by George Ellis
Two things about that explanation immediately jumped out at me. The first was that Tracers often referred to people they captured as recruits. Meaning if you had some value, you were basically given the option of joining up or, well, being taken off the board. The second thing was that he called the other ships his fleet. They were all on the same team to a certain extent, but using a term that mirrored the way the federation defined their structure was something I hadn’t heard from the Tracers before.
The galley had five long, horizontal tables in it and a small round table off to one side. A few crewmembers ate and drank at the long tables, but the round table was empty. Desmond motioned for me to sit.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, flicking his eyes at the beverage station.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I hope you don’t mind if I have beer,” he said, raising a hand. A teen boy that was sitting nearby reading a book immediately jumped up and headed to the fridge.
“Make it two,” I added, turning back to Desmond. “You didn’t say anything about beer.”
“Plus it’s your birthday,” he noted. The man knew entirely way too much about me.
A few moments later, we clinked cans of honest-to-goodness Earth ale. That alone was worth the risk of stepping on board Desmond’s ship. Despite general chaos and near-constant territorial battles, mostly between the Chinese Empire and the Western Alliance, the people of Earth still produce a fair amount of products, excellent alcohol among them. Acquiring those products in space wasn’t hard. Just expensive. And even for a guy like me, who prioritized things like a quality brew and corn syrup-based snacks, the cost was steep. I never had enough credits. Obviously Desmond didn’t have that problem.
The first sip went down like butter and tasted like hoppy perfection.
“I hope you aren’t trying to recruit me,” I said warily. “But if you are, this is a good start.”
Desmond grinned. “Perhaps we’ll eventually come to an arrangement like that, but right now, I just need your assistance fixing something. The reason I told you to leave your tools is that it’s not a ship that requires repairs.”
I looked at him, confused.
“It’s a relationship,” he said. “With Silver Star.”
I continued looking at him, confused. Some of it was for effect. Some wasn’t.
“Are you trying to make your relationship worse? That’s the only reason you’d want me involved. I might be their least favorite indie wrecker.” Silver Star had approached me when my uncle died, hoping I would join their ranks. I politely declined. They responded by sicking the federation on me, telling them all manner of lies about me and my family. So it was safe to say they were on my shit list, too.
“Our contract with them is up in a few months, and I’m looking for negotiating leverage,” Desmond explained. “When you have one ship, you either have a capable crew of mechanics on board, or you simply hire a freelancer such as yourself when there’s a problem. But when you have 113 ships, it becomes necessary to outsource.”
“So…you share the same engineering vendor as the federation? Isn’t that a pretty big conflict of interest?” I asked.
Desmond spread his hands wide, palms up. “The world is full of conflicts of interest.”
I nodded. “Cool. Sure. Still don’t see how I can help.”
“Currently, Silver Star is something of a monopoly. I’m sure you can understand that a man like me doesn’t like when one entity has all the leverage. So I’m asking you to expand your operation.”
I settled back in my chair and finished my drink. Desmond flashed a gesture and the kid fetched me another. I made sure I received the new can before I broke the bad news.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but that’s the last thing I’d ever do. I work alone.”
“And it’s very impressive. I don’t know of any captains at your age that haven’t flamed out in spectacular fashion. You’re an oddity, Denver. I’m not asking you to actually join Silver Star. I’m simply asking you to…play the part,” he said. “I’d like you to approach a few of Silver Star’s captains and give them the impression you’re forming a rival organization based on a potential deal with the Tracers. Once word gets back to Jack Largent, I’ll take it from there.”
If Desmond was known as one of the most clever men in the universe, Jack Largent was known (rightly) as one of the slimiest. The Silver Star CEO also happened to be one of my family’s biggest rivals from back in the day. I despised the man, but I also didn’t want to punch him in the nose.
“This seems like a lot of work to save a few credits,” I said.
Desmond sighed and for the first time seemed annoyed with me. “Of course we’re talking about a few million credits per year, not just a few of them. And I’d pay you what you’d normally make in six months, all for just getting in touch with a few of Silver Star’s people.”
He placed his can down and calmly stared into my soul. At least that’s what it felt like. He’d been friendly thus far. And he was even a gracious host. But his current posture indicated he wasn’t really asking me to do this for him. He was telling me.
“And if I refuse?” I asked, because I’m just hardwired to be difficult.
* * *
“We’re gonna what?” Gary asked. I didn’t bother giving him the details. I also didn’t tell him Desmond explained that he would see it as a personal insult if I decided not to help him in this matter. Even though he liked me, he’d spaced people he liked far more. I had found that to be a compelling argument.
On the bright side, Desmond paid half the credits up front, so I was suddenly a few thousand credits wealthier. “Set a course for Titan Station,” I told Gary. “And don’t skimp on the speed.”
Four days later, I stepped off the Stang and into the hangar of the largest commercial station this side of Mars atmo. I looked down the row and saw a few dozen ships lined up in the bay. And that was just one of the station’s six hangars.
Titan was 30 years old and had taken half that long to construct. It featured a hotel, restaurants, bars, a provisions market and even a soccer stadium. Nearly 2,000 people lived on the station, which spanned two miles. Most of the full-time inhabitants worked on Titan, but a handful merely liked living on the closest thing to solid ground that wasn’t actually dirt and rock. The structure was a vast sphere constructed of concentric rings, like a giant silver marble floating in space. Thanks to a gravity-spun core, the innermost rings of the station featured about 9 meters per second of gravity, just a touch less than Earth’s average level.
I hated the place. It had been built with blood credits. The federation had squeezed the people of both Earth and space with unreasonable tariffs to pay for the endeavor. The result was that for about a decade, the feds got their piece of every transaction and shipment in the verse. In the end, I’d guess about 10% of the revenue collected actually went to Titan Station, as impressive and expensive as it was. The rest fortified the federation fleet and lined politicians’ pockets.
Still, Titan had its moments. For example, immediately upon passing through security, I entered the main thoroughfare and was greeted by a six-pack of windows featuring eager and beautiful companions. Normally, I didn’t have the credits to even consider such debauchery, but thanks to Desmond’s advance, the thought at least crossed my mind. A brunette with slender legs and a positively wicked smile beckoned me toward her window. I didn’t even want to calculate how long it had been since I’d been with a woman.
Maybe later, I told myself.
First, business.
I’d been on Titan a few times before, so I knew the usual Silver Star haunts. The unimaginatively named Beerverse was one of them. The black doors slid open as I approached, and I stepped from the bright thoroughfare into the dimly lit pub. It was one of the smaller bars on Titan, and not one of the nicest, in decor or clientele. It had the vibe of a place that was always teetering on the edge of a brawl. I’d seen a couple th
ere, only one of which I’d started. Security hadn’t been beefed up, however, unless you counted the half-drunk bouncer in the corner who was chatting up a companion wearing the silver lycra one-piece all men and women in the profession were required to wear. The large, bald-headed man gave me a cursory glance, decided I wasn’t a threat, and went back to negotiating with the girl, who seemed to be driving a hard bargain. I couldn’t blame her.
The rest of the pub was a collection of seedy folk who didn’t have enough credits to waste at one of the nicer establishments on the station. Tracers and feds mixed, along with men in grease-stained orange jumpsuits and the odd business exec who felt like slumming it. The ratio of patrons to working girls was about three to one. There was also a working guy who was making eyes at the bartender, an attractive woman my age who had no business working in a place like this.
“Hi Chandra,” I said, settling into a stool at the bar. She immediately popped open a can of grape soda for me and handed it over.
“Every time I see you, you get older,” she said with a smile.
“That’s the nature of only seeing me once every six months,” I replied.
I took a swig of the grape soda and was rewarded with amazing bubbly goodness. “That is the best grape I’ve ever had,” I told her. “You know just what I like.”
Chandra was good people. I don’t use that phrase lightly, either. I met her back when my uncle and I were hauling the Exemplar, a dead ship, back to Titan for repairs. The irony of a ship named the Exemplar being stalled was not lost on me. Anyway, Chandra was 17 at the time (same age as me) and happened to be a stowaway on the Exemplar. Somehow, and she never divulged her secret, Chandra was able to sneak from that ship onto the Stang and stay hidden from us for three days before I found her trying to sneak some of my junk food from the kitchen while she thought we were sleeping. Long story short, the girl had spunk and we decided not to turn her in when we reached Titan on the condition she got a real job. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was honest work.
“So what brings you to the T?” she asked, ignoring another customer who was trying to get her attention.
“Thought I’d stop in and say hi to my favorite stowaway.” I smiled and took a swig of my drink as I eyed the clientele.
She noticed my roving eyes.
“Looking for companionship, Denver? I can recommend a clean one.”
I frowned. She was only 19, but Chandra was a full-fledged adult with all the qualities you could ask for. To me, however, she’d always be that hollow-eyed, rail-thin teen that desperately needed a meal and a break. So it still seemed weird when she casually offered to recommend the safest sex partner in the pub.
“No, I’m looking for a Silver Star captain,” I replied.
“Whatever tickles your fancy.”
I frowned again. “Can you recommend any particularly disgruntled ones? Don’t ask why, please.”
She gave me a look and shrugged, then motioned to a corner table where a gruff, overweight man with graying hair nursed a bright red drink. He watched the soccer feed on his handheld device, cursing as one of the teams scored.
“That’s Hendricks,” she said. ““That’s Hendricks,” Chandra said. “A special kind of asshole. Even the prosties won’t touch him. He’s a regular.”
“How regular?”
“Here most nights. I don’t get the impression he works much these days.” Chandra stepped away to pour a drink for a clean-cut guy at the end of the bar. I watched him give her a sly smile as she delivered the glass. Chandra returned it with a wink.
“Hendricks is no good. I need someone who Silver Star might actually miss,” I told her as she returned. That got another eyebrow raise from Chandra. I nodded toward clean-cut. “What about him?”
“Cute, huh?” she remarked. “Only see him a few times a year. Name’s Selzo.”
“First or last?” I asked.
“Just Selzo,” she shrugged. “What do you need him for?”
“I’m looking to franchise.” I rapped my knuckles on the bar, gave Chandra a wink of my own, and walked over to the stool next to Selzo. He was a good-looking guy and at first glance, had a boyish charm to him. But a closer look revealed hard eyes.
“Mind if I sit?” I asked, motioning to the seat next to his.
Selzo regarded the various empty spots in the pub. He tilted his head.
“Depends what you have to say, I suppose,” he said.
I nodded in understanding and sat down. I flashed Chandra a sign, prompting her to bring another soda for me and another drink for Selzo. He accepted it by downing the rest of his other glass, which Chandra cleared.
“You know him?” he asked her.
“He’s okay,” she said with a smile, then walked away.
“Well if Chandy says you’re alright, I guess that’s good enough for me.” Selzo held up his new drink and we clinked glass to can.
First, Chandy? I wasn’t crazy about some Silver Star captain, no matter how chummy he seemed to be, having a nickname for Chandra. But just as worrisome, I didn’t like that she vouched for me. The whole plan could blow up in my face, and I wouldn’t want her hurt in the crossfire.
“Barely know her,” I said. “Maybe she just likes a pretty face.”
That got a laugh from Selzo.
“Don’t laugh too hard,” I cautioned.
Selzo looked over, trying to figure out if I was hitting on him. Just in case, he said “I appreciate the drink, but I don’t swing that way.”
“Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean I’m not trying to proposition you,” I replied, keeping my eyes level with his. “Name’s Boyd. Denver Boyd.”
A flicker of recognition crossed his face. “Sure. How’s the Mustang these days? I met your uncle once. Nice enough. Can’t say the same about your dad.”
I couldn’t tell if I was more worried or proud that he’d heard of me – and my ship. I settled on the latter. “The Stang is still purring like a cat. Or, I guess, horse.”
“What kind of proposition you talkin’ about?” he asked. He tried to play it off cool, but he was clearly intrigued.
* * *
I got back to the Stang an hour later. With my new stock of credits, I could’ve rented a penthouse suite at The Westin Lux or Titan Grand, but I always felt more comfortable sleeping on my own ship with my security system fully engaged.
“So how did the covert mission go?” Gary groused the moment I stepped aboard. He had tried to call me on my handheld multiple times when I was at the pub. Bored, I guess. Sometimes I didn’t know if he was my artificially intelligent second mate or my jealous girlfriend.
“A success,” I said. “But I wouldn’t go around celebrating.”
“As if you’d ever let me off the ship anyway,” Gary sulked. “You know, some people might consider this kidnapping. You never let me leave the Mustang.”
A few months earlier, Gary had found a fully mobile robot on the web that apparently could house an onboard AI. Meaning he could inhabit the bot and walk around in a physical body. It looked vaguely human, and while Gary would never admit it, I think he was most excited by the fact the humanoid shell had hair. The guy still had hair envy even though he hadn’t inhabited a physical form in centuries…and was only a programmed version of an actual human anyway. I was glad I had a full head of thick, curly hair. Didn’t need those issues on top of all the rest.
And the truth was I had issues. Selzo had taken the bait, agreeing to consider joining up if my (fictional) contract with the Tracers came to fruition. I told him to discreetly talk to a few other captains he trusted to gauge their interest. Which meant about half of Silver Star would know in less than 24 hours. Which meant by helping Desmond, I had also put a big fat target on my back. That was not Desmond’s concern, no matter how much he enjoyed sharing a beer with me; it was a good reminder not to lull myself into thinking he was my friend. My belly rumbled, partly from the nerves and partly from the fact I had drunk 36 ounces of gra
pe soda on an empty stomach. I opened the bag of fast food I’d bought on my walk back to the Stang, and Pirate came tearing around the corner, screaming bloody murder.
“Relax, pal, I got you a fish sandwich.”
He nearly clawed my hand off as I dropped the fish-protein substitute on the table next to me. He went to town on it, not a care in the world. Must be nice. I watched him for a few moments, scarfing down a patty made to taste like fish for people (and cats) that had never eaten the real thing. It was strange, really, but I guess old flavors die hard. Personally, I’d tried the real thing a few times and preferred the subs. No sooner had I settled into my pilot seat to enjoy a burger and a nap than my comm alert buzzed.
“Want me to put it through?” Gary asked, still annoyed with me.
I put my food back down and nodded. A moment later Jack Largent’s smarmy face filled the monitor.
“Evenin’” he drawled. “At least it’s evenin’ here.” Meaning his ranch back on Earth. Despite owning 70% of the universe’s largest towing and repair corporation, Largent hadn’t left bedrock for more than ten years. Oh, he wasn’t retired. He just decided to leave space to his captains, or so he said. There were rumors he had radiation poisoning from all the long trips on thin-skinned ships, but he looked pretty healthy to me.
“You have your father’s eyes,” he said. “Your mom’s ears, though. How is she these days?”
My blood boiled, and I tried my best not to let it show, but I could feel the heat in my cheeks. Most people tend to choose their words carefully around powerful, wealthy people like Largent. I never claimed to be as smart as most people.
“Ask about her again and this beam is over,” I snapped. When my parents had split, Largent had tried to swoop in and court my mom. It was obvious he was only doing it to tweak his rival. My mom knew that, of course, and had higher standards, so she turned his sorry ass down. He seemed to understand by the way I said it that my mom had died.