Sleeping in the Stars

by D Patrick Wagner

  Staring at his own screen, Decker saw the list transfer to his own pad. “Yes, I can fill this. The energy modules are going to be a problem. They look military grade. There’s a trader in town, but I don’t know if he has any. The rest will take a couple of hours to collect and prepare.”

  Pocketing his pad, Krag asked, “Where is the trader? And a dinner house?”

  “You came from the port?” Krag nodded. “Keep going up the street. There’s a saloon across the road. You can’t miss it. Shar puts out a good meal. The trader is about a mile further. It’s a small warehouse with an office front. This is what the sign says.” With that, the clerk took a stylus and wrote something on a small piece of parchment. Handing it to Krag, “I’ll have everything boxed up in a couple of hours.”

  “See you in a couple of hours, John.”

  “I’ll be ready, Krag.”

  Krag left the dimness of the huge storehouse and entered the bright, windy day. Climbing into the quad, donning his gilly and wrap-arounds, he headed down the main street, passing all of the kinds of shops a community required. He recognized a barber shop, shoe repair, clothing, hardware, and all of the others needed to keep civilization going.

  “Buster?” Krag queried the AI sub vocally.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “You heard the language that John was speaking. Do you know what it is?”

  “Yes, sir. It is a heavy variant of old Earth German. I heard enough to be able to give you a fairly complete translation routine,”

  “Thank you. Fire it up.”

  As John said, the saloon was on the left. Continuing down the road, checking the parchment, Krag finally found the warehouse and office front where he might find his energy cells. Entering, an electronic bell chimed. A small, slender man dressed in a light shirt and slacks came from around his desk and stuck a hand out. Krag shook it.

  “Frank. What can I do for you?”

  Buster’s translation routine picked up the man’s speech, fed the result into Krag’s weave and Krag heard it in English.

  “Krag. I need some power modules for a J6 thruster. John, at the supply store, said that you might have some.”

  “That’s military,” Frank responded in Galactic English. “You with the Federacy?” Frank’s openness changed to wariness.

  “Was. Not now. I’m retired.”

  “What kind of ship have you got that uses a J6?” Frank eyed Krag with distrust.

  “It’s ok, Frank. I’m just a transporter. I just need some fuel and I’ll be gone.”

  “Having any modules that big is banned. I don’t have anything like that.”

  “You can bet that’s a lie,” Krag thought.

  “Those modules hold two hundred fifty kilos of fusion slurry,” Frank continued. “Like I said, I don’t have anything like that. But I do have some that can hold a hundred. If you bring in your couplers, I would need to refit them on the modules. Yes, that will do it.”

  “That’ll work. How much?”

  When Frank quoted the price, Krag flinched. “That’s a little high, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, if you were inside the Federacy. But this is the fringe. It costs to move goods out here, and that’s not counting the cost of finding the products, in the first place. But I do need to eat. I’m not gouging you, Krag. But I do need to make a profit. Your choice.”

  “You’re right. No offense intended. I’ll get back to my ship and get the couplers. Sell me eight of them.”

  “When you get back, I’ll get started. It’ll take about a day.”

  “An honest fence. Who’d a thought?”With that, Krag went back to the quad to retrieve the couplers.

  The trip back to the shuttle and ship proved uneventful, the same for the return trip. Both ways, the wind continued to blow. The dust and grit continued to collect in every nook it could find. Krag needed to continue wearing his gilly and glasses. Once back in the trader’s office, and having to shake the road dirt from his hat and clothes, Krag placed the canvas bag of couplers on the desk. Frank picked one up and inspected it.

  “These will work. I’ll have everything ready by first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “I was hoping for today. But, I can live with tomorrow. Is this planet wired into the net? I need to contact my employer and let him know that I’ll be late.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “I passed the saloon in town. It looked like it has rooms upstairs. Is it any good?” Krag asked.

  “It’s clean. Shar doesn’t allow any roughhousing. So, it’s pretty peaceful. Ya, it’s good,” Frank concluded.

  “See you in the morning.” Another handshake sealed the deal. With that, Krag left. Driving the quad, he arrived at the saloon and walked through the swinging doors. As soon as he entered, Krag felt as though he became part of an old western vid. The hardwood floor wore the scratches and gouges of hard-working people living country lives. The wooden tables and square-backed chairs covered the main floor. A large bar with shelves populated by liquor, other liquids, and jars of various herbs and pills ran the length of the back wall. A slightly raised platform with speakers, microphone stands, a set of drum and an electronic keyboard occupied one corner. “Probably nightly entertainment,” Krag thought. He saw a set of open double doors leading to a side room that contained card tables and some kind of a gambling pit. Being late morning, the saloon stood empty except for the barkeep and two patrons sitting at a table. Krag liked the place. He liked the earthiness about it.

  Going to the bar, Krag leaned on his forearms and raised a hand towards the barkeep. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, slender, slightly weather worn, Hair pulled back in a ponytail. Coming over, she rubbed her hands with a small towel, then used it to wipe a spot on the counter.

  “What will it be?” she asked in German.

  “Any beer?”

  “Draft or bottle,” she responded in English.

  “Bottle. And a mug. Any brand.”

  After retrieving a beer from the refrigerator and a mug from the freezer, she poured about three quarters and let the head rise to the edge of the glass.

  “Five credits,” she stated.

  Krag sighed, beginning to accept the high prices in this out-of-the-way world. Reaching for a chip, Krag asked, “Is Shar around? Frank, down at the trading post, said to look her up for a room.”

  “You’re talking to her. How many nights?”

  “Just one. I’ll be leaving in the morning.”

  “Just you?”

  “Yup.”

  “Forty credits. That includes the shower at the end of the hall.”

  “Ok, high, but again not bad,” Krag thought. Reaching for more chips, he asked, “and a meal. Meat, veggies, bread, if possible.”

  “That we’ve got. I’ll bring it out. Fifteen credits.” Another reach by Krag. Shar left for the kitchen.

  “Buster?” Krag sub-vocalized.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  Still sub-vocalizing, “I’ll be staying in town, tonight. Get me everything you have on the planet and this town. Focus on government, criminal activity and commerce. Have it ready first thing in the morning. Also demographics, like calendars and weather.”

  Krag stayed at the bar when the food arrived. He spent his time eating and talking with the owner, Shar. He learned about the town, the politicians, the power people and the money people. It was all general gossip, just like any gossip a stranger would pick up in a bar. The details weren’t that important to Krag. What was important was the overall feel of the town. He found a town that rough around the edges, a little larcenous and definitely not in love with the Federation. So far, he liked the Wild West flavor that he envisioned from his cowboy vids and he liked the independence of its people. And this was coming at a time that he was finally starting to emotionally recover from a lot of the things he had been ordered to do while being a major in the Federacy. This was coming at a time when he was finally flushing the spiritual toxins that he had accumulated in his years of Federac
y service. For the first time in more than three years Krag Marston felt the beginnings of yearning for a home, an island of safety, a spot of stability.

  After the meal and conversation, Krag left the bar and returned to the supply store and its owner, John. After paying for the supplies, (again a little high) and loading them in the quad, he drove back to the shuttle. The heat of the day was beginning to hit. Sweat began seeping into Krag’s clothing. The system’s star, hitting its zenith, baked the road, causing shimmers of heat waves to distort sections of sight. Arriving at the shuttle, he stowed everything away. Grabbing a hand rag to wipe his sweaty face, Krag began thinking about a message that he needed to send to Gregor.

  Mankind is still bedeviled by the speed of light. Nothing they control can move any faster. So it is with long range communications. An astronomical unit (AU) is approximately ninety-three million miles or one hundred and fifty million kilometers. It takes approximately nine minutes for light to travel one AU, making interstellar communication slow and tedious. The best that the galactic powers were able to come up with were tens of thousands of communication satellites scattered throughout the Federacy. Even utilizing the space gates, the wait times don’t truly allow for real time communications.

  Krag dictated his initial packet into the shuttle’s recorder. “The load is secure. The Federacy raided the lab. It’s gone. The local Federacy police sent in a containment squad. So everyone is probably dead. I got out, but I had to hide in a fringe system-Tolimar. I’ve got cops in the system. So I’ll dig in and hide. Probably about three or four days. If the Feds hang around longer, I’ll contact you again and give you an update.”

  Krag then addressed his AI. “Buster?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “There is a spacenet connection here. Can you tap in?”

  After less than a second, Buster responded, “Yes, Captain. I’m in.”

  “Link with Gregor, Encrypt the message I just dictated and shoot it to him. Use the shortest route possible.”

  “Linking, now.” After another short pause, Buster continued, “The packet has been sent.”

  Krag returned to the edge of town where he parked the quad and spent the rest of the day walking Main Street, browsing the stores, periodically talking with the locals and generally watching the town life in action. Krag found a hard working town that kept to itself and didn’t have a lot of airs, the same kind of town that Krag remembered from his farmland childhood. It took him back to before he had joined the Space Force.

  At supper time, he returned to the saloon where he sat at a corner table, ate his dinner, drank his beer and watched the action as the bar filled up. Shar moved about the room. A young man tended the bar. An older man worked the kitchen. Periodically, when things quieted down Shar would come over and sit, drinking some kind of drink and just talk and he’d listen. Krag didn’t want to lie too much. He felt they had made some connection. When the card games started, he went to the card room and lost a few credits, talking and joking with the players. The band, noisy and energetic, as good as most, kept the room lively and entertained. The evening only strengthened his feeling that this was a place that he could settle into. Now he needed to find out what Buster dug up.

  The next morning Krag rose late, a little hung over, a little bloated from too much food but at ease. After putting on pants and shirt, he grabbed is kit and towel then headed down to the showers. Once done, he changed into a clean set of clothes, matching the ones he’d worn yesterday. This time all of his weaponry went into the pack. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he was still the would-be prospector. While heading towards the saloon, Buster made contact.

  “Captain?”

  “Yes, Buster?” the captain sub-vocalized, while stopping on the landing.

  “One of the police cruisers turned around. It’s currently on a course for this planet.”

  “OK. Keep an eye on it. Call the shuttle back and keep it in the bay. I’ll stay in town and see if they land and find out what they know. Oh, and fire up your avatar and put away the supplies. Keep it active. I may need it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After the conversation, Krag continued to the saloon. He saw Shar setting up the bar, putting away the morning deliveries, planning the menu for the day. The morning crowd had already trickled in, some dressed in work clothes, some dressed in suites. All obviously preparing for a day of work.

  “Good morning, Boss Lady,” Krag said with a smile.

  “Good morning, to you,” Shar answered back. “Breakfast?”

  A few of the men and women looked up at the stranger. “Please. With lots of coffee.”

  “Anything special?”

  “No. Whatever you think is best.”

  “One Shar special coming up.”

  The cook delivered the meal. It looked like something from Earth, with some kind of scrambled eggs, a slab of meat resembling ham and potato-like tubers, all covered with gravy. A small loaf of fresh-baked bread rounded out the meal.

  Krag spent the next hour in silence, contentedly eating too much, drinking multiple cups of coffee and thinking about the future, both immediate and long term.

  Pushing the empty plate away and taking another swallow of coffee, Krag thought, “After this landing, it’s double time in the gym.”

  Shar came over and bussed the table. “Everything all right?”

  “Perfect. I don’t think I could keep eating like this, though. Your cooking is going to make me as big as a house.”

  “You already are, in a good way,” Shar responded, while carrying the dirty plates and silverware to the kitchen.

  That brought a surprised look to Krag’s face and a thought to his mind. “I may have to stay a little longer,” he thought, watching Shar’s long legs, tight behind and swaying ponytail as she walked away.

  He left credits on the table, exited the saloon and climbed into the quad. Then he headed to the trading post. Upon arriving and going into the office, once again, Frank sat behind his desk, wearing a clean white shirt and slacks.

  Rising, Frank stuck out his hand. “Morning, Mr. Marston.”

  “Call me ‘Krag’. Are they ready?”

  “Just like I promised. They’re in the back. Bring your transport around. You’ll see the loading ramp.” So saying, Frank turned and headed towards a door that led to the warehouse.

  Krag brought the quad around and backed it up to the dock. Seeing the steel door rolled up, he climbed out and walked inside. Frank was using a hand cart to wheel out one of the modules a sphere, about the size of a basketball in its own storage crate. Each weighed over two hundred pounds, Earth normal. Here they weighed about one hundred and eighty. Krag bent his knees, grabbed two of the storage racks, stood back up and walked out to the quad. Frank paused, watched, and then wheeled his cart out. Krag grabbed Frank’s rack one handed and lifted it into the quad. Frank smirked a corner of his mouth, shook his head and went back for another. Shortly the two finished loading the quad, its suspension laboring under the weight. Krag and Frank went back to the office to settle up.

  “What’s next?” Frank asked as he accepted the stack of credits from Krag.

  “Lunch, then heading back to my ship.”

  “Shar’s? I’ll see you there,” Frank stated as he quickly counted his earnings, stood and headed towards the safe at the back of his office.

  “See you there.”

  While Krag was climbing into the quad, Buster called. “Captain, the cruiser is landing at the shuttle port.”

  “Understood. Is your avatar ready?” Krag sub-vocalized.

  “Yes, sir. And it is armed.”

  “Good. Prep it for launch. I may need you in a hurry.

  “Will do.”

  Krag climbed back out of the quad, pulled a sheet of canvas and a length of line from a storage bin then covered the racks of energy modules. Once he had everything concealed and tied down, he headed back to the saloon, parking the quad in an alley, out of sight.

 
Upon arriving, he settled into a far corner table, facing the doors. Looking around the room, he saw the lunch-day crowd, some just arriving, others already seated, either eating or waiting for their meals. A mid-twenties waitress hustled between the kitchen, bar and tables, delivering food, and drinks. The young man was back behind the bar, alternately stocking the shelves, serving his customers at the bar or pouring drinks for the waitress. The older man worked the kitchen, throwing plates up onto a counter where Shar or the waitress would grab them and hustle to deliver the steaming food. Krag spent some time watching Shar work the room, talking to her regulars, bussing tables and keeping an eye on her help. Seeing Frank at a table across the room, Krag gave him a head nod and subtle wave. Frank nodded in return.

  Shar came over. “That was quick.”

  “Yup. All loaded. Got a beer?”

  “With your name on it.” She went to retrieve a bottle and a mug. Returning, she partially filled the frozen mug and watched the foam head rise just to the lip. With a satisfied nod, she sat down, tapped her hands on the table and looked at Krag.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “I think I’ll stay awhile. I like it here. It’s a good place to take a load off.”

  “Good idea.” Shar replied, while catching a wave from the kitchen. Rising from the table, respite done, she hustled back to work.

  At the same time, two Federacy police officers pushed the swinging doors open and clomped into the room, their heavy boots stamping the wooden floor.

  “Who’s in charge, here?” the one with the brass chevrons on his sleeve demanded.

  “I am,” replied Shar, turning towards the intruders.

  Krag surreptitiously reached down and flipped open the top of his backpack, leaving his slug thrower within easy reach.

  Sub-vocally he muttered, “Charge up the avatar, Buster. I might need you in a hurry.”

  “Already done, Captain.”

  “We’re looking for a smuggler. You see any strangers?”

  “How long back?” Shar asked, turning to grab a towel off the bar.

  “No more than a day.”

  “Nope, none.” She turned to the other patrons. “Any of you seen any strangers around?”