by Wayne Basta
Deciding there was no point in pursuing that line of thought, Maarkean focused on their descent. They were only a few minutes from the outpost; he started to recognize some of the terrain. Not much had changed in the last few years.
“Why is this place abandoned?” Lahkaba asked.
“It was a mining colony. They strip mined the area and extracted all of the easy resources. Then they left. That was a hundred years ago. There are colonies like this all over the desert.”
Through the forward window, a collection of buildings came into view. There was one main building, a massive warehouse and four smaller structures surrounding a small natural oasis that served as a courtyard. All of the buildings were made out of sandstone that matched the surrounding terrain. The buildings all had balconies that were now covered in sand.
“Welcome to Bravo HQ,” Maarkean said. “And don’t ask about the name; the company that built this place called it that.”
“Well,” Lahkaba said, “it is definitely isolated. And up there on that hill, it’s well protected from ground level.”
“It’s not on a hill. It’s actually not much above sea level. Those canyons used to be hills though.”
Beyond the warehouse stretched a large expanse of flat, dry, cracked ground that stretched for several kilometers. Surrounding this entire area were several-kilometer-deep canyons. Each crater was once a hill or mountain and was now stripped of all valuable resources. Some vegetation had started to regrow in the craters, but it was sparse.
“That warehouse should be large enough to hide the freighter; they used it for their mining equipment and the ore they extracted. It’s fitting to store a mining freighter here,” Maarkean said with an amused smile. “Each of those smaller buildings can house about fifty people in a barracks-style set-up. The main building served as their headquarters, but it can be converted into living space.
“Believe it or not, water will not be a problem. There is a substantial reservoir underneath; probably why the company set up headquarters here. As part of each building, they built a greenhouse using that water. Smugglers have used this place as a stay over, and several of those gardens are still producing food. Probably not enough, but it’s a start.”
Lahkaba looked impressed, which was a nice change from his earlier skepticism. Maarkean had stayed here with Saracasi on more than one occasion. A group they had flown with that ran goods off Kol had been based here. Until they had been wiped out by pirates, it had been a profitable time.
“What do we do if one of those groups shows up looking to hang out here?”
“They won’t,” Maarkean said confidently as he took the ship in for a landing beyond the warehouse. “We smugglers generally avoid each other. Hurts business if there are too many people around. If anyone swings by, they’ll see our ship from the air and go to a different location.”
“What about if the pirates come?”
“Then I get to see if you are as good with a pistol as you are with a turret,” Maarkean said. “Kidding. I may have exaggerated the piracy problem just a bit, earlier.” The Kowwok gave him a look that might have been a glower, and Maarkean grinned. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. While there are no permanent Alliance ships in orbit, the task force out of Ailleroc does make periodic visits. And the base has a few fighters that make some patrols. Not enough to prevent piracy, but enough to keep it from getting out of hand.”
“You were not the only person to suggest that it was much worse than that,” Lahkaba said, and then continued as if choosing his words carefully. “The few Kolians I’ve met suggested piracy was rampant and the Alliance was only concerned with preventing smuggling.”
“Trust me. If it weren’t for the Alliance presence, the situation here would be much worse. Not many people like the Alliance taxes and trade restrictions, but they provide necessary protection,” Maarkean answered.
He always felt people that complained about Alliance taxation and then demanded more protection were hypocrites. Naval ships couldn’t be built or operated for free. Although, he had to admit to himself, he could sympathize with the people of Kol.
The trade rules and taxes were out of proportion to the amount of protection provided to them. Piracy was a known problem, but the Alliance did not do enough to combat it.
The rest of the ride down to the surface was done in silence. Maarkean put the Cutty Sark down on the hard-packed ground a short distance away from the large warehouse. After a quick systems check, he and Lahkaba powered down the ship and stepped out onto the surface of Kol. The air was quite a bit hotter than it had been on the ship, but it had almost no humidity.
As they made their way around the warehouse and toward the other buildings, sand and dust swirled around them. The dark brown duster Maarkean liked to wear had been purchased because of his time here. It served its purpose well by keeping much of the sand off his clothes. He felt sorry for Lahkaba, who followed the Kowwok custom of not wearing much clothing. His fur would be full of sand and dirt.
The pair performed a quick survey of the buildings to ensure there was no one else already using the place. There was no obvious sign that anyone had been here since Maarkean’s last visit over a year ago. After the search, Maarkean took Lahkaba to one of the greenhouses.
The plants in the greenhouse were either dead or over-grown. Most of the vegetables had suffered from not being tended to, but a few had taken the opportunity to expand into their dead neighbors’ space. The watering system was still functioning, which was why everything wasn’t dead.
“Well, we look to be alone,” Lahkaba said. “At least for the time being. I guess now we wait. How long do you estimate it will be before the freighter arrives?”
Maarkean shrugged as he examined one of the vines. “The Cutty Sark has a hyperdrive that is about twice as fast as the freighter. If they took some damage, they might have to go slower. No sooner than three days. Maybe as many as five or six.”
“Well, guess I get to see if I’m any good at gardening,” Lahkaba said with little enthusiasm.
Zeric wanted to keep the prisoners, or, rather, refugees, from leaving the ship and swarming the colony. However, their admiration, respect and gratitude for him were up against their desire for space, fresh air and freedom. For a collection of prisoners, those were pretty strong motivators. He wasn’t sure how successful he would be.
Once the freighter touched down on solid ground, Zeric ordered Saracasi to seal the cargo bay doors until he got down there. The Braz woman frowned at him, clearly not liking the idea of sealing anyone inside the ship. But she did it, and Zeric headed down to the cargo bay, followed by Faide and Lei-mey.
They rode the elevator down in silence. Zeric was unsure how things were going to play out. Faide claimed to know the people of this colony, but sixteen years was a long time. Even if he had known the original founders, they could be dead or no longer friendly to Faide, or even to outsiders in general. Anything was possible on an isolated colony.
In the crowded cargo bay, Zeric was relieved to find Gu’od, Gamaly and Lohcja waiting for him. The Ronid had one arm in a sling but was holding a pistol in his other hand. The injury only served to enhance the fearsomeness of his tough, spiked green carapace.
“We will not need any weapons,” Faide said, his voice revealing some annoyance.
“I hope you’re right,” Zeric said, “but people who want to be left alone don’t always take kindly to strangers showing up. And you yourself said they weren’t pacifists.”
With a nod to Gu’od and Gamaly, Zeric moved through the crowd of refugees. Most of them had changed into civilian attire, though there were quite a few among them still dressed in prison jumpsuits, Gu’od and Gamaly included. At least there wouldn’t be seven hundred people in prison jumpsuits.
Once at the door, Zeric turned back to the crowd. “Okay, everyone, I’m going to lower the cargo bay door. I know how much you all want to get out into the open air. But we don’t know how accommodating the peop
le in this colony are going to be. Let us go out and greet them first, before you come out. The doors will be open, though, so we’ll all get some nice, fresh air.”
The crowd expressed some nervous agitation as Zeric spoke, but the mention of fresh air helped alleviate it a little, he thought. He just hoped they didn’t all stampede him as soon as the door opened. That would be a fitting way to go.
He signaled Saracasi to unlock the door and then activated the mechanism. The massive cargo bay door groaned as it started to lower. With the first crack, a rush of cool, fresh air flowed in. Zeric closed his eyes and let the welcome breeze wash over him. The ship’s entire water supply had been used as drinking water for the passengers, and Zeric hadn’t been able to shower in several days.
As the door continued its arc downward, Zeric started to get a better view of the moon of Irod. The sky was a dim reddish color as the system’s star peeked light out at them from behind the massive dark giant world of Zod. Locally, it was close to the moon’s noon, but it looked like just a little after dawn would look on most worlds.
The freighter took up most of the concrete tarmac that they had landed on; beyond its edge was rough, natural grass. The field extended for about a kilometer before it terminated at a river in one direction and the edges of the colony in another. It took him a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, but he soon noticed a collection of vehicles approaching them from the colony.
Even without tracking systems, the colonists had responded quickly, Zeric thought. That could mean they were used to strange freighters arriving; just because the Alliance navigational database only had a century-old survey report for the moon didn’t mean others couldn’t find it.
It could also mean they were ready to repel outsiders.
Zeric led Faide and Lei-mey down the ramp and toward the oncoming vehicles. Gu’od, Gamaly and Lohcja fanned out from them, taking up positions on the edges of the ramp. The crowd on the ship did surge forward, but, to his relief, they stopped only a few meters beyond the ramp.
The three vehicles came to a stop a few meters away from Zeric and the others. Several figures climbed out of two of them, all holding rifles of various sorts. They weren’t wearing any uniforms, so Zeric assumed they were a militia, or, possibly, hired thugs.
In the center vehicle, three figures got out: a Liw’kel, a Camari and a Notha. The Notha, with tan fur and casual business attire, stepped forward. He had a suspicious expression on his face.
“You seem to have a fairly large crew, for a freighter. I’m afraid our colony does not have a lot to trade,” the Notha said.
As he approached, he looked each of them over quickly. He stopped and gave Faide a thorough examination.
“Faide?” the Notha said after a moment, his tone hesitant.
Beside Zeric, Faide’s tail started twitching excitedly. “Hello, Revas.”
“It is you!” Revas exclaimed and rushed forward. The two Notha embraced in a friendly hug. “I gave up on you ever joining us here a long time ago. It’s good to know you hadn’t forgotten about us.”
“No, I just got a little delayed,” Faide answered. Zeric thought that was quite the understatement.
“Revas, this is Lei-mey Darshawn and Zeric Dustlighter,” Faide said. “We came here with some refugees seeking a safe harbor from the Alliance.”
Revas looked past the three of them, his bushy eyebrows raised quizzically. “I see. How many have you brought?”
“About seven hundred,” Faide answered.
“That’s quite a few. Almost two percent of our population. We have plenty of space, of course, but I’m not sure we have enough spare housing or supplies to take in that many.”
“All we ask is to be able to stay on Irod for a time,” Faide answered. “Our freighter has had life support failure, so we cannot go anywhere else. We have many injured, but the rest will be willing to build their own structures and help plant more fields for food.”
Zeric didn’t remember any of the refugees agreeing to any of those things, but he didn’t think it was an unreasonable statement. He certainly didn’t plan on staying here and becoming a farmer, but if his choice was that or suffocation, he could do it. For a while, at least.
“We can work out the logistics later,” Revas said, after a slight pause. “Let us see to your injured first.”
Saracasi helped with moving some of the injured refugees to the colony’s small hospital. The building wasn’t much bigger than the common area onboard the freighter, but it did have a surgical suite and was well stocked with medical supplies. Dr. Istru immediately prioritized the surgeries and began working with the local doctors. Asirzi was taken in with the first group to receive treatment, along with Pasha, one of their rescuers.
Once the injured were taken care of, most of the refugees were taken to the colony’s school. It was the only building big enough to house them all. Saracasi managed to separate herself from that group and accompanied Chavatwor around to some of the shops in the colony.
The colony had no formal starport besides the landing tarmac. There was a small building that held a deuterium storage tank, and there was an extraction facility beside the river. That filled Saracasi with some confidence – knowing they wouldn’t get stranded on the planet for lack of fuel.
The closest thing to a starship repair shop they found was a small industrial parts store that sold spare parts for ground transports and industrial vehicles. They did not expect to find much of what they needed to repair the life support system, but she thought Chavatwor might be able to machine some parts, assuming there were the necessary tools.
With all the excitement that had filled the colony that morning, they had to wait a while for the store owner to return. The man was a friendly Camari who sympathized with them when Chavatwor explained the trouble with the life support system. It was clear, though, that the man did not understand most of what Chavatwor asked.
Interrupting the long explanation of how they could make the repairs, Saracasi said, “Where do you get your supplies? I take it you do not have ships of your own, so who brings your industrial parts in?”
“Oh, there are a few friendly traders that come by every few months. We place orders with them when they come and trade them some of our harvest and what comes out of the mine,” the shopkeeper answered.
Saracasi’s heart sank. With no spaceworthy ships, the colony was dependant on a group of merchants. That meant it could be months before one arrived and then months more before they returned with replacement parts, assuming they could afford them.
As if reading her mind, the merchant said quickly, “But one of them is due in the next few weeks. Captain Novastar is good about coming regularly.”
“Captain Novastar is a trader?” Saracasi asked.
“Yes, of a sort,” the merchant said cryptically.
Saracasi said, “Thanks for your help.”
As she left the shop, Chavatwor followed her. “What was that about? It’s good that there is a trader coming, right?”
“He’s not a trader,” Saracasi replied as they walked. “He’ll be a smuggler. We won’t be getting off this world without something substantial to give him.”
They walked in silence for several minutes. Saracasi considered her options. She could wait and hope this Novastar would give them a ride or deliver a message. There wasn’t much she could offer him in trade, and she knew he would demand more than she had.
Staying here was an option she considered. She liked most of the people she had met, and it would give her the chance to get to know Asirzi better. Life here might not be too bad, though she had no idea how she would make a life for herself.
She had no skills that would be of any use on a rural agricultural world. The main reason not to stay was that Maarkean would never know what happened to her. She did not want to do that to him.
There was only one real option remaining to her. “How bad was the life support system?”
“Pretty bad. It’s still functiona
l, and we can refill the oxygen tanks here. But the CO2 filters are down to one unit. And there are no replacements,” Chavatwor answered glumly.
“But it’s working?” Saracasi asked. She had been under the impression that the entire system had failed. This sparked new hope.
“Technically. You couldn’t provide air for more than a handful of people for a couple days though.”
“That’s all I’ll need. We need to find Zeric.”
When Lei-mey and Faide invited him to a meeting with the colony’s mayor, Zeric thought it odd. Curious, he decided to attend. It started out logically, with the pair of them discussing whether the refugees were welcome and how best to integrate those who wished to stay into the colony, and what options existed for those who wanted to return home.
When the topic of leaving came up, Zeric assumed that was the reason he was brought in. He shared with everyone the sorry state of the life support system on the freighter, and that it would not be able to move a sizable group anywhere. They accepted his word and turned to housing. Zeric assumed his part was done and stopped listening. He hated meetings.
It came as a surprise some time later when he found everyone staring at him. His earlier assumption about not playing any further part in the discussion had obviously been wrong. He tried to recall what they had been talking about, but realized he had completely tuned them out.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
Lei-mey gave him a dark expression, but Faide answered, “We were asking what your assessment of the colony’s defenses were. How likely are we to face Alliance retaliation?”
It was an unusual question and Zeric sat up in his chair. “Have they ever bothered this colony before?”
Revas Shim shook his head, so Zeric continued, “Then you’re fine. We jumped to meaningless coordinates first and then here from there. The Alliance corvette that was tracking us on Sulas, if it decided to follow, would be heading in the complete opposite direction.”