Song of the Navigator Read Online Free PDF Page A

the headquarters of an illegal operation, the room had a distinctly mundane, bureaucratic feel to it. There was a cheap-looking faux-wooden desk with the edges peeling, a plastic potted plant, holo photos of the ship and an emergency exit map of the vessel layout on the wall, as if it were the headquarters of any fleet operation. But on the desk were dozens of wristpad implants attached to a base unit, and piles of holoscreen platforms.
    The room’s inhabitant stood, arms crossed, weight resting on the edge of the desk. He was a stout man, with trim brown hair and a tidy beard, light brown going gray. His hazel eyes watched Cruz warily as he lowered Tover to the ground.
    Tover fumbled for Cruz’s wrist. His fingers weakly closed, and for a moment he held him. Cruz looked at him, expression unreadable.
    â€œDon’t,” Tover gasped.
    Cruz immediately turned away.
    â€œHe’s no good to us crippled,” the smuggler said.
    â€œHe’ll recover.” Ramirez glanced at Cruz. “Right? He’s just wiped from the last jump.”
    After a moment, Cruz nodded.
    The smuggler crouched beside Tover and reached out, turning Tover’s head to face him.
    Tover glared back. The man studied Tover’s face, then nodded. As he stood, his knees cracked.
    â€œYes, it’s Tover Duke.” He had a strong accent, and hit his consonants hard. “Damn.” He grinned. He lifted his wristpad to his mouth. “Cherko. Get in here.” He walked behind the desk and rustled around in a drawer for a moment, mumbling to himself in a language unfamiliar to Tover.
    â€œCall…PK…” Tover tried to say. No one even heard him. He started to crawl toward the door, but the bearded terrorist grabbed his arm and easily shoved him back down on the ground.
    The smuggler pulled out a thin memory drive. He licked his finger and wiped off the number written on its side.
    Ramirez yanked the drive from the smuggler’s hand. The smuggler chuckled.
    â€œHey, no offense.” He brought his hands together. “We have a business. It isn’t personal.” He watched, seemingly amused, as Ramirez took out a handheld reader from his pocket. He lay the reader flat. A second later a gray mist formed over the surface of the reader, and Ramirez stuck his finger in it to identify himself to his computer. The three-dimensional screen took form. He whisked the drive through the mist and studied the readouts that appeared. After a moment, he nodded to Cruz. He pocketed the device.
    â€œYour identities will remain anonymous as long as the navigator’s presence here remains the same,” the smuggler told the Pulmon Verde.
    All but Cruz nodded. Cruz studied the map on the wall, clearly avoiding eye contact.
    A giant of a man entered the office. He was bald and sported a bushy moustache. His bulk dwarfed even someone as strong as Cruz. He ducked his head to clear the doorway.
    â€œYeah, boss?”
    The bearded smuggler smiled. “Cherko, the man on the floor’s our new navigator.”
    â€œFuckin’ A, boss.”
    â€œRight.”
    As the giant approached, Tover tried to pull back. He knew his terror showed on his expression, but he couldn’t help it.
    â€œPlease,” Tover managed to gasp. He reached his hand out toward Cruz. “Don’t leave me here.” His hand fell weakly to his side.
    For a moment, Cruz hesitated. His frown deepened slightly. “It won’t last long.”
    The other Pulmon Verde laughed at that and slapped Cruz on the back, then Cruz was gone, his precious data saved, and he never even looked back.
    For a long time the two smugglers watched him, discussing matters in low voices in a foreign language. It sounded Russian but the rhythm of the language made it noticeably different.
    At length the brown-haired man crouched once more and looked Tover in the eye.
    â€œMy name’s Savel.” He nodded to his companion. “This is