Freelance On The Galactic Tunnel Network

by E. M. Foner

  “I hope you don’t mean that literally,” John said.

  “No, but I had some hungry days.”

  “And you said the repo team was nice about it?”

  “Yeah, they were actually the same reps who helped me with the refi. They both felt terrible about having to take my ship, but that’s part of their job. The woman piloted the ship they came on and the guy followed her in my ship.”

  “How did they get here so fast? It takes at least a day to travel to the habitat from the tunnel at top speed.”

  “I asked them about that and they said they happened to be in the system already to meet with other clients. I guess when a mortgage goes delinquent, MORE assigns the repossession to the nearest team, and I just got unlucky. Sometimes I think my luck ran out back when the Sharf sold my mortgage, because I was doing okay before then. Not getting rich, but I made my payments and I wasn’t starving.”

  “Traffic control has released navigation lockout,” the ship’s controller reported.

  “Run a filter on the nearest part of the asteroid belt to check for debris from explosions,” John instructed. “Report when you find—”

  “There are signs of recent explosions throughout the target volume of space.”

  “Put the closest one on the main viewer. Recognize anything, Mario?”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what the miners were complaining about. That big asteroid that looks sort of like a dumbbell has a half-dozen claims staked on it, and I did some work for two of the prospectors there. It’s getting pelted with micro-debris right now, and I’ll bet the miners who set off the charge on that egg-shaped rock not far off never even transmitted a fire-in-the-hole warning.”

  “I’m surprised the others don’t get together and run them off.”

  “The way I heard it, SHARE sort of snuck up on everybody,” Mario said. “They sent some advance agents to quietly buy up claims, and then they brought in a transport with a couple thousand contract miners in one go. They’re bringing in new miners and supplies and taking out the ingots at least once a week.”

  “But they don’t process the ore at the local habitat.”

  “Nope. That’s one of the reasons I had such a hard time making ends meet—there’s not enough work left. SHARE brought in an old Frunge mining ship that handles crushing the ore and separating the metals, nobody knows if it’s leased or owned. And the guys running it just eject the waste back into the asteroid belt. It’s a complete mess.”

  “Any idea where that ship is stationed?”

  “They move it around, almost like they’re trying to spread rock dust over as much space as possible just to make life hard on the independents. I don’t know if your controller—”

  “Frunge mining vessel Gzelda located,” the ship’s controller interrupted. “Shall I intercept?”

  “Yes, and try to raise them on the comms,” John replied.

  “Hey, that’s not a standard ship controller,” Mario said. “It sounds almost like AI.”

  “In addition to the security add-on for the basic tunnel navigation controller licensed from the Stryx, I have expert system software for solo operations. It’s what people back on Earth would have called artificial intelligence before we found out that to everybody else in the galaxy, AI implies non-biological sentience.”

  “Does it give you trading advice? I could have used something like that.”

  “Gzelda responded to my hail with a warning to keep our distance or they won’t be responsible for our safety,” the controller announced.

  “Tell them I’ve got gold extraction chemicals for—tell them it’s salvage I’m looking to unload for cash,” John interrupted himself. “And ask for a comm channel again. Promise I’ll make it worth their while.”

  “Hey, boss,” Mario said. “I’m not one to call the kettle black, but when you say ‘salvage’, do you mean you’ve been dealing with the Free Republic?”

  “No, I got the goods in barter from a Huktra, but I’ve found that crooked people are more likely to buy if they think that you’re one of them. Controller, divert more power to the dust shields. I don’t like the look of this space we’re getting into.”

  “Already done,” the ship’s controller replied. “I have a positive response from Gzelda. Opening comms.”

  A dour woman in her fifties whose face looked a bit puffy from too much time spent in Zero-G appeared on the main viewer. Her eyes flicked past Mario, dismissing him, and settled on John. “Make it quick,” she said.

  “I’ve got a load of cyanide salts and hydrochloric acid and the habitat processor says they’ve got all they need,” John said. “I’m on my way to Rendezvous and Vergallian customs has a whole thing with hazardous chemical control forms I’d just as soon avoid.”

  The woman snorted and looked off to her right, obviously getting information from somebody who was invisible to the camera. “You have to identify yourself as a reporter when I ask if you’re with the Galactic Free Press, and I’m asking.”

  “Not me,” John said and laughed. “It would make me very unhappy should word of our business get around.”

  The woman stared out of the viewscreen at him for almost a half a minute before making up her mind. “We’ll divert the waste ejection for thirty seconds when you approach, but longer than that, you’re going to get the paint sand-blasted off your pretty ship. Our bay can fit four ships your size, and there’s only one in there at the moment, so you shouldn’t have any trouble landing. If your approach looks wrong to our factory controller, it will blast you with the primary asteroid defense system, so don’t screw around.”

  “Got it,” John said. “Estimated time of arrival—”

  “Thirty-seven minutes,” the ship’s controller put in.

  The viewscreen went back to showing the asteroid belt, but both men were pressed into their seats as the ship accelerated. Despite the fact that asteroid belts throughout the galaxy were famed for being mainly space and very little asteroid, the ship had to perform multiple course corrections to avoid debris on the way to the Gzelda, leaving neither man in the mood for chitchat. Thirty-seven minutes and eighteen seconds later, the two-man Sharf trader decelerated hard as the simple momentum scavenging field favored by Frunge shipbuilders brought it to rest in the docking bay.

  “Factory ships always look beat up, but this one must be around a million years old,” John commented on the image presented by the main viewscreen as he unbuckled his safety restraints.

  “Don’t radiation and metal fatigue cut that short?” Mario asked.

  “I wasn’t being literal, but the Frunge are advanced enough to have workarounds, though nothing as reliable as Stryx stasis fields.” He activated his magnetic cleats and swung around in the chair to bring his boots into contact with the deck. Then he shuffled to a locker, palmed it open, and removed a belt with a holstered Dollnick stunner. “Listen,” John said. “I don’t expect trouble here, but if anything does happen, just tell them the truth about hitching a ride.”

  “I’m not a hero, but I’ll take one of those if you’ve got a spare,” the young man offered. “I had one on my ship but I didn’t get a chance to grab it. The repossession happened so quickly.”

  John shot an appraising look at his passenger, and then removed another belt from the locker and pushed it gently across the cabin in Zero-G. Mario caught it, fastened the belt, and checked the charge on the power pack. There was a loud banging from below, and rather than making their hosts wait, John ordered the controller to lower the ramp as he headed for the ladder.

  The woman who had answered the comms was accompanied by three muscle-bound thugs who didn’t look like they knew anything about running a metallurgical factory ship. They were halfway up the ramp by the time John and Mario were in position to meet them.

  “Where is it?” she demanded.

  “Controller, work lighting,” John instructed. “All of those drums behind the netting are hydrochloric acid, and the stackable containers with the skull and
crossbones are the cyanide.”

  “Nice artwork,” the woman said grudgingly. “Do it yourself?”

  “I have a stencil,” John admitted. “I’ll trade you for straight weight in nickel ingots unless you’d rather pay in gold.”

  The oldest joke in space drew a short bark of laughter from the leader and smirks from her three musclemen, decreasing the tension in the hold by several degrees.

  “Ten ingots for the lot and you don’t have to fill out any forms,” she countered.

  “Fifteen, and five minutes of your time,” John said. “I’ve got a good source for this stuff and I’m trying to build a steady customer base who can take quantity.”

  “My time is worth more than that,” the woman said. “Ten ingots and I’ll join you on your bridge while these four make the exchange.”

  “Fair enough. Mario, make sure you load an ingot for every two drums and three containers that goes out.”

  “Got it, boss,” the young man said.

  The woman nodded for John to precede her up the ladder, leaving the four younger men to work the transfer. Once they reached the bridge, she looked around, and spotting the manual override to close the hatch, hit it. “A little privacy,” she said.

  “We may be on my ship, but we’re inside your ship,” John pointed out.

  “I’m just a hired gun who knows how to run the equipment because I worked a twenty-year contract for the Frunge, but as a technician, not a captain,” she said. “I committed to six months here to get the operation up and running for SHARE, and believe you me, I won’t be signing an extension. My name’s Liz,” she added, looking him straight in the eyes. “Liz Barnes, and I run the operation the way they tell me. You happened to come on a day that my minder is off giving somebody else a hard time or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “But you’re authorized to trade…”

  “Those ten ingots wouldn’t pay for twenty percent of what you’re giving me and you know it. You’re some kind of cop, aren’t you? Are you working for the Frunge? The Drazens? I was in a bad situation when I took this deal and I had no way of knowing how SHARE operated.” She reached in her coverall’s pocket and pulled out a data chip that might have been for a home entertainment system. “Names, dates, documents. I’ve been hoping somebody like you would come along and I want to make a deal.”

  “You’re only half right,” John said. “I’m with EarthCent Intelligence. We work closely with the Drazens and ISPOA but I’m here on our own operation.”

  “What’s ISPOA?”

  “The Inter Species Police Operations Agency. Why do you think the Frunge would be closing in? Is this ship stolen?”

  “The Gzelda? If she’s stolen then there’s a scrapyard owner somewhere wondering what happened to one of his piles of junk. No, I heard that SHARE is planning to expand to Break Rock, and the habitat there is still owned by the Frunge, even though everything is leased to humans. Something tells me that my former employers won’t be as tolerant as the Drazens when it comes to an operation like SHARE depreciating their assets.”

  John hesitated, and then pulled an odd-looking ring off his finger. “Okay, here’s what I can do. The only way I can shield you if ISPOA gets involved is if you’re working for us. That’s a Drazen poison detection ring, standard issue for our field agents, so if you get caught up in a sweep, it should convince the Frunge to check your story with us. Your name goes on the rolls as an undercover source, and any EarthCent cultural attaché will be able to vouch for you. Good enough?”

  Liz pushed the data chip towards John and he sent the ring back the same way. The two objects passed each other in flat Zero-G trajectories and were caught by their respective targets. “Deal,” the woman said.

  They both headed back to the hatch and pulled themselves down the ladder to the cargo deck. The swap was already wrapping up, so the musclemen must have been good for something after all. Mario called to John from the area where the chemicals had been stacked. “You better have a look at this, Captain.”

  John shuffled over on his magnetic cleats, bracing himself to see metal eaten away by a hydrochloric acid leak. His temporary guest was pointing at a large container that the EarthCent Intelligence agent didn’t recognize.

  “Are they dumping their trash on us or something?”

  “No,” Mario said. “It was behind the drums and containers you just traded for ingots. The thing is,” the young man hesitated, “I think I heard something moving inside. The container has holes in it.”

  “Controller, close the main hatch,” John ordered, suddenly feeling very tired. “Mario, you better go up on the bridge and lock yourself in, just in case.”

  “I’m not afraid of a couple of space rats.”

  “If it is what I think it is, it eats space rats for snacks.”

  “There’s something taped to the side,” Mario offered helpfully. “Maybe a packing slip?”

  John shuffled forward, hoping against hope that his intuition had failed him, and pulled the folded note off the container. The hand-printed scrawl read:

  John,

  I hope you don’t mind babysitting Semmi for a few weeks. She’ll probably sleep through most of it since I’ve had her up for months. I’ll catch up to you at Rendezvous and make it worth your while.

  Myort

  Thirteen

  “Have you been to Aarden before?” Georgia asked Larry. Her fingers dug into the armrests of the co-pilot’s chair as the two-man trader barreled through the atmosphere, its direct energy conversion shield shedding excess heat as electrical discharges. “It will be weird for me walking on a real planet after living on Union Station for three years.”

  “It’s my first time here,” Larry replied, his eyes on the main viewscreen as the ship broke through a concentration of thunder clouds, adding its own lightning to the show. “The Stryx opened the tunnel just recently. Didn’t you say you worked on the All Species Cookbook?”

  “Tasting recipes, but what does that have to do with it?”

  “You know that Aarden is a Fleet Vergallian world and they never signed the tunnel network treaty. There’s a rumor that the real reason the Stryx agreed to connect the planet has to do with some multi-party negotiation in which the Imperial Vergallians agreed to stop trying to undermine EarthCent. Supposedly the cookbook was at the center of the deal.”

  “Oh, that. The word in the newsroom was that there were a bunch of secret treaties involved, and unfortunately, the aliens are better at keeping their mouths shut than we are. Besides, I thought that the sovereign human community on Aarden was one of the biggest, and they were enough to meet the requirement for a tunnel exit without the Vergallians.”

  “Close to thirty million of us at last count,” Larry confirmed. “There are a couple of Dollnick open worlds with more humans than Aarden, and maybe the Drazens and the Frunge each have a planet that comes close, but it is a lot of people to be living on an alien world without being there as contract workers. Like I said, the cookbook thing was just a rumor I heard.”

  “Are you sure I’ll have time to take the elevator up to orbit and find transportation to Flower before the Colony One ship arrives?”

  “Easily. You’ll be able to spend a full day on the ground helping me prepare for the election before you have to leave, but I thought you were giving up on that story.”

  “I hope to at least get an article about Flower’s open house out of it. The Colony One people said they’ve arranged tours for whoever shows up, and I also have a friend on board. Dianne used to cover the entertainment scene on Union Station for the Galactic Free Press and she helped me get started on restaurant reviews.”

  “Touchdown in sixty seconds,” the ship’s controller announced. “Deceleration at two G’s.”

  The pair saved their breath as their weight increased to double of what it would have been on Earth, and one minute later the Sharf trade ship set down on its shock-absorbing landing gear with barely a bump. The image on the main
viewscreen was replaced with a silver-haired woman whose face was split by a wide smile.

  “Mom,” Larry said. “You got here before us.”

  “I’ve been tracking your transponder since you came out of the tunnel, but your father told me not to interrupt during the approach and landing. You’re right next to us.”

  “I gave the controller the coordinates for the campsite Dad sent, so complain to him if you didn’t want me for a neighbor.”

  “And who’s your friend?”

  “Mom, this is Georgia Hunt. Georgia, Mom.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Uh…”

  “Rachel. We don’t use last names in this family. I’m just putting dinner out so I expect to see you both as soon as you finish up there.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Larry said, snapping a salute. The main viewer went blank. “Hope you don’t mind family get-togethers,” he added as he unbuckled his safety restraints. “I just need to go through the post-landing checklist with the controller, but you can go out and stretch your legs if you want.”

  “Sure. How long will it take?”

  “Just five minutes or so if nothing needs adjusting. Aarden’s gravity is around eight percent higher than Earth standard, so don’t be surprised if you feel a bit heavy.”

  Georgia wasn’t sure if she really felt the weight difference on her arms going down the ladder or if it was psychosomatic. She found that the ramp was already descending when she got to the bottom, meaning that Larry must have instructed the controller to do it for her. She barely had a chance to breathe in a lungful of fresh air before a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties approached.

  “Georgia?”

  “Rachel?”

  “I was hoping you’d come out first. Once Larry and his father start talking Guild politics we won’t be able to get a word in edgewise. So how long have the two of you been together?”

  “You mean me and Larry?” Georgia hesitated for a moment because she hated to disappoint Larry’s mother. “I’m a paying passenger. I work for the Galactic Free Press and I needed a way to follow the Colony One ship around.”