Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1

by Michael Kotcher

  “Thirty,” the Captain replied. “I won’t go any higher than that.”

  Goris Hana shrugged, causing his mounds of flab to undulate for a moment. “Thirty-five; final offer. Otherwise you can either buy my fuel wholesale or you can do without.”

  The Captain made a show of deciding. Thirty-five was lower than he’d expected to be able to get the man. After a moment, he grimaced and then said, “Fine. You have a deal, thirty-five percent.”

  The man nodded. “Excellent. I await your shuttle.” And he display went dark.

  The Captain blinked. “Well, that went better than I’d expected. Have Quesh assign a team and get the collector out there. Have Corajen assign a security detail as well,” he said as an afterthought. “But keep it together down there. We’re here to get fuel, not get arrested.”

  There were chuckles around the bridge.

  With Ka’Xarian and his team on the shuttle, the Captain had the ship begin its trip in system toward the inhabitable planet Darcannia. There was a fair amount of traffic in orbit of the planet as the bulk freighter arrived. Four small freighters and a dozen shuttles were also in orbit, either holding geosynchronous position over one of the principle landmasses or moving toward the orbital station. Nestromu Station was large, at least five times in size of the fueling orbital out by the gas giant. This was designed differently as well. Whereas the fuel station was shaped like a scepter, the main trading station was a cylinder bisected by a wide ring in the center. The upper sections held living quarters, motels, common areas, an area for shops and other businesses, the admin and control sections. The central ring held docking bays, and cavernous cargo bays for goods to be dropped off and picked up for shipment elsewhere. The lower areas also had living quarters and businesses, on the ten levels closest to the center ring, the rest below that were for station use only; the fusion reactors, life support sections and other such things.

  The station was well populated, holding over nine thousand souls aboard, with room for half again as many more. It was another hold over from the Republic days and like its counterpart further out in the system, it too had seen better days. Two of the station’s eight fusion reactors were dark, though it seemed as though the remaining ones were supplying enough juice to keep the station running. Aside from a patchwork of plates over sections of corrosion on the hull, it seemed as though the station itself was in good repair. The sensor dishes were up and running, the communications arrays looked all right. Shield generator nodes were a bit of a mess, it looked as though only about forty percent of the station had coverage, most of that was on the side current facing away from the planet. As the station did its slow rotation that section rotated with it so any protection against meteors, other space debris and solar radiation was negated. The shields did completely cover the reactors, however, which was something at least.

  The station looked little different than it had on the Grania Estelle’s last visit. Of course, the big freighter herself looked a fair bit different and the ship didn’t have the kind of sensors, passives or otherwise that she did now. So the Captain, looking at his display showing the station, was now seeing things that he wouldn’t have been able to in his blind, wallowing rock of a ship of yesteryear. The station was up and running, but he wondered now just how much rot had seeped in over the years. How much had he simply not noticed because of the amount of decay he’d lived with every day aboard his own ship? Now that Grania Estelle was for all intents running like new, he wondered what the inside of the station would be like and how much would cause him to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

  “Captain, we’ve got a tug bringing in a big rock off our starboard quarter,” George Miller reported from his station at ops. “Recommend we shift orbit to course two-one-six mark one-five.”

  “How close is he?”

  George tipped his head slightly to the side. “He’ll miss us by about ten kilometers, Captain. Not all that close, but a lot closer than we’d like. According to scans, one of his primary propulsion units is out and it looks like his maneuvering thrusters are a bit jittery.”

  The Captain pursed his lips for a moment. “All right, helm. You heard the man. Change course. Good eye, George. Keep it open.”

  The man smiled. “You got it, Captain.”

  A half an hour went by as the bulk freighter found herself an orbit about three thousand kilometers from Nestromu Station. It was a bit of a haul between them, but the Captain had no interest in trying to evade shuttles or other ships. With two other shuttles of his own still with them (Ka’Xarian having taken one) there was no cause for concern. The crew should go over in shifts with the cargo when it was unloaded and sold on the station. Taja was already on the line with cargo brokers making deals for the large amounts of goods they had brought with them. They were going to have an all-time high on profits for this run, he thought. Taja was very good at her job and she’d see that they weren’t cheated by the locals. Not this time. Though from the way she was talking, it didn’t seem that this would be a problem. This wasn’t some fly-by-night operation in a backwater system. Ulla-tran was a hub, both for commerce and for, well, civilization out here in the Cluster.

  “All right, people,” the Captain said, sweeping the bridge with his gaze. “Taja’s already starting to sell our cargo, get us the money we’re owed.” Smiles broke out for that. With a big haul of cargoes needed for such an industrialized system like this, it was likely that the Grania Estelle might do very well. They might even pick up a contract or two to bring things to and from here. And that would suit the Captain just fine. If they could set up a dedicated trade route with guaranteed cargoes and payment, instead of the vagabond existence they’d been subsisting on for the last few years, he was all for it. “Any sign of the Emilia Walker?”

  George shook his head. “Nothing yet, Captain. I’ve been running sensor sweeps for them every fifteen minutes looking for them. I think we’re a few days early from our deadline, though.”

  He frowned. “Actually, if my math is right, unless they got held up somewhere they should have beaten us here.”

  Stella appeared on the holo projector. “Averaging a stopover at each planet they visit of no more than five days, and if they maintain their best hyperspeed, they should have arrived here a week ago.”

  The Captain nodded. “Keep an eye out for them, George.”

  “Got it.”

  “You too, Stella.

  “Understood, Captain,” she said, giving a slight bow. “Hopefully, they just extended their stays at the various planets they stopped at. Maybe they’ll arrive here in the next few hours.”

  The Captain nodded, but didn’t reply. He wasn’t saying it, but they were all thinking it. It was very possible that Captain Vosteros and his crew had simply taken their newly repaired ship and left, with no intention of ever linking back up with the big bulk freighter ever again. Eamonn wanted to believe in them, that they would honor their word and their promise, but circumstances were starting to look as though the old Argos Cluster adage of “look out for yourself first” was playing true here.

  The station had its own shuttle service for passengers and cargo, though they were perfectly happy to have incoming ships use their own means of ferrying things. Tamara and her team, along with ten others, were among the first to get leave to go over to the station. A few of the crew had been here before, so for them it was a rush to get to the bars and brothels and gambling halls. Others, like Tamara and her team, had never been here before. So for them, it was all new, a whole new place to explore. Tamara’s team had only been aboard for a few months, so their experiences in the Cluster had been aboard the Grania Estelle and the planets she had visited.

  As they approached the station, Tamara turned back to her team. They were all strapped into uncomfortable chairs that were bolted to the sides of the slim, rectangular shuttle. They had partaken of the station’s shuttle service, as both of the freighter’s ships were in use for cargo unloading. “All right kids, you all heard the
rules from the security people back on the ship. But they bear repeating so listen up.” Tamara glared at all of them, though she kept her tone light. “Nobody goes anywhere alone. And I do mean nobody. I don’t care how tough you are, I don’t care how many people you’ve killed, or what Navy you’ve served in. Everyone has at least one person they are staying with at all times. It sounds childish, as though we can’t trust you to do your thing. That you’re not an adult.” She smiled. “Take it as an insult or as instruction. I don’t really care. If you all want to be angry with me, that’s just peachy. But I’d rather you have your leave and then come back to the ship in one piece to be angry with me.” She made eye contact with all of the crew, each of them nodded in understanding. “We aren’t really familiar with this place. They aren’t familiar with us. So just… keep your eyes open, please?”

  Again they nodded.

  “Good. Now, go, have fun and come back ready to work.” She beamed at them and they all laughed. The shuttle set down on the deck of the hangar bay, a bit more roughly than they were used to and they all pitched against their harnesses as the shuttle came to a stop. “Wow does that pilot need a refresher course.”

  The pilot’s voice sounded over the intercom. “Welcome aboard Nestromu Station. You’re in bay 12 on level sixteen. The levels above you lead to the civilian sections; markets, hotels and other businesses. The ten levels below the hangar ring have more of the same. We ask you remain in the public sections and enjoy your stay.” The main hatch popped with a hiss of air and then slid to the side, the door control gears grinding slightly, causing Tamara to wince at the sound.

  She unbuckled her safety harness and stood. “Well come on, kids,” she told them. “Time’s wasting.”

  The hangar bay looked much like many space based structures did. It was a huge metal box, with the occasional life support unit attached to the bulkheads every few meters. The deck and the bulkheads were not the cleanest Tamara had ever seen, they were somewhat dingy from accumulated grime, leaky pipes and exhaust from engines. The deck itself, however, was clear of any debris, something Tamara very much approved of. Having bits of dirt and junk and other debris on the deck in a place where it could potentially interfere with passing ships was what spacers called “A Very Bad Thing.”

  They passed through the main doors to the lifts, which were utilitarian, and Pip punched the button for the third level. No one seemed to argue with this choice, they just waited for the lift to move, which it did, and then waited for it to stop on the desired level.

  “I’m going to go through every single bar here,” Rory declared, rolling his shoulders as though he was preparing for some athletic event.

  “You know I’m coming with you,” Mairi said with a grin.

  “Me too,” Igraine put in. “No way are you going without me.” Victor nodded his assent.

  “Pip?” Rory asked, looking to the other man.

  But he shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m going shopping.”

  The others chuckled. “Shopping?” Mairi asked. “What for?”

  He shrugged. “Not sure yet. Though I am going to look for some new shoes.”

  “Shoes?” Mairi said, laughing. “You’re going to buy some shoes.”

  He turned a look of mock anger on her. “And what, pray, is wrong with wanting a new pair of shoes? My ship boots are fine for every day. I want a new pair of actual shoes for when we go off the ship.”

  “You’re not going alone, Pip,” Tamara said. It wasn’t a question.

  “No, Tamara,” he replied. “I’m going with one of the cargo guys. He wants to look for a new jacket.”

  Mairi just laughed, putting one hand to her forehead; Rory put a hand to her elbow to help steady her.

  Tamara smiled. “Leave him alone, Mairi,” she said, trying hard not to laugh. “The boys want to get some new clothes. I hope that they can clean up nice.”

  “Where are you off to?” Mairi asked her, once she managed to recover from her fit of hysterical laughter.

  Now it was Tamara’s turn to chuckle. “I’m off to get a few new clothes myself.” She waved her hands to indicate her clothes, which were nothing more than a shipsuit and a pair of boots. “I don’t have any civvies, not after what happened at Yullankla.” That story had made its way around the ship in less than an hour. Somehow, pictures of the three women (the two humans and the lupusan) had found their way onto the computer network, showing them bloody, battered with torn clothing, wearing metal restraints and being marched aboard the shuttle. Once they started appearing, the mirth of the crews was unmatched. The three growled their ire at seeing the pictures, but no one was willing to delete them from the database. Even when Tamara went in and tried to purge them, some quick thinking soul had gotten in and copied them to some sort of external drive and within two hours of her sweep of the ship’s database, the pictures kept popping back up again. Throwing their hands up in disgust, the three had decided to just ignore them. This was a difficult task, as the pictures popped up on displays, datapads and console screens at seemingly random times. Tamara suspected Stella’s involvement, though she didn’t scold the AI. She was sure she could see a twinkle of mirth in the AI’s eyes whenever they would speak lately.

  The interior of the station looked much like the hangar bay: well used and slightly dingy. There was a distinct metallic odor that pervaded as Tamara walked along the corridors, the two other women from cargo just ahead of her. It looked exactly like what it was, a well-worn station that had been around for over three centuries. The crew had apparently made repairs and patches when needed, with her critical eye (and assistance from her visual implants) she could tell where components had been swapped out, new plates installed among other small repairs. But it was clear that disrepair was beginning to overtake their efforts. Either they didn’t have replicator support, or else the station administrators didn’t believe that a full overhaul was worth the expense. On the Grania Estelle, the Captain had authorized such an effort because his ship was literally on its last legs. The station must be doing decent business, but not bringing in enough to justify the pay for all of the labor needed for work gangs to get the overhaul done. Perhaps there were some sections that were getting the attention now and it was deemed unnecessary for the connecting corridors. Tamara decided she would look into it. Perhaps the Captain could work out a deal to sell them replicated parts.

  The lift reached the Promenade levels, which were lined with shops of all types, arrayed in what looked like various “districts” as the identification panels on the bulkheads indicated. There was a weapon district, the garment district, library, even one with the quirky “gadget district” moniker. Tamara and her companions headed for the garment district, determined to find a new stock of civilian clothing, but the engineer had a desire to check out a few of the other places. One never knew what one might find sifting through the various items for sale.

  Tamara stepped into one of the electronics shops about an hour later. She had found several new outfits for herself, spending what little cash she could on new clothing. She wasn’t big on fashion, comfort was more important in her mind, but she had to admit, she did look good in what she’d bought. She had rented a locker and stowed her packages there, so that she didn’t have to lug them around with her while she went “fun shopping”. Clothes were a necessity and while she had indulged herself a little, what she was really interested in would be more likely found here.

  Once inside, she looked around. Shelves were stacked with various items from floor to ceiling in the narrow space. She noticed a few power nodes, drained, from what she could tell, but they looked to be in good condition. Nodding, she continued on, looking at the various items. A lot of what she saw here was reconditioned, and very little of it actually interested her. The replicators on the ship could make better stuff, frankly, though it was interesting to see what was here.

  “Can I help you with something?” a male voice came from the far side of the shop. Tamara looked up to se
e who had spoken. It was a human, a big man, with dark hair, wearing a standard coverall, with a fuel pump in one hand and a rag in the other, wiping it clean of grease. He was wearing a pair of goggles, which shielded his eyes.

  She nodded. “I’m really just looking, but I’m always looking for something good.”

  The man grunted. “I’ve got a lot of this and that, ma’am,” he replies.

  She raised an eyebrow. “What, you’re not going to ‘pretty lady’ me?”

  He grunted again. “Ma’am, the only pretty I care about is the pretty of your money.”

  Now Tamara chuckled. “I like that attitude. Well, so long as you’re not trying to sell me junk for overinflated prices.”

  “You seem to have a good eye.” His tone was flat. “I saw you checking out my wares. You won’t find crap in my store.”

  She looked at him more closely, her implants scanning him. “I’m not the only one with a good eye. That’s a serious prosthetic you’ve got on there. I like the goggles. You ashamed of people seeing what you really are?”

  “Now, that is pretty,” he commented, setting the pump down. “You got yourself some prosthetics too, I see.” Tamara’s implants indicated that she was being scanned. The man’s eyes had been replaced with cybernetic implants, with a wide range of abilities, detailed scans seemed to be one of them. A handy trait for someone who would be working on fixing machines. “Some old prosthetics.”

  “Are you calling me old?” she asked, pretending to be offended.

  It didn’t fool the merchant. “Your implants certainly are. Wow, those are ancient. Over two hundred and sixty-eight years old.”

  “Good eye,” she replied. “Yeah, these are Republic Navy implants.”

  He nodded. “Haven’t seen anything like that around here. But I doubt you came in here looking for implants.”

  She shook her head. “No, not really. Though if you happen to have any, I’d be interested in taking a peek. My crew is getting itchy for some and I can’t make them.”