by Sam Renner
He takes a seat in the pilot’s chair and pulls out his reader. He checks his credit balance. It’s still painfully low, and there’s no way to wish it fuller. But he needs funds. He’s not going to rely on Laana’s credits to get him anywhere. This is his mission. He’ll take her help, and it’s been life-saving so far, but he’s not counting on it. Not anymore.
He knows what he has to do. He stands and takes a deep breath. The Bastic fuel rods.
He opens a cabinet and pulls out a bundle of rags, mostly clean, and lays them out on the floor into a somewhat square. He takes the rods out of a second cabinet and places them on the square of rags and wraps them up tightly to disguise their glow.
He pulls on his cloak and pulls up the hood before opening the ramp. He steps off the ship into surprising quiet. He was expecting the noise and activity of the night before, but it’s not here. Everything seems to be just waking up.
The ships are all lined up in organized rows, every one parked in its space. There are the put-together captains out working on their ships, getting ready for the day. And there are the less-put-together crew members struggling to find their home ships after late nights exploring everything Otanzia has to offer. All of the bigger ship’s life-support systems create a dull hum that’s the background for the random conversations Nixon hears bits of as he passes.
The fuel rods are tucked under his arm that’s pulled inside of his cloak. His blaster is in his other hand. Last night doesn’t have him spooked. It would have back on Exte, but this is reality now. The walk back to the ship made with Laana made him realize that. He’s a guy who carries a blaster. He has to be. And not just carry it hidden away as some kind of security blanket. He’s a guy who carries a blaster and is ready to use it. That’s the life he leads now.
He looks at the ships as he passes.
How many of these are just small-time captains looking for loads to haul? Or, more importantly, how many of these ships are bounty hunters keeping their eyes peeled for familiar faces? He pulls the hood of his cloak down lower. He suddenly feels very conspicuous. He’s looking for a big ship because in his head that’s how the math works. The captain of a bigger ship is likely to have more credits. He knows that a bigger ship is no guarantee of anything. The captain of a bigger ship could just as easily have bigger debts. But there are hundreds of ships in this bay, and he needs some kind of criteria that will speed up this process, so big ships it is.
Also, bigger ships are less likely to be bounty hunters. It’s not a business that can support a lot of expenses, and big ships have a lot of expenses.
He finds a ship quickly. It’s huge and can easily carry a crew of a couple dozen. Part of its team are already out and working in one of the panels on the side. They have it swung open and are all busy pulling wires loose, cleaning off connections. It looks like typical maintenance to Nixon, and it reminds him that his own ship could probably use a little of that more often.
The woman who seems to be the captain is standing off to the side watching her team work.
“Excuse me,” Nixon says, pulling off his hood.
The woman doesn’t look to him but says “Not taking on new crew.”
“No, that’s not what I was asking about. I have a ship of my own …” he turns and points toward EHL.
“Don’t need a security team either. We’re covered.”
“No, no,” Nixon says.
“Look,” the woman finally turns to Nixon, “whatever it is you are looking for. Work, whatever. We don’t need it. We can’t give it you. We aren’t interested.”
Nixon nods and apologizes.
There are other big ships here, but that was the biggest, and her little scolding stings. But he keeps searching and finds a second ship a few minutes later.
This captain is also outside his ship. Just him this time. No crew. He’s in a chair with his head in his reader.
Nixon pulls off his hood again and brings the roll of rags out from under his cloak.
“Excuse me,” he says.
The man finishes something on his reader then places it in his lap.
“Help you?”
“Right away, just so you know, I’m not looking to crew for you. Not looking to pair up in some kind of mutually agreeable relationship. Just looking to offer you a deal.”
“Well, I don’t need crew. And I don’t partner with any other ship. Burned too many times.”
“How are you on fuel?”
“Oh, one of those?”
Nixon doesn’t understand, and that fact is written all over his face.
The man explains: “Some kind of recurring fuel thing. You have some places across the galaxy. I give you credits and you give me access to some exclusive fuel stops scattered here and there. Except you don’t. It’s all a lie to scam me out of a few hundred credits. No thanks.”
Nixon shakes his head as the captain talks. He puts the rods in one hand and starts to unwrap the rags. The green glow is there before the rods are actually visible.
“Just looking to unload these. No questions.”
“Those Bastic?”
“Of course.”
“Been burned there too. Can I hold them?”
Nixon passes the bundle across.
The man takes the rods and begins to unwrap them. The rods’ green glow creeps up his arms as he pulls the rags open. His breath catches when he sees the rods.
“You weren’t kidding,” he tells Nixon. “These are real.”
“One hundred percent.”
“And you can document ownership.”
Nixon hesitates.
“That’s what I thought,” the captain says and begins to wrap the rods back up.
“They’re mine. I moved a load of them for someone else, and I took payment in rods instead of credits. I don’t have paperwork documenting any kind of transfer of ownership, but these aren’t stolen off some other sucker captain who’s going to come tracking them down. Believe me.”
The man hands the rods back to Nixon and thanks him for the offer but says he’s going to pass.
So it can’t just be a big ship. It also needs to look a little … what? Off? Dirty? Broken? Something. Nixon will know it when he sees it, because it’s going to look familiar. Its captain is going to look like someone Nixon already recognizes. Not because he knows whoever that is. He’s too far from home for that. But he’s still going to be able to tell this person’s story. Broken life. Struggle to survive. Worry about tomorrow tomorrow, let’s just get through today. He’s going to be dealing with someone who’s a lot like him.
Adding that extra layer of qualification actually makes this process easier. He skips easily past those big, pretty ships flown by some up-and-up captain. Soon he’s not seeing those ships at all, like he’s had some mech added to his own eyes and he’s turned on some kind of filter.
Now all he sees are those bigger ships piloted by the questionable captains. These ships are a little dirty. They are a little worn. They aren’t pretty in the traditional sense. They don’t gleam or shine, but they tell much more interesting stories.
He approaches a captain of one of these ships. It’s a mid-sized hauler, bigger than EHL but a similar build. It’s sides are potmarked by blaster fire and space debris. The captain is a human man. His unkempt beard brushes his chest when he talks. And when he talks, he’s doing it around what’s left of a thick cigar.
“You want how much for these?” he asks. But that’s all he asks. He isn’t worried about documentation or certificates of ownership. That’s because after he pays Nixon the five-thousand credits he asks for the rods, this captain is going to put them straight into his engines. He’s putting them to use, burning up any evidence that he’d bought them in the first place.
Nixon watches his reader. Once his credit balance updates with the transfer from this captain, Nixon thanks him and walks away. He’s now headed inside of Otanzia, the retail district this time. He’s not worried about entertainment. He has supplies to buy.
More food. Feeding two mouths, it’s all getting eaten faster. What he’d bought on Makurra is almost gone now.
More medical supplies. He and Laana can’t seem to keep themselves from getting hurt. If they want to be able to dress those wounds he needs more bandages, ointment, and spray.
Otanzia feels different today. The lights are brighter now, the ship’s attempt to simulate day and night cycles. Nixon likes that better already. But the crowd, at least here by all the shops meant to serve the come-and-go visitors of the ship, is much more professional. These are the captains of all those polished ships out there in the hold. They aren’t looking to kill time. They are checking items off to-do lists before they can get flying again. Their ships are mostly haulers. If they aren’t hauling then they aren’t earning. Otanzia is a stopping point on a longer journey, it’s not a final destination for these captains or their ships. Nixon likes that thought. Motion. Movement. No standing still.
What was that rule he was taught as a kid? Something about objects in motion … Whatever it is, he knows it’s harder to hit a moving target, so after he gets rid of this case then maybe life is better with that little ship always moving.
He gets back to EHL and Laana is sitting in the navigator’s seat playing with the case.
Nixon asks her to help load the food and medical supplies into the cabinets.
“I figured something out about your case,” she says as they load the last of the items.
“What’s that?”
She leaves the galley to go back to the main deck. Nixon follows. The case looks normal, but Laana picks it up and says “Watch.”
She starts pushing the lock buttons.
“It’s a nine-push combination.”
Nixon had always assumed it was just a single three-button combo.
Laana pushes the last button then pulls the two halves of the case apart. They separate but don’t open. On the case, the small etched lines deepen once the two halves are separated.
“This is a Tychon case,” she says.
“Yeah, I figured. Tychon makes everything. Almost all that stuff we just loaded has a Tychon T on it.”
Laana shakes her head. “No, not just made by them. This is a Tychon case. They didn’t make it to sell. It’s something they made to use. If your friend had this case then he was working for Tychon.”
11
“You’re wrong.”
“I’m not. Maybe he wasn’t employed full time by Tychon, but to get this case he was definitely tied up with them in some way.”
“Couldn’t just be a case that someone had laying around?”
Laana shakes her head and hands the still-separated case to Nixon.
He takes it and looks at it closer.
“See those holes?” Small pin holes at the end of the etched lines that have appeared on the case.
Nixon turns the case over in his hands. The little holes are on each of the surfaces.
“To get the case open you need a set of keys that fit inside. You can’t get those keys if you aren’t Tychon.”
“That’s what you wanted to show me. A case that I still can’t get into.”
“Well …” she hesitates. “I know a guy.”
“Of course you do.” Nixon pushes the two halves back together. The lock resets. The etched lines disappear.
“He’s here. On Otanzia.”
“Of course he is.”
Nixon places the case back on the dash.
“Want to meet him? See if he can get inside?”
“I don’t know,” Nixon says. He thinks for a moment. He doesn't want to know what's inside. It doesn't matter. The job was to get the case to Azken. Deliver it. Be done.
The job was supposed to be easy. It wasn't supposed to cost Shaine his life. It wasn't supposed to cause Mira to uproot hers. It wasn't supposed to leave Nixon scrambling his way across the galaxy. And it definitely wasn't supposed to involve Tychon.
But here he is. A job that's gone all directions of sideways and working for an organization that he never wanted to tangle with. Why not find out what's cost so much and been deemed so valuable? Why not at least know?
“Sure,” Nixon says. “Contact him.”
++xxx++
The main hallways of Otanzia are lit like it’s early afternoon, but here, inside of this bar, everything looks like it’s deep night. Nixon and Laana are sitting in a booth that’s shadowed even more. A small bit of light comes from a fake candle sitting in a glass holder on the table.
Laana watches the main door and taps her fingers on the tabletop. Nixon fidgets with the case. It’s sitting in his lap underneath his cloak.
“Why were you hesitant?” Laana asks.
“Hesitant?”
“This morning. When I said I knew a guy who could get the case open, you didn’t jump on it. Had to think about it.”
Nixon shrugs.
“You still seem unsure.”
“Because I am,” Nixon says.
“You don’t want to know what’s inside that case?”
“End of the day, yes. That’s why we’re here.”
Laana turns back to the door. A pair of humans who look like they just stepped off a ship for the first time in months walk through. They look worn down and tired, but they aren’t going to miss the opportunity to take a real walk and get a real drink.
“They’ll be drunk within an hour,” Laana says.
“I’ll give them half that.”
The crowd in the bar starts to grow as the afternoon wears on and more and more captains bring their ships into Otanzia’s hold. Nixon and Laana size up each of the people walking through the door until she waves at a new entrant.
It’s a big thing. Tall. Arms as thick as tree trunks. It’s skin is orange, and its bald head is covered by a field of small blue horns.
It raises a meaty hand to Laana as it approaches.
“Aldius,” she says. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too, Laana.” It’s a voice that rattles everything inside Nixon, all the way down to his toes.
Aldius takes a seat at the table with them and Laana makes introductions. Nixon wastes no time diving into their situation. He runs his thumb across the locking mechanism as he explains that Shaine was a friend and that he was killed while he briefed Nixon on the job. Small case. Needs to get to Azken. Doesn’t know who it needs to get to. Doesn’t know exactly where it needs to be delivered. Not yet.
The whole time “He was working for Tychon” is running on a loop in the back of his head. Nixon finishes his explanation, and Laana says “That’s why I contacted you. Best cracker I know. If anyone can get into this case …”
“I appreciate the confidence. But if your friend is giving you a case and is asking you to get it to Azken then you’re delivering to Tychon.”
Laana jabs him with an elbow.
“I don’t think I am,” Nixon says. “I knew Shaine a long time. I know the kinds of people he’d work with. I’m sure there are plenty of people who aren’t Tychon on Azken. He was working with one of them.”
“Could be. I suppose,” Aldius says. “But I prefer to play the odds.”
Nixon doesn’t respond, and the table sits in silence for a moment.
“So, let me take a look at this case.”
Nixon pulls the case out from under his cloak. He places it on the table and slides it across to Aldius.
Nixon removes his hand and Aldius’ eyes go wide, and his horns stand on end.
“Whoa.”
12
“What?” Nixon and Laana say it in unison.
Aldius inspects it. He turns it over and over. He plays with the locking mechanism.
“I’ve heard of these, but I’ve never seen one.”
“A Tychon case?” Laana asks. “I’ve been talking you up and now you’re saying that you’ve never seen a Tychon case before?”
Aldius continues to stare at the case. He rubs gentle fingers against the metal sides.
&nbs
p; “Yes, I’ve seen Tychon cases before. Hundreds of them. Thousands.” He pauses and continues to admire Nixon’s case. “But not one of these Tychon cases.”
“What do you mean?” Nixon asks.