Fourth Vector Ch. 18

He'd seemed to have found the one he was looking for. Inside, he could see a few more Swabian robes on the various personnel, enough of a signal that he had the right building. Curiously enough, it didn't resemble any other warehouse he'd ever seen before, even the one he used to work in as a teenager back in Java. There was a heavy partition that blocked off the rest of the entrance from the goods inside, and Greg could see several of the people moving through the partition seemed to have full body suits on.

What could the suits possibly be for? Unless to protect them from the plague, he wondered as he tried to get a better look inside.

Unfortunately, the suits weren't in sight for very long before they disappeared, but not before placing two crates at the front of the warehouse. There was a Swabian near the front door that was writing something down that was stamped to the side of the two crates, but he wouldn't get any closer than five feet from them to do the task. Whatever was inside those crates, he didn't want to be any closer to it than he had to be.

The next thing that caught his attention was the sound of a truck's horn. Greg turned to the left to see a smaller-looking truck back up to the warehouse, and a red-haired Picard hopped out from the driver's seat to approach the Swabian. The one that had been inspecting the crates called out to someone else further inside, and a moment later, a greasy-looking woman appeared, soon shaking hands with the arriving Picard. There was an exchange of paper between them, and soon those two crates were loaded up into the bed of the truck.

The Picard driver soon waved off to the Swabians and got back in his truck. Almost immediately, the main warehouse door was brought down, securing the warehouse from any other outside visitors while the truck soon took off.

Greg waited until the truck approached the corner until he was able to slip over to the other side of the street. There were no windows to look anywhere into the warehouse, and the main door was firmly latched, preventing entrance to anyone on the outside. Greg then went to a much smaller door for personnel, finding it locked as well.

"Damn," he swore. Greg pursed his lips and wondered what to do. He knew there were Swabians on the inside of the warehouse, but if he applied any kind of force to get inside, they would likely hear him and it would lead to trouble. Yet if he couldn't get inside the warehouse, what else could he do?

His eyes flashed back toward the street, and the truck that had long since headed down the road. The truck had the crates on board, and there was clearly something fishy about them in the way they were treated by the Swabian before they were loaded.

In any case, it was his only real opportunity.

Greg started to sprint down the street, hoping to catch up to the truck.

The only fortunate part of the whole thing was that it wasn't possible for the truck to go very fast throughout the port, with the numerous cranes, crates, and workers now returning from lunch. Greg was able to quickly catch up to it, and at one point, he even managed to step onto the back, hitching a ride as it made its way out of the sector to the closest neighborhood.

The ride wasn't without its issues. The road the truck followed out of port was full of potholes and bumps, and at one point, Greg nearly bounced off the truck, and in another, he nearly had his fingers crushed by the shifting container.

Now that he was close enough to the crates though, he could make out the writing on the side that the warehouse worker was inspecting. There appeared to be nothing out of the order on them, and a listing of the contents made mention of the merchandise inside. There were hats, robes, shirts, and footwear inside the crate, and nothing really appeared to stand out.

It was only when the truck came to an open-air marketplace and started to slow down did Greg feel confident enough to jump off and follow on foot. Despite being in the middle of the city, it was the most concentrated that he'd seen of the population thus far, most of the streets being relatively quiet for a city the size of Daban. Yet, once he reached the marketplace, the number of people increased and he was able to blend in once again as the truck came to a stop.

"Get those containers off that truck and get the merchandise on tables nine and ten," said a nearby merchant, bellowing orders to his workers as they moved to unload the truck. Greg feigned interest in a nearby trader's table as he watched them unload. The trader's employees made quick use of the crates, taking out the contents and arranging them pleasingly on the tables as described.

"What the hell is this Swabian garbage," muttered the trader just loud enough for Greg to hear. "I swear to all the gods that Conor is going to hear about this."

"Duff, would you shut your hole for once?" barked another red-haired man beside him. "You know as well as I do that Conor only buys what's cheap."

"Cheap is right," retorted Duff. "Look at this fabric." He held up one of the Swabian robes. "It's already threadbare! How the hell am I supposed to sell this?"

"Just mark the price down and it'll sell. They always do," grumbled the other man.

Duff guffawed. "And to think, we could have had fine Samaran suits, but no! Conor would rather sling this shit. I could sell a single suit and be able to feed my family for two whole days."

"Gods, do you ever shut up?" said the other worker sarcastically. Greg watched as the two men almost got to blows before they stopped arguing and finished unloading the crates.

For the size of their operation, the Swabian goods were quickly dispersed and soon ready for the general public. Greg watched as they garnered some attention before he approached. Some of the Picard buyers seemed to marvel at having Swabian goods available for purchase for the first time in their lifetimes. That marvel didn't last long, especially as many of them saw how cheaply made they happened to be, lending further credence to Duff's earlier tirade. Greg decided to get a better look and he approached the table to look at one of the robes.

"That would look mighty good on you, my friend," said none other than Duff himself, his salesmanship shining through right away. Greg resisted the urge to chuckle, remembering what he thought of the Swabian goods earlier.

"You think so? I'm in the market for something new."

"Well, that's a new arrival, and get this, friend," said Duff, moving closer to Greg. "That comes from Swabia. Can you believe it? Our new allies from what I hear. Now the common people get to enjoy top of the line Swabian goods, newly imported!"

"That doesn't sound bad," said Greg as he inspected the robe in front of him. Sure enough, he could see a portion that was already threadbare, and he stopped the chuckle from forming in his throat.

"What kind of price could I fetch for this?"

Duff hemmed and hawed. "Normally, I'd ask a silver piece for something that fresh off the boat, friend. But you look like a good sort of fellow. I'll let you have it for ten bronze pennies."

"What a bargain," said Greg with sarcasm. He fished out a silver piece from his pocket. "Got any change?"

The merchant's eyes lit up as soon as he saw the coin. "Of course I do! Here, let me take care of that. Do you need a bag?"

"No, thanks," said Greg, as he took hold of the robe. He received his change shortly after.

"Thank you for your patronage, my friend! Enjoy your new robe!"

"I'm sure I will," said Greg with a chuckle. He walked away from the booth all the while inspecting the fabric.This is what they handled so gingerly back in the warehouse, he questioned internally.

"It's nothing more than a piece of clothing," he muttered out loud. "And a smelly one at that." He brought it up halfway to his nose, getting a particularly pungent scent that forced him to turn away. Wrapping the robe into a ball, he stuck it on the inside of his cloak and made his way back in the direction he came from. Greg didn't feel like he had any better handle on what was going on with the Swabians in Daban. They either went to great lengths to make their operation appear normal, or perhaps it really was just normal, without anything nefarious going on.

Two things begged further questions for him. Why exactly were they being so careful with the contents of the crate back in the warehouse? And why were they all wearing protective suits?

Greg swore suddenly as a large man barreled into him from behind. He was thrown off balance and managed to drop his new purchase into a puddle just off the side of the walkway.

"My apologies," said the man quickly as he soon took off. Greg nearly growled as he had to fish the robe out from the puddle. It was a large enough pool of water that it completely soaked the robe. Greg pursed his lips as he rung out the cheap material, getting a gritty black substance on his hand.

"Screw this," he said finally, balling the garment up and sticking it back in his cloak. He would have thrown it away if he didn't want to let Jack inspect it when he got back. One thing was for certain. He felt no more closer to a breakthrough after today's bit of recon.

Perhaps he really did need to find a way to break into that warehouse?

*****

Back in her quarters on theDestiny, Vera sat on her bed and flipped through the stack of pictures that her grandmother left her. It was the only physical reminder of her time with Evelyn, and even though she didn't know the backstory on most of the pictures, she scanned through them anyway.

It wasn't the first time that she did this either. Almost every day since they'd left the house, she'd found herself sprawled out on her bed, taking in each picture and trying to come up with her version of what each picture represented. It wasn't hard to figure out who was who after a short period of time. She now recognized the faces of her mother, father, and grandparents, even if she had to try to figure out what was happening in each picture.

She picked up one picture in particular that showed a loving shot of her parents. In this photo, they had been sitting together on some type of outdoor bench or chair, and her father's arm was wrapped lovingly around her mother. Vera could only smile when she saw the laughter in their eyes. What made it even more fascinating was the resemblance between herself and her mother.

I wonder what you two were like. I wish I could have gotten to know you. To see your love firsthand, she thought, sighing to herself as she flipped through other pictures.

Even though she enjoyed seeing the pictures of her past, it always left her with a sense of melancholy when it was over. All that she had of these people, all that existed of them, was left in these photographs. It saddened her that she would never feel their embraces or see their smiles in person. The only memory of their lives was held together by a little, old box, and for that reason, Vera vowed to treasure it for the rest of her life.

Despite the bouts of sadness, she used the time reviewing the pictures as a form of stress relief. She was anxiously awaiting word of Greg's return, knowing the man was still out in the city stalking the Swabian presence and trying to get answers for all of them. She wouldn't stop stressing until he was safely back on the ship, an acknowledgment that took her time to fully admit to herself.

Where had these sudden thoughts for Greg come from? And why did she care so much about his safety?

She never had any time to ponder those two questions. There was a knock on her door a moment later, and Jack's face came into view as he crossed the threshold into her room.

"Hey," said Vera, looking up to him hopefully. "Is Greg back?"

Jack gave her a confused look for a split second before the rest of his face caught up. "Not yet. He should be back soon. The radio has been quiet so I'm assuming he's all right."

Vera nodded too quickly. "Good, good. Hopefully soon."

The actual words came out more awkwardly than she intended. Vera had to avert her eyes from her brother or else she was afraid he might read more into them than she wanted. Thankfully, Jack didn't seem to pick up on her flustering nerves, or if he did, he didn't choose to say anything about it.

What he did do was nod toward the bed. "What are you up to, Vera?"

She looked down at the pictures and smiled. "Just looking at the pictures that Evelyn gave me. Come and sit down." She patted her bed. "There's lots of you in here too."

Jack let out a small smile and joined her on the bed. Vera grabbed a small stack that featured pictures of him as a baby and deposited them right in front of him. "These are mostly you, and I was just flipping through this stack. Just be careful—the pictures are awfully old and delicate."

Jack grabbed one in particular that showed him as a baby in his mother's arms. Another featured him still sleeping in his crib, only a few months old. "Kind of hard to believe still, isn't it?"

"It's getting easier as time goes on," said Vera.

"Time?" Jack chuckled. "It's only been a week."

Vera shrugged and then giggled. "It's just hard not to accept it when we have the proof right in front of us."

He nodded. "I know what you mean." He began to scan through several more.

"What do you think it might have been like to grow up together, Jack? For us to have had a normal childhood?" she asked after several minutes of silence.

He thought about his answer for a few moments before responding. "I'm not sure, to be honest with you." He turned to look at her. "It's still so new to me."

Vera looked at him and grinned. "I'm still trying to picture what you looked like when you might have been ten or maybe even a teenager. Not to say that I had a bad childhood, but I do feel like we were robbed in a way of going through that experience together. Who knows how close we might have been?"

Jack started to chuckle. "One day, I'd like for you to meet Jocelyn. I'm sure she could give you stories for hours of what it was like to grow up with me, including the bad parts. I was an awful teaser as a big brother."

Vera grinned. "I can see that. How does that not surprise me? I bet you were a little terror sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Jack laughed heartily. "All the time would be more truthful. The one thing I remember most about being a teenager was my adoptive parents telling me to leave my sister alone. But in my defense, Jocelyn wanted to tag along with everything I did. She was like a shadow back then."

"You can't blame her for wanting to be having fun with you," said Vera. "I don't know if I would have been any different."

"It helped that there wasn't such a large age gap between Jocelyn and I. There was only four years."

"And there's nearly twelve between us," added Vera. "I wonder what made them want to try for another baby?" Vera tapped a picture of their parents.

"I can only imagine," said Jack. "Especially when they were hunted like they were. Perhaps it was their only attempt to live somewhat normal lives with the addition of you."

"Or maybe they just missed you so much, they wanted to try again," said Vera quietly. She let out a deep sigh and then asked the question most on her mind. "Do you think they would be happy with us, Jack? With the way we turned out?"

He reached his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing her temple. "I hope so, Vera. I really hope so."

She turned to look at him. "They would be proud of you for sure. All that you've accomplished. The person you've become. That always makes me feel a bit insecure about all of this. You're this incredibly important person to the entire world, and maybe all I'll ever be is your kid sister."

"That's not true at all, Vera. You have plenty of time to find your path in life. You have to remember that I have twelve additional years on you, nearly a half of your entire life. When I was your age, I was just a fresh-faced officer just out of the Academy. I had nothing to show for anything. With all that you've survived and been through, you have more life experience than I did at this age."

Vera turned away from him. "You mean being a whore?"

"No, I don't," said Jack firmly, forcing her to look at him. "I mean for making the most of shitty situations. For being a survivor. No one can ever take that away from you. How many times could you have given up and accepted your fate? So many. Did you take any of them? No, because that's not who you are, Vera. You have a lot to be proud of."

Vera felt her eyes start to fill up with tears. "I just want them to be proud of me. I know that's stupid to say with them being dead for so long, but I just want their approval too."

He squeezed her tightly. "I'm sure you would have it. Just as you have mine. I'm proud of the person you are, Vera, and I'm so happy to call you my family."

"You mean it?" she asked with a sniffle.

Jack chuckled. "I sure do."

She nodded her head while wiping the tears from her eyes. Suddenly, she bit back a tiny laugh. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get all emotional just now."

"It's okay," he whispered. "I can understand. This past week or so has been hard on the both of us. It doesn't hurt to let out a little steam every now and then."

"You seem to be taking it a lot better than I am," she said.

"I have my moments," he said with a laugh. "Unfortunately, Kat has seen most of them."

"Don't take it out on her though, okay? She's a good person and a great friend."

"I agree with you, although there's a few items she hasn't been entirely forthcoming with us about." said Jack as the smile slowly dropped from his face.

Vera turned to look at him. "You mean all that happened at the cottage?"

Jack made a face. "And what I just found out last night."

"What is it, Jack? Tell me, please?"

He studied her face for several moments, no doubt wondering if he should tell her what really happened. Vera could tell he was struggling with his words, and every second he delayed only made her more eager to find out what he knew.

"I should probably let her tell you this, although I'm sure you would be the next to know anyway," he said finally, choosing his words carefully.

"What is it, Jack?"

He took a deep breath. "Does the last name Rosdahl mean anything to you?"

Vera pursed her lips. "Rosdahl? As in the regent family Rosdahl? That one?"

Jack nodded. "That family."

Vera shrugged. "Of course, every Galician knows of the Rosdahls."

"What do you know about the regent that was deposed? Marcus Rosdahl's daughter?"

Vera blinked. "That would be Katherine Rosdahl. Not much to be honest. Not a lot of people saw her since her father practically kept her locked up in the palace, although I heard she was beautiful. She's the one that was deposed by her cousin, a sad affair I'm told. Supposedly she's still alive, although I'm sure that wouldn't be the case if Eric got his hands on her. Why do you ask—?"

Vera stiffened suddenly as she quickly put two and two together.No way! She hit Jack's shoulder excitedly. "You can't seriously mean our Kat is . . ."

Jack nodded. "I do. It's really her, Vera. Our Kat is Katherine Rosdahl."

Vera hit his shoulder once more. "My gods, Jack! Do you know what this means? Oh my goodness, the deposed regent? And she's a Rosdahl? And we're . . . and we're . . ."

"Yes," said Jack quickly. "And we're the family the Rosdahls have spent decades hunting."

Vera took a deep breath. "Wow. I'd really hate to be her right now." Vera then turned to look at him suddenly. "She's not like the rest of them though, Jack. She wouldn't do such a thing. Kat has a kind heart."

"I know she does," said Jack with a small chuckle. "It's a shock for us, no doubt about that. But it doesn't change the way I feel about her. I hope it doesn't for you either."