by SM Reine
“A guy named Verk something. Lemme look it up.”
“Verkol Kondur?”
Zoya looked up in surprise. “You know him?”
“Know of him.” Natalya pursed her lips. “My father used to talk about him once in a while.”
“What? Good? Bad?” Zoya chewed her bottom lip between her front teeth. “What?”
Natalya chuckled. “Some of each. He wasn’t one of the people Dad warned me about. He either founded or took over Dark Knight. Dad never was clear on it. Interesting that he’s Margaret Newmar’s contact.”
“So, what will we do there?”
“Beats me. Get jobs probably. Toe-Hold space isn’t that different from CPJCT controlled space.” Natalya shook her head. “If you’d plot that course, you could see for yourself.”
Zoya bent to her task while Natalya put her ship back together, starting with resetting the overrides. By the time the Natalya was satisfied that the ship wouldn’t fall apart on her, Zoya had the course adjustment plot.
“Pass it to helm?” Natalya said and took the handles.
“Course passed to helm.”
“Course locked.” Natalya started the slow burns that would re-orient the ship toward a point in space a long, long way out into the Deep Dark. She locked the autopilot down. “We’ll be in position in two stans. You want that coffee now?”
Zoya nodded. “Can I ask you a question, Nats?”
Natalya scrambled up out of her couch. “You’ve never been shy about it before.”
Zoya chuckled and looked down at her hands. “You were always going to come out to Toe-Hold space after graduation.”
Natalya shrugged and headed for the galley. “That wasn’t a question.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah. Probably.” She finished flash heating the coffee and took the two cups back to the cockpit. “It’s not the kind of place you can just invite people to, you know?”
Zoya sipped the hot liquid and closed her eyes for a moment, the steam rising across her face. “I suppose not,” she said. “Would you have told me?”
Natalya sipped her coffee and thought about the question. “You really wanted to join TIC, didn’t you?”
“Captain Evans made a good case for it.” She sighed. “That was before they tried to kill us.”
“You know they kept trying to get me to join. Even got Commandant Giggone to lobby for them.”
Zoya’s eyebrows went up. “Really? You never mentioned it.”
“They made it sound wonderful, but I never considered it. I have the Peregrine.” Natalya shrugged. They sipped for a few moments. “Are you sorry?”
“For what?”
“That you’ve been linked with a wanted killer and have to give up all your plans for a career?”
Zoya grinned. “I don’t know yet. When I got up this morning, I thought I knew what I wanted.”
“Now?”
Zoya shook her head. “I’m beginning to think I never really thought about it. I just did what I was supposed to do. Now? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, other than keep flying.”
“Better to choose a path you’re unsure of than be forced on a path you don’t think about.”
“Sounds profound. Something your father said?”
“Nope. Fortune cookie. I got it in a great little oriental restaurant over in Dunsany Roads.”
Zoya snickered. “How was the food?”
“Fantastic curried chicken and dumplings to die for. If we get out that way again, I’ll take you.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Well, one thing at a time.” Natalya leaned over to look at the display. “You tired? We’ve got a couple of stans before we’re going to jump again.”
Zoya took a deep breath and looked around the cockpit. “I should be. Something about having missiles locked on my ass and thinking I’m about to die seems to have given me a second wind.”
“Did I ever tell you the time Dad took me out to High Tortuga?”
“Is this a long story?”
“Couple of stans. Why? You going somewhere?”
Zoya grinned and settled into her couch, cradling the mug in both hands. “What’s High Tortuga?” she asked.
* * *
Nathan Lowell started reading science fiction and fantasy a half a century ago. He started writing it shortly after but never finished anything until 2007. Since then he's written eleven novels, a novella, and a handful of short stories. You just read one of them. Natalya and Zoya are the main characters in a new trilogy--Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper--due out over the next year or so. You can find more about his existing work in both fantasy and science fiction at nathanlowell.com. You can learn more about the Solar Clipper universe by picking up a sample of Quarter Share, the first book in the Trader's Tales.
Safe Voyage!
Arcturus 5
Debra Dunbar
Arcturus 5
Everyone traveled multi-sector distances by The Fold, but Xella wished for once she could take the longer, more scenic route to the Andromeda Galaxy. The endless passage of white stars in a cold, black background was soothing, a reminder that there were things far more vast than their daily concerns—far more important in the cosmic scheme of things than a squabble over helium collector transport and the restriction of space in key shipping lanes.
But Mother had decided that involvement in this dispute was key to their future in this sector. And one more sector under the influence of the Graha-Es was a good thing—for the Graha-Es as well as these other races who seemed only to care about short-term gain and personal wealth.
Of course when some species measured life in a few hundred orbits of a planet around a sun, they were bound to have such a narrow view of the future. And these short lives were the reason she was traveling by The Fold rather than take the two-thousand light year scenic route.
“Ready, Tovenaressa Xella?”
Xella turned to her little sister, Pey. The girl was so excited—her first trip to this sector and her first time experiencing The Fold. Pey had assisted other Tovenaressa in diplomatic missions over the last century as part of her training, but this tense arbitration would be yet another first.
With one of her long forearms, Xella reached out to touch the decorative gem embedded in her sister’s pebbled skin, giving it a reassuring pat. “Ready.”
The girl keyed in the sequence to begin The Fold and edged the ship into the transport window. There was a feeling of intense pressure. G-forces immobilized them against the seats. Stars blurred outside the viewer, then there was nothing on the screen besides a dark, empty space. Most races needed personal pressurization containers when using The Fold, a few even needed to enter stasis or travel in a cryogenic state. The Graha-Es were thankfully able to withstand great G-force as well as a variety of atmospheric conditions, even if they were somewhat limited in the temperature ranges in which they could function.
Not as limited as some. Xella had heard of creatures who could only survive within a two hundred degree temperature range. How difficult those races must find space travel.
“We’re here,” she said as a red streak burst into view on the screen, then froze. Their speed abruptly dropped, and the blur of red became a planet.
“Oh!” Pey extended a midarm to touch the viewer, as if she could hardly believe her eyes.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” Xella reached out again to stroke Pey’s gem-studded skin. How wonderful to have a companion along for this negotiation. So many times she was making these journeys alone. Graha-Es should not be alone. Ammita, in all her wisdom, had not created them to be solitary creatures.
But she was alone, even with Pey right next to her. Xella’s warm feeling faded as she contemplated how very alone she was. At eight thousand orbits, she was far too old to still be alone. All the other Graha-Es sisters had been gifted with their soul mates before four thousand. Even Pey at a young two-thousand orbits had just been joined.
En
vy was a disgraceful emotion, and self-pity not much better. Mother would eventually find her the perfect match, and then she would never be lonely again. Calm acceptance, attention to duty, and diligent work toward the betterment of the Graha-Es was what she should be contemplating, not how much she wished Mother would hurry up and find her someone.
It was embarrassing, though. She knew there were whispers. She knew the others wondered why Mother had denied her a soul mate. Was she not worthy? Had she done something wrong and fallen into disfavor?
Xella straightened her torso, lifting her head. It didn’t matter what others thought. Mother had sent her on this mission. Her work here would prove her loyalty and her worth. And then maybe she would eventually be gifted with a match.
The planet grew larger as they approached until nearly the entire viewer was encompassed by its pretty twisting lines of red. Arcturus 5 was the fifth planet out from the star, and home to the warehouse and transfer outpost of the Mol for this particular part of their business. The first two planets had been engulfed by the red giant when it had expanded, the second two were boiling masses of liquid rock and violent volcanic activity. Arcturus 5 wasn’t much in terms of an ideal outpost, but helium collection required a site close enough to the star to easily retrieve the units for shipment, yet far enough away that a biosphere and shipping was feasible. This fifth planet barely met the requirements. Its temperature varied 1100 degrees from day to night, and the scant atmosphere meant it was constantly buffeted by solar winds. Thankfully the planet rotated slowly, meaning the biosphere “walked”, shifting locations in time with the rotation, keeping it constantly in the twilight zone.
“Why is their outpost on the surface?” Pey asked, her black eyes riveted to the screen. “If they’re just storing and transferring collection containers to a freighter, why not run an orbital site? Or a mid-space one?”
Xella was secretly thrilled to play the role of teacher, to impart what knowledge she could to Pey. Although she would be a terrible teacher if she just told and didn’t push the girl to think through these things herself.
“If the Graha-Es were to run an orbiting site, what environmental controls as well as health and safety procedures would be needed for the workers?”
The girl tapped the long curved hook at the end of a forearm on the monitor. “Artificial gravity and mandatory weight-bearing sessions for workers with internal skeletons. Although if we used Capire or Arach workers, we could minimize that. No, maybe not. They’d need a high nitrogen atmosphere and the costs of that might outweigh the AG units.”
Xella deployed the breaks to slow the ship as it entered the atmosphere and listened to Pey continue to think through the engineering and financial scenarios out loud. If the girl wasn’t suitable for diplomatic missions, she’d definitely recommend her as a project manager. Although that wouldn’t be as coveted a job since it would force her to work day-to-day with the Mezadu. The worker males of the Graha-Es were enthusiastic and loyal, but didn’t exactly provide stimulating conversation.
Descending below the wispy layer of pink clouds, the Mol transport and storage facility appeared on the horizon. It was ugly, like a squat, misshapen gray beast. The tallest portions were docking bays for shuttles and small ships. Atmospheric and worker concerns aside, Xella would never have chosen to place such a facility surface-side. The helium collectors were close to the red giant star that occupied the lower quarter of the sky. Small ships grabbed the full containers, replacing them with empty ones, then brought them to the surface for storage here only to haul them back up to the massive freighter once a month. That was a whole lot of fuel, and a whole lot of little ships when an orbiting facility could load directly onto the freighter.
It wasn’t her business how the Mol ran their operations. She was here to arbitrate a dispute, not judge them on cost-effectiveness and operational efficiency.
Xella took control of the ship, using the guided assist from the landing bay to enter the bay doors and gently touch down. The doors shut behind them. Mechanical collars locked the ship’s landing devices to the floor and the whoosh of decompression began.
This was an expensive outpost in a tight-margin business. She’d been briefed that the Mol kept environmental controls to a minimum. The workers ate nutrient sticks and received fluids on a schedule, as conditions even inside the biosphere weren’t suitable for growing food or for producing more than the minimal necessary water. Only species who could tolerate the six hundred degree temperature of the biosphere were allowed to work here. It would be far too costly to fight the planet’s heat and cool the domed area to accommodate more temperature sensitive workers. The Mol weren’t particularly sympathetic to complaints. Xella had been here forty orbits ago to settle a labor dispute. There had been changes in feeding and shift schedules, and some turnover of workers who probably weren’t suited for this type of employment, but the Mol were the Mol.
Yes. An orbital warehousing structure would have been wiser. Idiots. But thankfully she wasn’t here this time on a labor dispute. The Dark had begun cutting through the Bootes constellation as part of their salvage operations, passing near Arcturus 5. Their presence had made the Mol uneasy. The Dark were an opportunistic race. What they called salvage was often what another species called momentarily unattended, or perhaps insufficiently guarded.
The Mol fears weren’t unfounded. Two hundred orbits ago the Dark had seized one of their freighters. It had been completely dismantled and sold as scrap along with its cargo by the time the Mol had tracked it down. The Dark had claimed they’d found it drifting near Gamma Crucis, no crew aboard and severely damaged. They blamed raiders.
Of course they did. Clearly the Dark were the luckiest of anyone in the twenty sectors because they always managed to come upon ships that had been attacked by raiders and left behind with a wealth of cargo and equipment. Amazing how often that seemed to happen.
The Mol lodged a protest but didn’t pursue any action. Bringing the Dark to justice had proved an expensive and deadly endeavor for many species. There hadn’t been any other provable infractions against Mol ships until this past month, when a cargo ship had disappeared right outside the Arcturus system.
Rather than accuse the Dark outright and risk an international incident, the Mol claimed domain of the system and the shipping lanes around it as part of their operations. If they prevailed, the Dark wouldn’t be able to come close enough to find a “salvage” ship without a fleet of Graha-Es destroyers on their tails.
The few female Graha-Es, the Tovenaressa to which Xella and Pey belonged, were known for civilized diplomacy and cultured negotiation. The sterile male Graha-Es, the Mezadu, were gifted with extra chromosomes, making them best suited for battle—and they were fierce. They lived to serve, and if Mother told a group to protect the shipping lanes, there would be no further complaints from the Mol about Dark raiders.
The Mezadu were what solidified the Graha-Es position in the twenty sectors, and why the Dark kept as far away from them as possible. The fact they’d agreed to this arbitration was a surprise. A Dark at the table was unusual enough; a Dark agreeing to abide by a decision by a Graha-Es Tovenaressa if a compromise was not reached was unheard of. It made Xella nervous. All races were predictable to a certain extent. This behavior shift worried her greatly.
But she wasn’t about to show uncertainty in front of Pey. Tovenaressa were sisters, daughters of the Mother, but there were no guarantees that Pey wouldn’t let slip a few stories of her weaknesses if things went bad. Increasingly, Xella worried about things going bad. Her assignments had become more challenging over the last dozen orbits—so challenging that she feared it would be only a matter of time until she failed. And failure was something that the Mother did not forgive.
“Welcome, Tovenaressa Xella, welcome.” The Mol escort greeted them enthusiastically the moment the bay door opened, bobbing his gelatinous head.
Xella adjusted the voicebox she’d attached to the port on the side of her neck,
ensuring that the frequency was compatible with Mol vocal communication. “Greetings to you, also. May I know your name?”
The Mol’s body shifted color to a lavender hue, indicating how flattered he was to be asked. Polite creatures with clear lines of societal structure, all but the most important of Mol were used to remaining anonymous figures. It was much the same among the Graha-Es, but Xella had learned early that personal attention went a long way in securing loyalty. And if things went as badly at this negotiation as she feared, she’d want every Mol possible on her side.
“T434, thank you for asking Tovenaressa Xella.”
She nodded. “This is Tovenaressa Pey who will be observing and assisting me.”
The Mol blinked at her turning a pale golden color. “We were expecting only one.”
Mother did like to surprise. Xella tilted her head in what passed for a smile among the Mol. “We can share accommodations. That would be no insult to us as we frequently do so at home.”
T434 bobbed his semi-liquid upper half and motioned for them to follow, their footsteps echoing loudly in the empty landing bay.
Empty. How odd. There should have been crates of boxed storage containers ready to shuttle up to the freighter parked in the upper atmosphere. It couldn’t have been full or it would have left by now. Unless the Mol were holding shipment until negotiations were complete to ensure no interference from the Dark. Still…it seemed oddly empty for such a large landing bay.
T434 led them through a giant set of doors large enough to accommodate pallets and to the left into a narrower hallway. The biosphere was sparse, the temperature cool to Graha-Es standards. Not cool enough to cause either of them to be lethargic, and certainly not cool enough to send them into stasis, but cool enough that Xella felt mildly uncomfortable. From the liquid the Mol leading them was dripping onto the floor, she assumed he must be fairly new here. Their home world was quite a bit cooler, this being near the upper limits of temperature that Mol could comfortably tolerate. No wonder they used other races in thermal collection and processing. A Mol exerting himself physically at this temperature wouldn’t be conscious for long.