No…no, that can't be right…" Evelyn shook her head desperately. "Michael wasn't a spacer. He worked in a warehouse."

"I'm afraid it's…complicated…" Amelia made a mental note about the warehouse job. "What did he do at the warehouse?"

"He just worked there…been there for a couple of years…sometimes he'd have to leave when they sent a shipment somewhere…he'd be away for a few weeks but he'd always come back…" Evelyn's eyes were watering. "Is…is that what happened?"

"Yes, ma'am…something like that…" Amelia nodded slowly. "What warehouse was it?"

"Whitley and Sons. They're just down the road. A lot of the local boys work there." Evelyn whispered. "I hadn't seen him in weeks…he just left one morning as usual and then didn't come back. I thought, well, maybe they needed him urgently…please, Captain…" She looked up imploringly. "What happened to him?"

Amelia swallowed hard. "There was a mistake made," she said. "Michael was...caught by one of the crates we had on board as it was moved."

"Did he suffer?"

Amelia's usual instinct for the truth rebelled. "No. It was quick. And nobody else was hurt."

"That's good…that's good…my poor boy…he was my only boy, you know. It was just him and me, after his father died…"

And now he was dead and Evelyn was clearly too old to work. Amelia's heart flinched at how little there was between life and poverty. The old woman bowed her head and wept softly. Amelia hesitated a moment before reaching out to touch her, and was surprised when she took her hand and held it firmly for several long minutes until the tears at least slowed down.

"Can I ask…how your son was, the last time you saw him?" Amelia asked, as gently as possible.

"He…seemed distracted. He'd been that way a lot recently. Tough times, he said. He wasn't bringing home as much money." Evelyn dabbed at her eyes. "He'd been staying out late. Working, he said. But I knew he wasn't, because of the money. He was just like his father that way…"

"So he was in financial trouble?"

"Yes, but we'd always scraped through before. We would have been all right." Evelyn's shoulders slumped. "Oh, Captain…what am I going to do now? Can…can I come and see him, at least?"

"I can have him brought here. Or wherever you'd like him to be taken care of," Amelia said reassuringly.

"Thank you…yes, thank you. You're very kind, Captain…"

It was hard to feel that way at the moment. "It's…no problem. I'll give you my card." Amelia coughed awkwardly. "Do you know what Michael did at the warehouse?"

"No. I mean, I suppose he helped to move things around. Isn't that why they sent him off with you?"

"Ah. Of course." In a manner of speaking. "How did he get that job?"

"It's like I said, Captain, lots of boys around here work at Whitley's. Michael got a job there after he worked as a painter…he was down on his luck but he knew someone who knew the foreman and put in a good word for him…"

Amelia nodded. "Do you know anyone he worked with?"

"No, he never told me much about it…but you're right, they should know that he…that he's…" Evelyn looked like crying again. Amelia squeezed her hand.

"Please, ma'am. Leave that to me."

Amelia left the tenement in a thoughtful frame of mind and turned to pass the warehouse. She was more certain than ever that it was the heart of the conspiracy, and was not at all keen to stick her head into the zaftwing's mouth before she was ready. Despite the lateness of the hour, it was still busy, workers labouring under electric lamps. She cast covert glances their way as she passed, hoping to catch sight of something, but it was a crunching sound underfoot that drew her attention. Looking down, she realised that the street in front of the warehouse was sporting a new patch of bitumen…

Rocca left the Legacy, carrying her satchel carefully. The intruders had left little forensic evidence behind and she hadn't come equipped for a search. But there was no doubt in her mind that they had known what they were looking for, and who might have it. Despite the damage to the cabin door, the lock itself had been picked professionally, as had the locks on Amelia's arms cabinet and desk. The only places that had been searched were the stateroom and the cold storage unit, with no sign of any interest in any of the thousands of other hiding places an uncrewed ship offered. The search had been very deliberate, planned and carried out by people who knew what they were looking for and where it might be. The question was how they had come aboard - even though there was nobody on board the Legacy, the busy docks of Crescentia meant that few ships were ever truly left untended. Indeed, the neighbouring berth was busy loading up a short-haul freighter already. Taking the opportunity, Rocca stopped one of the stevedores as they sneaked a swig from a hipflask after loading up a pallet.

"Excuse me. Have you seen anyone boarding or leaving this ship?"

"What? No. I'm not working that one." The man shook his head, guiltily tucking the flask into his belt.

"How long have you been on shift here?"

"About an hour or two. Why?"

"I'm just trying to find someone." Rocca smiled disarmingly. "Thank you. Don't let me detain you."

She walked up the pier, glancing around in the vague hope of seeing something that might give her a new lead. Initially seeing nothing, she was about to leave when it occurred to her that there was a man sitting in the shade of a building, wrapped in rags and with a battered hat set upside down on the pavement in front of him - one of Crescentia's large population of indigents, some of whom were marooned there, others lost, most just unlucky. She dropped a coin into his hat to get his attention.

"Bless yer, ma'am." The man looked up at her as he reached to collect the coin.

"Been here long?" Rocca asked.

"Long enough. Why?" He looked nervous.

"I'm trying to find someone from that ship there." Rocca pointed to the Legacy. "Have you seen anyone coming or going from there?"

The man eyed her appraisingly. "Aside from you? Might have done…might have done…"

Rocca dropped another coin into his hat. He leaned forward to pick it up.

"Few hours ago. Saw a few people. Maybe three or four."

"Did you recognise them?"

"Course not. It's a big port and I don't go to many parties." He lapsed into a coughing fit after trying to force a laugh.

"What did they do?" A third coin landed in the hat.

He shrugged. "Turned up in a cart. Went on board. Were on 'er for a good long time too. Then they came off and left again. Didn't bother me. Stingy buggers."

"What did they look like?"

"Like people, o'course." The man squinted at her. "Why do you care?"

"I told you. I'm looking for someone." Rocca raised an eyebrow. "So you didn't get a good look at them?"

The man shrugged again and scratched a spot on his neck. "Why would I? One of 'em was a thin-looking fellow. One might have been a woman. Couldn't tell you more."

Rocca nodded thoughtfully. "Are you normally around here?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Unless the CPA catches me. They don't much like loitering around their docks."

"I see. Perhaps I could make it worth your while to stay a little longer?" Rocca suggested.

The man sat back and nodded slowly. "You could do that. What for?"

"Just keep an eye on that ship. Take note of anyone who boards her." Rocca dropped two coins into the hat. "I'll be back tomorrow."

The man took the coins and tucked them away in the inner pocket of his threadbare coat. "Right you are, ma'am. By the way, who-"

He looked up, but Rocca was already gone.

The following day dawned clear. Berth 816/North was at the edge of a warehouse district on the unfashionable side of Admiralty House. It was possible to see the naval base from there, looking down on it from the upper curve of Crescentia to see the little oasis of orderliness that it presented amid the hustle and bustle that was the rest of the colossal space station. Amelia stood with her arms crossed, watching it for a moment before turning her attention back to the immediate scene in front of her and heaving a sigh. And it wasn't just because the events of the previous day were still weighing on her mind.

The Tycho Voyager was a large ship, her long hull painted half-and-half in the green and white livery of the Tycho Shipping Corporation, though much of it was battered and faded with exposure and the repainting done to patch her up had been done piecemeal and not always with the correct shades. In most ways she was a typical freighter, built to move the maximum amount of cargo at the smallest possible cost, but her architects had not been totally devoid of romance, giving her an elegant clipper bow that stood in stark contrast to the rest of her, as if merely looking fast would make her so. She had arrived when the schedule had said, but had spent the best part of half an hour floating just off the dockside or making half-hearted approaches under thruster, her crew apparently incapable of manoeuvring her straight in and her owners too cheap to call in a tug. Amelia couldn't help imagining the reaction of any Academy shiphandling instructor to the spectacle and was almost feeling embarrassed in sympathy for the ship by the time she was finally nudged home with some thruster work and the stevedore gangs hauling on her mooring lines. She waited for the usual arrival routine to be completed and for the local CPA representative to depart the ship, then made her way up the gangway as the cargo cranes went to work, piling crates, bags and barrels on the dock.

"I need to see the captain," she said crisply to the spacer manning the top of it.

"On what business?" The man looked up and caught sight of her uniform. "Ma'am," he added quickly, straightening himself up and tucking away the cigarette he'd been rolling himself.

"My ship took on some of your cargo after you were delayed at Briga," said Amelia. "I need to talk to him about the delivery."

"Right, right. Come aboard, ma'am." The man doffed his hat and stood back to let Amelia down onto the deck. He turned to wave to a passing spacer. "Hey, Taps, take...er…"

"Captain Amelia," said Amelia, pointedly emphasising the rank.

"...to see the old man," he finished.

"Aye, sir!"

Amelia followed the one known as Taps across the quarterdeck to the captain's cabin. He knocked and pushed open the door without waiting for a reply.

"Visitor to see you, Cap'n Gartrell," he said.

From behind a desk piled with paperwork, a periwigged man looked up from writing with a long quill. "Oh? Er, thank you Mr Tapperly." He stood and extended a hand to Amelia, who stepped forward to take it, one eyebrow raised as she assessed him. The man was wearing an embroidered Tycho uniform coat, but he was wearing it over ordinary civilian spacing clothing in a manner that suggested that he seldom did so.

"I'm Captain Amelia of the RLS Legacy," she said, shaking his hand. "I took on some of your cargo after you were held up at Briga."

"Oh, yes. Yes, we had some engine trouble. Something to do with the starboard engine's primary ignition circuit, I'm told." Gartrell sat down. "I had to farm out at least half a dozen spot contracts to move the urgent cargo. I suppose I should be grateful for your assistance."

Amelia shook her head. "All part of the job, Captain, as I'm sure you know."

"Yes, yes. Quite." Gartrell adjusted his wig. "Well, I trust it was delivered in a timely manner?"

Amelia watched him carefully, trying to determine whether she should trust him enough. But she knew that someone in a position of control aboard the Tycho Voyager was working with the smugglers, and decided to keep her cards close to her chest for the time being.

"Yes, it was. At least, in as timely a manner as we could manage."

"Good, good." Gartrell nodded. "It wouldn't do to let the customers down. Was there anything I can help you with?"

"I'm just having to straighten out the bill of lading for my ship," said Amelia. "So you say it was you who sorted out the spot contracts to deliver your cargo?"

"Yes, that's right. The administration of the ship falls to me, after all." Gartrell picked up his quill. "It would have been my bosun who oversaw the movement of the cargo to your ship, though. That's not really my department."

An impression of Gartrell had been forming in Amelia's mind and now found itself confirmed. He was possibly a competent spacer, or at least had been once, but it was evident from the way he had buried himself in paperwork rather than supervise the unloading of his ship - and probably the docking as well, based on its mediocre performance - that he may have been the captain of the Tycho Voyager, but he was not her master. The only thing worse than a tyrannical captain, Amelia had been taught, was a weak one. All manner of corruption might have festered in the freighter's weary hull and it was unlikely that Gartrell, buried in his paperwork and isolated in his cabin, would have noticed so long as the ship kept to its schedules.

"I see. Would I be able to speak with the bosun?" Amelia asked. "The...client who bought the cargo complained that one of the crates was damaged. I undertook to look into it myself to identify whether it occurred when it was transhipped."

"Mr Horrocks will be occupied with the unloading, I'm afraid," said Gartrell. "Then he'll be taking the cargo to the Port Authority's warehouses. I'm sure I could arrange for you to see him before he goes on shore leave after that."

"No, that's all right," Amelia shook her head, noting that the bosun's duties would give him ample opportunity to see that any cargo that needed to get to the smugglers could do so before it reached the CPA's sealed warehouse. "I've actually got some goods of my own in the CPA's keeping that I need to look up. Perhaps I'll catch up with him there."

"As you wish, as you wish." Gartrell pulled another piece of paper towards himself. "But I will tell you, any attempt to blame damaged cargo on Tycho Shipping will be met with legal action of our own."

"I'm not contemplating that at this point, captain. I just want to know what happened." Amelia stood up. "Thank you for your time, captain."

Gartrell looked up and offered his hand again. "My pleasure, captain. Let me know if there's anything further I can do."

"I will." Amelia shook his hand, secretly grateful to be leaving the poor excuse for a commanding officer. "Are you in port long?"

"Just a week to take on more cargo, and then we're off back to Briga," said Gartrell. "We have to make up for those delays."

"Of course." So Bosun Horrocks would have a week on Crescentia, Amelia thought. That was probably enough time to figure out what he was doing. "Good day to you, sir."

"Good day, good day." Gartrell went back to his writing, not calling a spacer to see her out. Amelia made her own way back across the deck and down the gangway, noting as she did a large, bullet-headed Cragorian who seemed to be overseeing the piling of the cargo on the dock and working with the foreman of the stevedores. Guessing him to be the bosun, Amelia made her way past to find somewhere to wait and watch.