Convoy (The Shelby Logan Chronicles Book 1)

by Chris Hechtl

  “And trying to get them up to speed and on the same page can also be a pain,” Fred Muggs said in sympathy. He'd more or less taken up residence on the flagship for the time being. Phoebe would have to deal with it. Hopefully she understood he was trying to work out a solution to the problem.

  “That too,” Shelby said in agreement as she nodded to the Neochimp.

  “Delta colony is our best bet,” Cynthia said, pulling up an image of the planet. “Echo is an ice ball, barely hanging on with a very sparse population from what we've got on them,” she said, turning first to Ensign Slatterly, then to Lieutenant Jardin for confirmation.

  “The locals call it Hoth by the way. When they aren't calling it home or something we can't say in polite company,” Lieutenant Jardin reported, checking his notes.

  “Another one?” Portia asked, shaking her massive head. All eyes turned to her. “There are a lot of Hoths in the database. Hoth, Endor, Bespins, and so on. I have no clue why.”

  “So, we know Epsilon or Echo, or Hoth or whatever they want to call it has water in ice. But …” Lieutenant Sulistyo frowned.

  “We can give them a leg up. Treat it like Kathy's World,” Shelby offered. “If we have to go there that is.”

  “It's bitterly cold there. They are hanging on but not well, ma'am. The population is small and I highly doubt they have enough food for export. We're also not receiving many radio transmissions from them,” Ensign Slatterly reported.

  “So how do you know all this?” Mister Muggs asked.

  “We picked up some of that from transmissions from the other planets as well as from Epsilon. Sorry, Hoth. We also checked their thermal profile. The planet is small and pretty far out. Its orbit was being adjusted before the Xeno war; it is in an elliptical that takes it above and below the normal plane. It pitches pretty far out; at aphelion they are five AU from the nearest star, which is the red dwarf.”

  “Wait, there were people on it then?” Cynthia demanded.

  The ONI spook shook her head. “No, ma'am, not according to our records. They arrived after. A refugee ship or ships, desperate for a place to go I assume.”

  “Oh.” Cynthia turned to look inquiringly at the commodore.

  “Let's try Delta and see where we get with them. We'll leave Hoth as a last desperate resort.”

  “Aye aye, ma’am.”

  “I'm not holding my breath though,” Cynthia muttered as the meeting broke up.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  “This is promising,” Lieutenant Jardin said, typing at his keyboard to lock a frequency so he could better listen in to it.

  “Oh?” Cynthia asked; looking up from the paperwork she'd been processing while sitting in the hot seat.

  “We're receiving radio signals from the planet Delta, ma'am. Apparently, there is a big talk show there, Shirley's Straight Talk. We're apparently the prime topic. Usually the topic is about people's problems related to their family, work, or love life,” he said.

  “Okay … And this is important why?”

  “The radio signal is the most powerful one on the planet, ma'am. It is syndicated across the planet by local towers. Also, they have radio ads, but the show is about giving people relationship or work advice. We didn't hear that at any of our other stops. Helping people without a profit?”

  “They get plenty of profit from the ads,” the XO said dryly.

  “Yes, ma’am. But we can hope, right?”

  The XO nodded reluctantly. “Okay, you've got me there. Just don't get too carried away,” she warned.

  “Aye aye, ma’am. Thrice burned and all that,” the lieutenant said, returning to his station.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  Lieutenant Jardin's communications department managed to finally make contact with the leadership of Delta colony. The planet was a typical regressed agro world so it hadn't seen any space traffic in years so they had stopped listening.

  He was very careful not to discuss the plague. One of the things he had overlooked was that the transmissions were open to anyone with a receiver on the planet given that it was an audio transmission. That had been one of the factors that had caused the widespread panic on Gamma.

  They were interested in the convoy's story when he told them there were over a dozen ships in the group. He spoke with various radio journalists while he tried to get a list of vendors. The sensor watch managed to generate a planetary map and filled in the locations of various population centers but had no names for them.

  Ensign Slattery started her work to log the radio transmissions and make a list of potential contacts. Delta was another very capitalistic society, but less industrialized and slightly less cutthroat and survival of the fittest as the others.

  She just hoped all her work wouldn't be in vain …

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  The planet Delta was one of the planets in the star system that had requested further input about joining the Federation. The State Department reps went down to the planet to open negotiations but ran into a wall when the governing board told them they had no idea what they were talking about.

  After a bit of digging for the original request in the computer database, they realized the request hadn't come from the legitimate government. Fred Muggs was justifiably dismayed when he heard. He brought the news to Shelby.

  Shelby listened to him lay it out. “I guess you've got your work cut out for you then? You thought it was easy? Welcome to the real world,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “They just want something for nothing,” Fred said, clearly disgusted. “They'll take what we give them, demand equal to what others are getting, but yet they want us to pay through the nose for their goods.”

  “A free ride plus greed. Nice combination,” Cynthia said, cocking her head. “We've heard about the same from Lieutenant Talon,” she reported, indicating the quartermaster.

  Carl nodded. “It amounts to planetary welfare. They are taking advantage of our good nature. We knew they would run in the red for several years as they got their feet under them. But this … we're here to help bootstrap them back up to full civilization but …,” Carl shook his head.

  “No one said they can't profit from the experience,” Shelby reminded the disgusted quartermaster.

  “I know. Enlightened self-interest is always at the heart of such things. Everyone wants to make their lives better and improve the future of their children. But this … this is just greed. They don't intend to disperse what we are giving them! They are going to sell it! We give it to them; they turn around and hoard it and sell it!”

  “Again, welcome to the real world,” Shelby said with a shake of her head. “Not everyone is altruistic in a survival situation.”

  “That's …,” Fred grimaced as he stopped himself.

  “Remember, not too long ago we were in that very situation too. It takes time for people to think beyond their own needs—to see the big picture,” Shelby said patiently.

  Fred shook his and then nodded in reluctant agreement as that idea settled into his thought processes. “You'd think they'd want to do this, to better themselves out of self-protection at the least! And to propagate the technology to help their children but …”

  “Ma'am, how are we going to pay for everything here? And what about elsewhere?” Carl asked, interrupting the statesman.

  “Instead of giving away the care packages like candy, we're going to sell them,” Shelby said. That made the civilian and officers blink at her. She nodded once. They had planned to give away thousands of microcomputers, solar panels, hospital starter kits, databases, vaccination kits, water purification kits, and other things, but the greedy natives had forced her to rethink the situation and adapt.

  “You are saying we trade them instead,” Carl said carefully.

  “They'll appreciate them more if they pay for them, correct?” Shelby asked. He nodded, acknowledging her point.

  “This isn't how it's supposed to work,” Fred complained. All eyes turned to the Neo
chimp. “We're supposed to be giving this stuff away. The computers can then be used by schools and libraries to educate the population!”

  “I know,” Lieutenant Talon said with a shake of his head. “Chalk it up to no plan survives intact. We have to adapt. We're doing so.”

  “But … but they won't go to where they are needed most! They'll be sold on the black market!” Fred said, throwing his hands up in despair.

  Carl snorted. “And you don't think that won't happen when we give the stuff away? That it won't be stolen, traded, hoarded, or what have you? That companies won't snatch them up since they represent a quantum leap in their tech basis? That they'll fight and quite possibly kill over them?”

  Fred stared at him. Finally, he shivered, altruism and naivety briefly torn asunder by the bald statement. “That's sick.”

  “I know. It's sick. But it is the reality of the galaxy. Welcome to it. We have to live in it, not the fantasy some people have concocted. We all want to believe the best of others, but we can't always. We can't just be naive about these things; we need to be smart,” Carl said, looking at him. “Self-interest and greed are survival mechanisms. Altruism comes when you have enough to go around. These people have a surplus, but it's not managed right.”

  Fred grimaced. “I so don't like this. It sets a bad precedence,” he warned.

  “Here's my point,” Carl said. “I was going to bring this up in a moment but now is good to illustrate my point. We've had problems with the fruit and other foodstuffs we've received from the planet. Some of it is nearly gone.”

  “Gone?” Cynthia asked.

  “As in bad or almost bad. They are giving us crap,” Carl reported. “Bottom of the barrel crap you'd feed to hogs or something but not people. Stuff that can make people sick.”

  Cynthia frowned. “Which isn't good. The recyclers can use it of course, but that's not the point. Having fresh food stuff is the issue. Our personnel were expecting it. What did the suppliers say?”

  “They claim they are out of season. I'm looking into it,” the quartermaster stated.

  “Good. Keep on them,” Shelby ordered.

  “I intend to, ma'am.”

  “What about Hoth? Should we maybe just go there?” Fred asked.

  “There is no point giving the computers and material to Hoth; they do not have the means to use it.”

  “I wish something could be done about them, ma'am. If we could, we might move them from Hoth to one of the other planets …,” Fred suggested.

  “In a perfect galaxy and if we had the room, yes,” Shelby said slowly, “and if they are willing. Remember, they may not be willing to give up everything they and their forefathers built to move to another planet. And the people on that planet may not want them,” she said. The Neochimp grimaced but then nodded in understanding.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  “No, no way. Until we have some coverage, we can't agree to you. To agree would invite the pirates to come and tear us apart,” the Tauren leader said, shaking his head. His long beard danced in front of him. He stopped himself and stroked it with one hand. “Now, if you are willing to leave some warships behind …”

  “Unfortunately, that isn't up to me. Commodore Logan has not allowed them to be put on the table for the moment,” Fred said regretfully.

  “I see. Well, I now see how serious she takes her commitments and our safety and security. The answer is no. A resounding no.”

  “Okay, can you consider it in the future?” Fred asked carefully.

  “Why?”

  “If we do something about the pirate threat?” Fred asked. “Reduce it?”

  “That would be something to see. They come around like the vermin they are every year. We pay our tribute as the other planets do,” the leader said with a shake of his massive head. Fred had to rear back to keep from getting gored by a horn. “I'd have to see them not come at all,” he said.

  “We'll see. Remember, we're just the first expedition. We'll do what we can,” Fred said as he rose from behind the table and extended his hand. The Tauren looked at it, and then snorted. After a moment, he extended his own and they shook hands.

  “To the beginning of a long friendship,” Fred said.

  “A beginning of something at any rate,” the leader said dismissively.

  ]][#]]]{OO}===}==>

  Carl put some of his people in to check the incoming shipments at the spaceport while the skipper and State guys worked on negotiating to let people off for a long overdue liberty.

  He left the problems with the fruit and veggies to the bosun while he set his eyes on the problems with meat. Their meat came exclusively from Desi's Meat Packing, the largest meat packing industry on the planet. It was a family owned and operated business. The slaughterhouses nearby were fed into their packing industry. What amazed him was that the place didn't use any electrical power. Which, come to think of it, might be a serious part of the problem they were currently facing.

  He went down to the planet and caught a ride to the slaughterhouse. Currently, the convoy was the biggest customer; they had pretty much monopolized several of the packing plants near the spaceport. When he got to the stockyards, he was sickened by what he found. Instead of bringing in stock from the fields, the slaughter houses were sending them downer cattle and substandard stock not fit for even pet food. He watched a downed cow hooked up to a chain and then dragged up the gangplank and into the building. He shook his head grimly and went back to the spaceport.

  When he got to the spaceport, he put on a pair of gloves and then did a culture test. The exterior of the carcasses was okay, no signs of salmonella or other contamination. He did a spot-check with a thermometer and found that the meat was at or above 4.4 degrees C, which meant it was spoiled.

  “Send it back!” he said, waving a hand. His enlisted team stopped what they were doing.

  “Excuse me?” the driver demanded.

  “You heard me; we're refusing the shipment. It's bad. Not fit for consumption,” the lieutenant said as he stripped his gloves off.

  The driver scowled. “Look man, I just deliver it. What do you want from me?”

  “I want a product we can safely eat without getting sick. I guess it isn't your fault they didn't ship it with enough ice and frozen.”

  “So, you'll take it?”

  “Hell no! Why would I buy spoiled meat?” Lieutenant Talon demanded. “Do I look stupid to you? Would you buy it and feed it to your kids?”

  “Look man, just get it cool and it'll be fine. No one has to know … why you gotta be this way?” the driver said desperately.

  “Because I'm one of the people who will be eating it!” Carl said, pointing his thumb at his chest. “I don't like food poisoning, thank you very much!”

  The driver stared at him, then scowled blackly. “You out-of-towers think you are all perfect,” the driver snarled as he turned the wagon around and left.

  The lieutenant shrugged, then looked at another wagon trundling up the dirt road to the spaceport gate. He sighed and put his gloves back on again.

  He finally got a visit from Mister Desi himself when two additional shipments were returned.

  “Look, it's not our fault that the shipper is delaying it on the docks. That's where it is getting warm. It is out of our hands,” the meat packer said. Two of the broad man's sons had come with him. Both were big guys like their father. They looked like they were there more for intimidation value than anything. Carl refused to be intimidated.

  Carl shook his head. “That's between you and them, not me. I won't take anything if it is too warm.”

  “I can't fix that …”

  “Look, I don't know what your problem is, but this isn't going to fly with me. You are trying to send us crap. What gives?”

  Mister Desi's eyes bulged. “It's not crap; it's the best we've got! It's prime beef!”

  Carl snorted. “Bullshit. I did some checking. We know you are sending up your downed animals, animals that are sick or diseased. Th
at's not fit for pet food let alone people!”

  “If you don't like it, find someone else. But we're the only ones near the spaceport,” Desi Junior said with dignity.

  “And shipping costs would make their costs the same or more than what yours are. Why should I pay for a product I can't use? That could harm my people?”

  Mister Desi sniffed. “We don't know what you are talking about.”

  “Right,” the quartermaster snarled. “I'm having every shipment inspected. If necessary, every piece of meat. If they don't meet the standards we've set and agreed on, no payment.”

  “We are delivering as ordered. Once it is signed for, it is your problem,” Mister Desi said firmly.

  “We don't accept anything …,” the quartermaster scrubbed his face. “Okay, we'll send down inspectors to your plant then.”

  “You do not have permission to inspect our facilities!” Mister Desi snarled.

  “I didn't say there. I said send them down. We'll send them here to the spaceport then. They'll inspect everything. That includes the poultry we're supposed to be getting from your other plant tomorrow. If the shipment passes muster, they'll sign off on it, and we'll release the rest of the payment.”

  The butcher scowled. “And if it doesn't? Mind you I'm not saying we're agreeing to this …”

  “Then we'll send it back,” Carl said flatly.

  That made the man's eyes bulge in indignation. “Back! The meat will spoil in the trucks and wagons! The stuff you sent is already bad!”

  “Ever heard of reefer trucks? Or train cars? No? Look into it. Refrigeration is a wonderful thing,” Carl growled. “Be advised, my people will have temperature probes as well as gear to check for spoilage.”

  “This is unacceptable,” Mister Desi said, trying to intimidate him.

  “So is your product! Fix it!”

  “We can't!”

  “It's simple. Start with one end. Start with giving us the product we're paying for. Spot-check your quality assurance people. Look for salmonella and stuff. Hell, I'll even give you the kits to test for it.”