Story code: ST-001166
Part 4: Bitter Release
Marcus tapped his collar to silence the comm, his eyes locked on the glowing terminal screen. The red alert indicator on my wrist-pad began to pulse faster, signaling that the automated customs sweep was starting its final pre-flight check. If the system flagged the duplicate signature, the port authority would halt the boarding bridge, and the override log containing Marcus’s personal signature would be sent directly to the federal registry.
‘If that manifest goes to manual audit, they will trace the sponsor key,’ I said. ‘They will see you boarded a shadow passenger under my name.’
Marcus looked at the countdown timer on the wall. Ten minutes remained before the hatch sealed. He did not deny it. He did not apologize. He simply stood there, his breathing shallow, calculating the cost of a public audit against the value of his corporate reputation.
‘What do you want, Leo?’ he asked, his voice flat.
‘I want off this planet,’ I said. ‘I’m not staying behind so you can collect double funding on my seat.’
‘The Vanguard-9 passenger cabin is fully booked. Every seat is physically occupied,’ Marcus said, his defensive posture fading into a cold, transactional demeanor. ‘I cannot remove the passenger who is already on board without triggering the exact audit we are trying to avoid. They are already strapped into seat 14C.’
‘Then find another way,’ I said. I raised my wrist-pad, hovering my finger over the network share icon. ‘Or the port authority gets this timestamp log right now.’
Marcus stared at my finger for a long second. Then, he pulled out his corporate tablet, his fingers tapping the glass with rapid, precise movements. ‘There is a logistics ferry, LF-3, docked to the cargo bay of the Vanguard-9. It launches simultaneously to transport heavy equipment. It has an unpressurized cargo hold, but the crew cabin has a single auxiliary jumpseat for cargo handlers.’
He pulled up the terminal override screen, entering his sponsor key to authorize a ticket transfer. ‘I can assign you to the cargo deck. It is loud, it is cold, and you will not have access to the passenger lounge or the colony transit modules. But it will get you to the colony.’
‘Write the ticket,’ I said.
Marcus tapped the final confirmation. My wrist-pad chimed, the amber lock screen dissolving into a gray logistics pass marked *LF-3 Cargo Handler / Non-Passenger Class*.
‘Under one condition,’ Marcus said, pointing at my terminal screen. ‘You delete the cached audit log from your local device. Once the Vanguard-9 clears the atmosphere, the gate records are archived. If you keep your mouth shut, the discrepancy disappears.’
I looked at the cargo pass on my screen. It was not the comfortable cabin my mother had helped secure for me. It was a cold steel jumpseat in a dark hold, a ticket bought with silence. But it was a ticket.
I tapped the terminal screen, clearing the local cache and deleting the log from my device. The screen went blank, returning to the standard Vance Spaceport welcome display.
‘Go through the utility elevator at the end of the hall,’ Marcus said, not looking at me as he turned back toward the main gate. ‘The cargo handler will scan you in.’
I didn’t say goodbye. I walked down the metal corridor, away from the passenger gate where the shadow passenger was flying in comfort under my name. I reached the cargo loading dock, where Officer Cruz was already supervising the final crate secures. She scanned my logistics pass without a word, her expression indifferent, and pointed me toward the narrow, unlit hatch of the ferry. I climbed inside, buckling myself into the hard metal seat among the shipping containers, listening to the heavy hatch lock me into the dark.