Drummer said, "I've had your ship searched."
Brad shrugged, eyes scanning the scene outside, and replied dryly, "Hope it was worth your while. To us, it was transportation. Any old tub would have done. As it turned out, we were lucky."
"I'll accept that it's an 'old tub'. I gathered as much from the reports I received," Drummer said, "but I understand the primary systems are in good condition, considering the vessel's history and the spunnel shocks the ship must have experienced on the way. How does it all fit together?"
"How does it concern you?" Brad turned to face
Drummer.
"Come, now." Drummer shook his head impatiently. "Let's not act naive; it doesn't go with the rest of you. But," he added waving his finger at Brad as he turned away, "just so you don't make a habit of responding to my questions with diversions, be aware that I am a member of President Narval's Council of Advisors. Despite the incident with Scarf, I have considerable authority and resources at my command.
"I've checked through my confidential sources in the Inner Region," he went on, "and confirmed you are all convicted criminals that escaped from a Guardian Station prison. Now, for starters, how did you manage to get a lift by spunnel and make it this far without tearing that old wreck apart? Those vessels don't have navigational gear for trips to the rim, nor do they carry the required gear and supplies. Straight answer."
"We're spacers," Brad said. "One of us is an experienced maintenance engineer. Another is a space navigator. We've all knocked about the space-ways a bit on assorted jobs. I was Captain of a freighter before the Space Guard and the Transport Board took my ship away from me on trumped up charges, and then sent me up for five years of rehab. We teamed up on the Guardian Station, worked out the details, kept our noses clean and our eyes open, and, when the chance came, grabbed it. We did have a few breakdowns, but we kept her moving along until we could attach the ship to a convoy through the spunnel. We took our chances and made it."
Drummer shook his head. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
"The reports I received identified your former professions and gave me the rest of your personal histories. Frankly, it has me wondering: a ship's captain, paramedic-logistics type, a maintenance engineer, communications specialist, navigator, and a weapons technician. Wasn't it odd to have these special skills fall into place?"
"Not really," Brad countered. "I could have made up any kind of crew I wanted. The station has lots of spacers under lock and key. These folks happened to fit in with my plans, and they were as anxious to get out as I was. It worked. Now, what's the problem?"