Home Run

by Nathan Lowell

  “She would. So, rock to ore to metal to sheets?” Regyri asked.

  “Yeah. Or extruded bars or whatever. We brought out one of the bright boys that my grandfather keeps around in Margary. Coming to the Toe-Holds was a shock for him but he’s been spinning castles in the sky.” Zoya sipped her coffee. “I think Natalya picked up some of the ideas and started trying to put them together.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, that would be Natty.”

  “Would make even more sense to add the alloy component, wouldn’t it? Advanced alloys aren’t easy to come by out here, are they?”

  Regyri nodded. “Yeah. That’s actually a great idea. It’s a bit spendy to set up but having access to alloyed metals? Yeah. That would speed things along.”

  “Rumor is that Usoko Mining has at least one more operation out here. You wouldn’t know about that?” Zoya asked.

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Naw. I only knew about this one because I’m next door and—” He paused to catch a breath. “And I knew Micah.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Zoya said.

  He looked at her sharply, but his expression softened. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet and low.

  “So, you wanna come back with me to see Natalya? She keeps saying she needs to hunt you down to find out if you’re still alive.”

  He gave a short laugh. “I haven’t exactly been there for her.”

  Zoya shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m biased because I admire her, but I think you did a pretty damn good job with her.” She stopped and took a drink of her coffee, trying to think of what to say. “I’d never been out to the Toe-Holds before. I knew about it, but I guess the Usoko name kept me pretty isolated.”

  He looked over at her. “And Natty brought you out here?”

  “Yeah. We left the academy kind of suddenly. We’ve been working our way around Toe-Hold space ever since.”

  “It’s different,” he said.

  Zoya laughed. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  He glanced at her. “You have a preference?”

  The question caught Zoya by surprise. “Preference. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “You’ve been out of the High Line for a while, now. How’d it feel when you went to visit your grandparents?”

  “I didn’t really get a chance to see. We dropped into Margary Orbital for replenishment and then over to the Usoko residence. We didn’t see much of it.”

  He shrugged. “Something to think about the next time you’re up that way.”

  “We’ve got a lot of work do to here for the next little while.”

  “You’ll only need to hold it together until Konstantin can get a net under it. He gets the best out of people. You wait. Three months, he’ll have the grinders up and running. Smelters two months after that.” He winked. “Probably the metal finishing and alloy operation by this time next stanyer.”

  “That’s if we can hold it together.”

  “You will. You don’t have to do it all yourself. You’re allowed to get help.” Regyri’s expression turned inward at those words, as if they had a sudden meaning for him.

  “Oh, crap, I almost forgot,” Zoya said. “We need construction crews. Deep space–experienced workers. All we have left is the marshaling terminal and a bunch of cans out there. I think most of them are full.”

  “If you sold them, they’d give you capital to buy what you need. Add what’s coming in from the barges and haulers and you’ve already got some seed capital. You’re thinking of converting a can to use as a construction base?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any better ideas at the moment. They’re big. They’re airtight. Add a fusactor for power and an environmental rig, and we’re in business.”

  Regyri nodded. “Mess deck. Berthing area. Head. Enough for a hundred people, at least.”

  “But we need the people who can do the installation and the materials to make it happen,” Zoya said.

  “Could you make it for a few weeks if you had enough food?”

  Zoya pondered that question, staring out at the docking bay. “If they can get the water, I think so. Assuming we can keep the barges and haulers supplied with scrubber cartridges. I’ve asked Dr. Stevens if she can round up a printer, models, and feed stock so we can make the ones we need.”

  “Your grandfather could probably get a freighter here from Margary in that amount of time, but I’d bet he doesn’t send one from there.”

  She grinned. “You’re probably right.”

  He unfolded himself from the couch the same way she had seen Natalya do a hundred times. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said. “And sorry for barging in.”

  “No harm, no foul,” she said. “Will you give me your system coordinates? Natalya would kill me if I didn’t get them.”

  He looked at her and then at the console. “Tell her, I said to use a bigger hammer.”

  His answer surprised a laugh out of Zoya. “Use a bigger hammer?”

  “She’ll figure it out. If not, I’ll see her again soon.” He slotted his cup in the dirty dish rack and headed for the lock. He was off the ship before Zoya could think of how to stop him.

  “She’s going to kill me.”

  Chapter 26

  Port Lumineux:

  2368, February 11

  The console bipped with incoming traffic. “About damn time.”

  She slapped the keys to get the message open and then stared at it. She felt like her jaw might have hit the keyboard if only she’d been sitting a bit closer to it.

  “‘Do whatever you think necessary’?” She tried to scroll down or scroll up or something, but that was the message. “Three days and ‘Do whatever you think necessary’ is my answer?” She threw herself back into her couch and clutched her head. “Are they mad?”

  Piqued and exhausted, she took a deep breath. “What would Natalya do?” She grinned and went to the galley and started a pot of coffee. She pulled out her tablet, dropped a line to Rachel Carstairs, and started a list. The brew cycle and her list finished at the same time. She poured a cup and got to work.

  “First things first,” she said and settled down to her console to draft the first message. She hit send and moved on to the next item. She pulled up the station net and started searching. A stan later she was frustrated by the results but her tablet bipped with an incoming message. She smiled and moved on down the line. By dinnertime, she found herself at the end of her list, chewing on her lip, and wondering how any station could operate the way Port Lumineux appeared to.

  The lock call buzzed. She glanced at the chrono and cursed. She ran down the passageway to the lock to find one of the uniformed station people waiting just outside. She keyed the inner door open. “Yes?”

  “I was instructed to escort you to dinner, sar.”

  The light dawned and she wondered why she hadn’t caught it before. She examined his uniform, completely without identifying marks. No rank insignia. No name badge. “Thank you, er? Your name and rank?”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I would be honored if you would call me Escort, sar.”

  “Of course, Escort. One moment. I’m running a few ticks late.”

  “Of course, sar.”

  She dashed back to her stateroom, stripped out of the sweaty, coffee-smeared shipsuit, and skinned into a fresh set of undress khakis. She ran a hand through her cropped hair and stopped to take a couple of deep breaths. She opened the lock again four ticks later.

  “I’m sorry for the delay, Escort.”

  “It’s not a problem, sar.” He stepped out of the small lock and waited for her at the bottom of the ramp. “Right this way, sar.”

  He led her through empty corridors and stopped beside an unmarked door. He rapped twice and swung the door open for her to enter. “Enjoy your meal, sar.”

  “Thank you, Escort.”

  “My pleasure, sar.”

  She stepped into the room. The door clicked closed behind her as Dr. Stevens looked
up from her tablet. “Good evening, Zoya. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to spend as much time with you as I wanted. It’s been a busy week.”

  “I understand, Dr. Stevens. I’m grateful that we were able to have one last meeting before I go.”

  “I’ve notified the steward that we’re ready for dinner. Perhaps you can tell me what’s happened since we met.” She waved Zoya to a small dining table set up to one side of the carefully unremarkable room.

  A door at the back swung open and a young man wearing the white tunic and black slacks of a steward rolled a service cart into the room. He presented the simple meals with subdued flair before parking his cart to one side and offering a small bow as he backed out, closing the door behind him.

  “Sorry we have no wine tonight,” Stevens said with a small grimace. “I hope the food will make up for it.”

  “Honestly, I’m not much of a drinker, wine or otherwise. I wanted to update you on the status of our emergency and ask if you have any words of wisdom.”

  Stevens unfolded the linen and placed it on her lap. “I don’t know how much wisdom I can offer, but yes, please. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to for the last few days.”

  “Mostly I’ve been cooling my jets and waiting for the company to send instructions,” Zoya said, addressing the meal of grilled beef, sautéed potatoes, and green beans.

  “These things take time as you know all too well.”

  Zoya nodded. “I do. I put the time to use by trying to put some kind of order to the things that need to happen back at the site.” She took a small bite of the beef. “This is delicious.”

  “Thank you, but I can’t claim much credit for it. We have an excellent procurement division.”

  “Well, my compliments to the chef.” Zoya took a sip of the coffee. “I met Natalya’s father the other day. He seemed surprised that she wasn’t here.”

  “I bet he was.” Stevens tilted her head in that birdlike way that Zoya remembered from their earlier meeting. “He didn’t make trouble, I hope.”

  “No. Nothing like that. He was distressed over the loss of the smelter, of course. He apparently had friends there.”

  Stevens speared a couple of beans with her fork. “Yes. One of the things about Toe-Hold space. It’s a close-knit community, and the ties between adjacent systems are more often friendly than competitive.”

  “So I’m learning.”

  Stevens placed her utensils on the side of her plate and folded her hands together in front of her face, a faint smile teasing the corners of her eyes. “So? Perhaps we can stop tip-toeing around?”

  “My instructions are ‘Do whatever you think necessary.’”

  Stevens’s eyebrows shot up her forehead as she gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Whatever you think necessary? That’s it?”

  “That was my reaction, too.” Zoya scooped the last bit of beef from her plate and chewed it slowly.

  Stevens sat back in her chair and eyed her like she was sizing up an unexpected package at her door. “That was this morning, I take it?”

  “It was, yes. I’ll be heading back tonight. I need to check in with Natalya and Bean. I wanted to thank you for your support in person.”

  Stevens’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I haven’t done much. Arranged for a printer and some feedstock to be delivered to the dock. You got them, I take it?”

  “I did, thank you. I’ve also sent a message to Brian Dorion at High Tortuga Communications to see if we can expedite getting our comms buoy back on line. Communications will be important to coordinate the recovery efforts.”

  “So you’ve decided to rebuild?” Stevens picked up her fork again and seemed comfortable letting Zoya lead the way.

  “Yes and no.” Zoya placed her utensils across her empty plate and picked up the coffee cup again. “We’re going to reestablish the station, but not as a smelter.”

  “Really?” What then?”

  “We’ll be adding a metal alloy and forming operation. The sector there has good deposits of metals and rare earths. I believe we’ll find some gold, silver, even iridium as we work through the belts.”

  “Ambitious,” Stevens said.

  “Thanks but I think it’s doable. It will take some time, but if we can keep our fleet intact in the short term, I believe we’ll have a lot to offer here in Toe-Hold space in the stanyers to come.”

  “You’re probably right. Advanced alloys aren’t common out here.”

  “So I understand. I also know that several of the big players in the High Line have operations out here. I know Manchester has at least one yard. If Manchester’s here, so is Mellon-Merc. Where Mellon-Merc is, Pravda can’t be far behind.”

  Stevens leaned forward and her gaze sharpened. “That’s pretty astute reasoning. You have any evidence to base this on?”

  Zoya shrugged. “I grew up in Manchester’s shadow and Manchester never came to dinner unless Mellon-Merc and Pravda were at the table.”

  Stevens leaned back in her seat and folded her hands across her middle. “And ... ?”

  “And a little bird might have mentioned that Manchester has at least two yards in the Toe-Holds and that my grandfather has at least two operations out here as well.” Zoya shrugged again. “Might be coincidence.”

  “How does that feed into your decision to expand the operation at the smelter?”

  “I know how my grandmother organizes her supply chains.”

  “And?”

  “And Manchester isn’t there.”

  Stevens slid down in her seat and stared at Zoya for several long moments, her eyes narrowed and the smallest of smiles on her lips.

  “She’s been after me since I was small. Grooming me to take over the organization. I realize that this operation is a honey trap,” Zoya said. “She didn’t have anything to do with the loss but she’s always been excellent at thinking on her feet and isn’t above using this for her own purposes.”

  “And she wants you to come back into the fold,” Stevens said.

  “Yes. She was hinting about me taking over one of the remote operations before we got the word about UM17.”

  “So your instructions are a test?”

  “I think so.”

  “You’re going to pass it,” Stevens said.

  “Not just pass it. I’m going to own it.”

  “What about Natalya?”

  Zoya smiled. “Natalya Regyri is my wingman. I expect she’ll fly with me.”

  “You need me for something.”

  Zoya settled back in her chair, mirroring Stevens’s pose. “I have a short-term problem that needs fixing and I don’t have the means to fix it.”

  “You think I might?”

  Zoya shook her head. “No. Of course not. You’re a textbook author and a teacher.”

  Stevens snorted.

  “You might know somebody who could suggest a solution.”

  “The problem?”

  “I need housing, power, and logistical support for the construction advance team.”

  “I’m listening,” Stevens said.

  “I also have a crippled Barbell adrift in my backyard with a bunch of criminals and thugs in it.”

  “TIC has no jurisdiction here.”

  “I didn’t say anything about TIC.” Zoya leaned forward again. “But somebody popped a bomb in a can full of food and then didn’t get far enough away before it triggered. I’d bet one or more of those thugs might know something about it and that somebody out here in the Deep Dark might like to know how that all came to be.”

  Stevens shrugged. “Interesting problem. Why come to me?”

  Zoya shrugged. “I don’t know who’s flying stealthed interceptors on this station’s approaches, but I’d bet you do. Sar.” Zoya finished her coffee and placed the cup down in its saucer. “And I bet you like interesting problems.” She stood and smiled across the table. “Sorry to eat and run, Maggie, but I need some beauty sleep before I head back. Thanks for dinner.” She extende
d a hand and Stevens stood to shake it.

  “It’s been a delight meeting you, Zoya. Next time bring Natalya with you. I think we’d find a lot to talk about.”

  “Thank you. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by.”

  Stevens laughed.

  “Escort’s waiting, isn’t he?”

  Stevens nodded and offered an apologetic shrug.

  “Good night, Dr. Stevens,” Zoya said. “And thanks again.”

  Chapter 27

  Smelter Seventeen:

  2368, February 12

  Zoya settled the ship on the deck and waited for the shuttle dock to pressurize. The dock’s inner door popped open as soon as it was safe and Natalya all but flew to the ship. Zoya waved to her through the armorglass and made it to the lock in time to open it before Natalya did.

  “Well?” Natalya asked.

  “They weren’t particularly helpful.”

  “Who? Port Lumineux?”

  “No, my grandparents. Their entire reply was ‘Do whatever you think necessary.’”

  Natalya started to say something but shut down and frowned at Zoya. “She wouldn’t have.”

  “What? Set this up? No. Take advantage of it? Yes.”

  Natalya looked at the deck and shook her head with a low growl. “What are we going to do?” she asked without looking up.

  “Where’s Bean?”

  “He’s got his head in his toolbox.” Natalya looked up then. “He had a complete drafting setup in one of those boxes. Computer, drafting table, wide bed printer. The works.”

  “Does he know how to use it?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s definitely the real deal.”

  “What’s in the other box?”

  Natalya shrugged. “He hasn’t opened it yet.”

  “I thought he had tool tools in them. Wrenches and screwdrivers and stuff,” Zoya said.

  “For him, those are tools,” Natalya said. “So other than that, how did it go?”

  “I made friends with the natives, I think. I didn’t get to see too much of them. They’re kinda stand-offish.” She shrugged. “I pinged Brian Dorion while I was there. See if I could light a fire under him to at least get our buoy back online so we have comms without going to the neighbors with hat in hand.”