“Want someone to come with?”
Naero shook her head. “I can handle it.” She still wanted to lose herself somewhere, if only for a little while. Get away from everyone and everything. Like that was possible.
Perhaps Jan had the right idea
“Safe journey,” Saemar said.
“Watch out for the locals,” Gallan warned.
She snorted. “They’d better watch out for me.”
Despite Gallan’s cautions, Naero wasn’t too worried. She’d handled squabbles, prejudice, and fights with landers since she was a kid. She knew when to stand and when to run. Usually.
The world beyond the port and the bubble cities around the port was still somewhat foreboding, a thin harsh atmosphere with occasional caustic storms.
During jump she had studied how Irpul-4’s native plants, insects, and animals adapted, with mid-sized reptiles dominating the surfaces and the shallow seas. Feeble attempts had been made to terraform the planet, especially around the inhabited bands, but no one had done a proper job of it.
At least the air inside the domes was more or less breathable. Everyone in the fleet had taken an acclimating compensator dosage upon arrival. AC-Ds were SSP–Standard Spacer Procedure–for non-normal atmospheres.
The autodirection feature in her comp led her through the net of avenues and buildings meshed together. Once out of the starport itself, she realized she wasn’t missing that much. Naero despised old Gigacorp starports and trade hubs all over again. Drab, uniform, no art, no vision. The station at Irpul-4 was a classic example of their lack of style, nearly two centuries old.
What a dump.
Even several feeble revamps hadn’t helped the place over the years. In fact, most of the changes had been superficial, merely cosmetic. Some parts were from this era, other windows or facings, or screens or spolymers from an earlier time.
At some point, those in charge had simply given up, leaving a mis-mated hodgepodge of tek and style, spattered about like the worn refuse of several decades. A trading slum.
And that was exactly what too many Gigacorp starports were like.
What a difference Spacer starports were. Each one beautiful and aesthetically unique. A challenge to the imagination.
It didn’t matter that she’d never been to Irpul-4 before. She’d dropped in on too many of its clones since she could float. And Triax, one of the oldest of the Corps, seemed no different.
She rounded a corner, pre-occupied with her own thoughts and the readouts and info on her comp.
She bumped right into someone very tall. The guy blotted out the weak sunlight.
Naero bounced off him as if he were made of duranadium. He was either in fantastic shape or a muscle-hyped Corps Sterodan. But they usually stank pretty bad.
This guy smelled of spice and citrus, a little cloying, but not unpleasant. And yet there was something else. What was his heavy cologne hiding from her sensitive nose?
“Excuse me,” he said. He stood very tall, well over two meters–taller than Gallan, but not as tall as her father. Naero stood almost three heads shorter by comparison.
She pulled back. His face was obscured by the sun directly behind him.
Too lanky and athletic to be a Sterodan. He wore expensive lander clothes, local high class business stuff, all brocade on shimmering velvet. Where was the guy’s retinue? Bodyguards? Funny thing, he wore no jewelry.
Landers often wore a lot of jewelry for some reason.
She moved slightly to one side to get a better look at him. Nothing about this guy was normal or ordinary. His eyes were sharply gray, almost darkened silver, deep and fierce like the gleam of blades. Naero caught his scent again and her mouth almost opened. The scent, the eyes, his bearing, no jewelry.
He was a Spacer. She’d bet serious creds on it.
What was he doing in gaudy local duds? Most Spacers despised dressing like landers, except when necessary. His smile seemed rather ironic, touches of amusement in his dark, grim face.
“Sorry,” she said. “No harm.” She went to veer around him, going back to her figures.
The stranger stepped in front of her this time.
Naero backed off slightly, automatically assuming a neutral defensive stance. Spacers seldom attacked each other without provocation. Yet even among themselves, there were rare renegades, criminals, and outcasts.
The big guy nodded, looking rather amused. “You show signs of prowess, but your training has been minimal.”
What was he talking about? Naero had been trained by the best. She was an expert fighter.
“Try me.”
He suppressed a slight chuckle. “Er, what I mean is excuse me, miss. I’m not trying to frighten you. I merely want to talk, not spar.”
“Then talk. I’m busy.”
He did chuckle. “A real charmer. You look like your mother, but you must take after your aunt.”
She glared up at him. How dare he compare her to–
“I’ll try not to detain you too long,” he said. “But I couldn’t help but notice from your togs that you’re with Sleak Maeris’s fleet?”
“Maybe. Who wants to know?”
“Let’s just say...an old family friend.”
“You got a name?”
His eyes softened and his smile left him. He seemed almost saddened as he spoke his name.
“Baeven. Your aunt knows me. Call her if you like, but she’ll probably curse. Our last meeting...went badly, I’m afraid. Entirely my fault, really. It usually is.”
Who was this guy?
“Tell her that I would like to meet with her again and make amends for Toraga-5. Are all three of her ships here?”
“Check the registry. Docking pool Gamma-78. And it’s five ships now.”
The stranger seemed impressed. “Five ships. Business must be good. My compliments.” He glanced at her rank again and bowed. “And as I have already guessed, you must be her niece, Naero Amashin Maeris.”
She bowed in return. “How do you know me?” She backed up a bit more. “If you have business with Aunt Sleak, go talk to her.”
“In time. Actually I came in part to see you, and your brother–Janner Maeris Ramsey.”
Even more curious.
Most landers were completely ignorant of the fact that female Spacers took the Clan name of their mother, while Spacer males took the family name of their father. First or last names could be used as middle names. Amashin was the first name of Naero’s grandfather, on her mother’s side.
“What do want with me and my brother?” Spacer or not, she suddenly did not like this character. If he knew so much already, why did he want to talk to them?
“A matter of grave importance, I’m afraid. One that your poor parents stumbled upon by unhappy chance.”
She almost took a step forward. “What do you know about any of that?”
His easy smile returned. “I am an old friend of the family, after all.”
“I never heard of you.”
His face darkened, as if out of deeper sadness. “That is not important. I tell you honestly how deeply I grieved to hear about your parents’ tragic demise. They deserved far better.”
“I bet.”
“They were very important to me in many ways, Naero. Your entire clan is.”
“If you have something to tell me and Janner, then talk.”
“This is not a good place for what I have to say. It would be best if we could talk privately–in a secure area?”
“Come to The Shinai. If Aunt Sleak lets you on board, we’ll talk. Can’t you tell me anything?”
He tossed a crystal chip at her. Naero caught it.
“I paid a great deal for that bit of coded transmission,” he said. “That copy may be of interest to you. Break it carefully when you’re back on board your ship.”
Naero stored it in her comp.
Baeven lowered his voice. “Your parents’ deaths were not accidental, spacechild.”
“No shit. Everyone
knows that. Most likely Matayan corsairs.”
“That, and much more. You knew the might of your parents’ ship, Naero. How heavily they armed it. What would you say if I told you that The Omaria and her expedition were intercepted and taken out...not only by the corsairs of the Matayan Cartels, but by thirty elite naval cruisers and three-score advanced heavy destroyers–all with the direct backing of several Gigacorps?”
Naero gasped. “What? Why?”
What could they have been exploring in the Unknown Sectors to bring that much firepower to bear against them? It didn’t make any sense.
“That’s where it gets interesting,” Baeven said. Then he glanced around once.
“I’m afraid I must be going. I’ll see you and Janner on board The Shinai.” He grinned wickedly. “If your aunt doesn’t vaporize me on sight.”
He turned away from her without another word.
Naero gasped. “What? You unload on me like that and then cut? Why not go back with me now?”
He shook his head, looking off in a certain direction. “Impossible. Some…rival associates of mine are heading this way. They can be very unpleasant when they wish to be. I suggest you continue on your duties so that they do not notice you. You and your brother should stay close to your Aunt Sleak and listen to her. Don’t take any unforeseen trips. Avoid strangers.”
“Yeah, like you,” she said.
“That, too, might have been wise. But there are powerful forces moving, applying vast resources at their command. I’m not sure yet how you and your brother fit into the game, Naero. Guard yourselves.”
Another quick glance from him made Naero check her six. In the distance, she heard the whine of vehicles.
When she turned back to speak to Baeven, she found herself alone in the alley once more.
Naero’s right hand went to the blade at her hip. The other brought up her hand comp.
A lifeform scan showed nothing. She activated her gravwing and popped up into the sky for an instant.
No one could move that fast. Did he have some kind of personal cloaker or gravunit? Rumors abounded concerning such devices.
Baeven had Shadowforce written all over him. What did her parents have to do with Spacer Intel?
What he told her made her nervous, paranoid, and all the more curious.
What in the hell had her parents been involved in that got them killed like that? What could they possibly have come across that the Corps would want so badly?
She recalled Baeven’s cautions suddenly and popped over a couple of blocks before anyone could spot her in that vicinity.
Naero de-activated her gravwing and picked her way cautiously through the alleys around the extensive Triax warehouses. She avoided the occasional derelict and roving groups of landers. Amid the refuse and isolation of the streets and alleys, she soon wished that she had brought Gallan along. She considered going back, but she was so close to her destination now that she figured she should go on.
Several muffled explosions suddenly rocked the starport in the direction Baeven had noted. Smoke rose up. Sirens converged.
Naero neared her goal and kept to her own business.
A few minutes later she argued with a head dock manager in a Triax Corp shipping office that smelled of dust and strange chemicals. He was a sweaty, frazzled little bald guy with thin wisps of hair around the sides and back as if he’d tried to pull the rest out with his hands and only partially succeeded.
“Bottom line,” she said, “we have a deal. Your people contracted our fleet to ship heavy machinery, vehicles, and robo-construction units to Epsilon Sextanis-6. Our ships leave tomorrow morning, with or without your goods. Either way, we still get paid.”
The little guy pleaded with her. “The schedule’s all goofed up. We’re overloaded. My people are working around the clock. We’ll get the shipment to you. I just don’t know when.”
She nodded and held up both hands. “That’s what you said earlier. Just remember, we get paid either way. You’ll have to explain it to your supers if we don’t have anything to deliver. Get the stuff to us tonight, or we’ll sell the space for something else.”
“May I be of service?” Both of them turned and gawked at the stunning woman who had just walked in.
Highbrow Corps woman from her clothes, showing one leg and one shoulder. That weird kind of lander style that seemed both slinky and yet professional.
Naero’s first impression was that there wasn’t anything modest about this woman. She was top Corps all the way, from her crystal shoes to the roots of each strand of her shimmering holographic hair.
Only the elite had the creds to flaunt that kind of style.
Her luxuriant green eyes locked onto Naero and gleamed. A hungry smile swelled her violet lips. Most Corps elites had that smile. This one was particularly avaricious.
The dock manager sweated torps suddenly. Apparently he knew who she was. “Lady Drianne Imiviel. I-I’m–”
“Honored, to be sure.” Naero heard movement outside of the office, and suddenly felt sorry for the dock manager. Busting his hump for the Corps and they didn’t even let him talk.
Lady Drianne didn’t even look at him. “Dock Manager Farris, we are conducting a surprise efficiency inspection.”
Farris paled like a moonrise. “B-but, we just had one two months ago! We p-passed in the ninetieth percentile!”
“Our records show you were warned about the inspection so that you had time to prepare.”
“I–”
“Don’t bother denying it. Your conspirators have already confessed and been demoted. Now, this shipper in question. What is the problem?”
“Look, it’s no problem,” Naero said.
“That will be determined.” A flash of that smile again. “Now, Mr. Farris. Why hasn’t your staff delivered Triax’s goods to this shipper in an efficient and timely manner?”
“It’s not my fault. Priority shipments came through, heavy military traffic. The locals...they just had a holiday a few days ago and the loading teams are all off speed. The Corps floaters and migrants I ordered haven’t all come in yet, and the ones I have came to me, uh...badly trained and motivated. I’m doing the best with what I have. We’re a little behind, but she’ll get her goods.”
“Good enough,” Naero said. She turned to depart.
“A moment, young woman,” the Corps lady said. “I may need a report from you. Now, Mr. Farris, it seems that you’ve given certain shipments priority, and not just Corp-haulers over indeps. It appears that this cleverly veiled series of priority shipments matches investments made by other family and friends and acquaintances of yours, scattered over thirty or forty systems.”
Lady Drianne pressed a radiant jewel on her wristcomp.
Farris looked as if he’d been shoved out of an airlock. Naero yawned. Wasn’t anything any other dock alpha wouldn’t do.
She grew mildly curious as to why Triax Corps chose to roll over on this guy. He’d either gotten too greedy or hadn’t given the right supers a big enough cut. Either way, he’d torped off someone high up in Triax.
“We’ll talk, in your office, in one hour. Have your records ready for inspection.”
Two other Triax personnel and a bot joined them from just outside the doorway, stopping behind Lady Drianne. The foremost looked clerkish and efficient, no doubt the inspector. If the lady was a shark, this guy was a piranha.
The bot and the other person behind them were of interest. Bodyguards. Only the lander elites could afford bots. With their strong, independent need for competency and self-sufficiency, Spacers never relied on them.
This bot was a class eight Triaxian sec-bot, with some apparent modifications. It moved about fluidly, rearing up on four of its six legs. Its various recorders and scanners clicked and whirred, very insect-like, but it seemed focused on Naero for some reason. Lady Drianne spoke to the clerk.
“Inspector Cho, take my sec-drone and escort Mr. Farris. Make certain that he does not leave us, harm any
records...or himself. Mr. Farris, your second? Mr. Farris?”
Farris looked dazed, then he punched up a micro-button on his finger band. “Hassan,” he said in a horse whisper. “Get up here right away. I don’t care what you’re doing. Get up here. Now!”
Farris drifted off in a fog, muttering to himself, flanked by the sec-bot and the clerk.
The second bodyguard stepped out of the shadows.
Not too ugly...for a Matayan goon.
He loomed tall and meaty, with a thick face and a bright, intricately braided blond horsetail. It clashed with his Corps primate suit.
Only blooded Matayan warriors could wear their hair long. Their nobility wore two or more braids to note their rank.
Naero wondered how many stars this chunk had on his chest, one for each ten kills. Ten stars earned the formal title of Slayer. Like most Matayan killers, he looked like he enjoyed his work.
The form of a battle blade under his jacket was more than an ornament. She guessed he had several other concealed weapons on his person–just like herself.
Naero gave him her best girlish grin. In return, he locked eyes with her, glared, and curled his lips into an ugly sneer. If it came down to it, she might be able to take him with her speed, but it would be a tough fight. This guy was definitely a serious threat.
Lady Drianne finally turned back to her. “You’ll have your goods tonight...miss?”
“Maeris. Naero Amashin Maeris.”
She looked pleased. “With Sleak Maeris? When did she have a daughter?”
“She didn’t.” Naero could never imagine her aunt even holding a child, let alone one of her own. “I’m her niece.”
“I know your aunt well; give her my regards. I’ve brought plenty of associates with me to assist the new Acting Dock Manager. Triax apologizes for any inconvenience.”
Naero cursed to herself. “Associate” meant “slave” in Triax lingo. Floaters and migrants culled from the Corp’s systems, expendable freeze-ship labor, shunted about here and there. People were a cheap commodity. But the Corps didn’t waste anything, or anyone.
“Thank you,” Naero said. “I’ll tell my aunt you said hello.”
“Tell her to contact me. I might have something of interest for her fleet. Perhaps we’ll meet again, Mistress Naero.”
Spacer Clans Adventure 1: Naero's Run Page 6