“What the hell happened to you? I’ve been trying to raise you for an hour!” the Earthman exclaimed.
“What about the six hours before that?” Noomi answered tartly.
“I was busy making sure the Vishnu wasn’t blown up!” Tully retorted. “A ship came out of nowhere and started blasting! I finally ran ‘em off with the Vishnu’s missiles. Those babies pack a punch. They were top of the line offensive weapons in my day, not defensive, but they did the job just fine.
“Then I waited a prudent amount of time to make sure they weren’t coming back. Now, here I am. What’s the trouble? Bust your radio?”
Indri Mindsinger explained about the moon’s energy field that sapped power from systems. “We’d best collect Wormwood and be on our way before the Vimana becomes dead as well.”
“Looks like you’ve been in a fight,” Tully told Noomi as she came close.
“It wasn’t even a fight,” the Tatar said proudly. “Now, you check the shuttle. There are three ships to search and three of us.”
Hearing the tone in the girl’s voice that indicated she would brook no dissent, the Earthman did as he was told.
Indri Mindsinger, having located Rastheln’iq in the wreck, herded the plant man, who was reluctant to leave, toward the Vimana. He explained that Tully had come for them, and repeated the Earthman’s story. The pair had almost reached the transport by this time.
“Yes, that makes sense,” murmured the Vir when Indri had finished. “As well equipped as the Lightrunner is, it is merely an expeditionary vessel, without long term accommodations. Of course it had a mother ship.”
As soon as they got inside, they found Tully waiting. “Come on! What are you lollygagging for?”
Indri and Rastheln’iq made their way to the upper level, where the cockpit lay. Noomi was already there, prepping the ship for takeoff. As the Vimana lifted off, the Viridian scientist asked, “What is the rush, exactly?”
“We don’t know how long it takes the energy field to leech power from a ship,” Indri explained, somewhat surprised that Rastheln’iq was not thinking of this.
“You worry too much,” the Vir said with a wan smile.
“Worry too much? What are you talking about?” the Delphite priest asked impatiently. As patient as his race was, Indri’s was about gone for this day. “If the Vimana loses its power, we’ll never get off this moon.”
“The Vimana will not lose its power,” Rastheln’iq said.
“Oh? Why not?” Tully asked brusquely.
“Because it does not use atomic energy or electrical power,” Rastheln’iq explained calmly. “It uses ancient plasma drive like the Vishnu’s sublight thrusters.”
“So?” challenged the Earthman.
“The energy field does not affect chemical reactions. My own concoctions today proved that.”
Indri was stunned into silence for a moment. The possibility had not occurred to him. “So we can come and go as we please.”
“Yes.”
From the cockpit, Noomi Bloodgood called out, “The Lightrunner’s ours now!”
“We can complete our salvage operation,” murmured Indri.
“Yes,” agreed Rastheln’iq. “But there is another more pressing matter.”
“What is that?”
“In searching the shipwreck, I discovered that it was carrying a payroll shipment.”
“That’s right!” said the Tatar. “The Templars disguise couriers sometimes for top secret deliveries, including payroll.”
“Did you say payroll?” Tully asked, his eyes gleaming with avarice.
“I did,” affirmed the Vir.
“Then we’re rich!”
“Yes, we are,” Rastheln’iq smiled thinly.
This Planet Under New Management
Summer was just beginning on Twilight when the Vishnu arrived at the mining planet but you couldn’t tell it from the weather. Above the narrow strip of habitable land of the tidally-locked planet, the skies were always turbulent. It was buffeted by hot winds from one face of Twilight and regaled by cold wind from the other. All the work done on the planet got done in this thin band, called Terminus. It was the dividing line between the two faces of Giruyetti, which was better known as Twilight.
Twilight was a berzelium mining operation, berzelium being an uncommon and fairly valuable element known for its durable properties. Among its uses was as the hull of starships.
Those aboard the Vishnu had come to Twilight seeking their fortunes. By buying raw ore, they could turn a profit by delivering a load to a processing plant on a remote world that normally had to wait for a circuit freighter to come by – all without the overhead normally involved. They stood to double – or perhaps even treble – their investment.
“You seem quite satisfied, Wormwood,” Indri Mindsinger, a hairless male slightly larger than the average human, said to the plant man Rastheln’iq.
“I am,” replied the other. Both were seated at the rectangular console in the center of the bridge of the Vishnu. All the ship’s main operating controls were located there.
“Wormwood” was a nickname given to Rastheln’iq by those who did not understand his experiments on some of the intelligent species of known space. He had been in charge of recent upgrades to the Vishnu, a fourteen hundred year old vessel. “The new computer system is working perfectly.”
The Vishnu, a Republic of Earth ship that had been lost on its maiden voyage, did not reflect its occupants’ newfound wealth. The upgrades performed on the vessel were mostly internal: new cores for the power plants of the nameless shuttle and the expeditionary faster-than-light transport Lightrunner; the installation of a salvaged computer Series 6, which was top of the line for spacegoing craft, and more than adequate for the needs of the crew of the Vishnu; phototropic shielding for protection against carolinium-powered beam weapons. Those aboard the Vishnu were wanted criminals, and it seemed inevitable that they would come under fire at some point in the future. The old shields of the Vishnu, from before the age of beam weaponry, were for navigational purposes only, intended to deflect space debris; a point defense system for protection against Lancer drone attacks; a gravitic harpoon, installed on deck 7, for salvage operations; and a trio of robots to operate engineering at maximum efficiency.
These upgrades had run the quartet a pretty penny. They arrived at Twilight with a hundred thousand stellars, the currency of the Imperium, one of the two great powers of the Orion Spur.
“We’re in orbit, boys,” announced Noomi Bloodgood, who was a Tatar, a chimera species that combined the best traits of humans and Bringle, an animalistic race of predators. A former soldier, she served as the ship’s main pilot, though each could now perform that duty with varying degrees of skill. The reflexes of the Tatar race were legendary.
“I’m not so sure we shouldn’t just split the loot,” said Joe Tull, better known as Tully, an Earthman who had slept in cryonic suspension while the Vishnu drifted for fourteen centuries. Of the four, he was the only one who had not been convicted of a crime and sentenced to imprisonment on Purgatory, the Imperium’s most secret prison planet. But he certainly would be if caught aiding and abetting the others.
“We’ve spent a reasonable sum on upgrading this vessel, and it’s in as good a condition as we can afford,” said Indri, a Delphite priest, which meant that he was skilled in the ways of psychomancy. “We are also fully stocked, so what we have left is surplus.
“I’m surprised you’re having second thoughts. You’re always on the lookout to – I believe you say – make a quick buck.”
“Yeah, well, we haven’t had much luck with that concept so far,” retorted the Earthman, who was short and compact with unruly dark hair. “I haven’t forgotten those space weevils. I still remember the taste of them!”
“I assure you,” interjected Rastheln’iq, “all the tawlls were sifted out before I gave the grain to you for food preparation. Is that not correct, Pal?”
“Yes, sir!” boomed Pal,
a robot that oversaw the ship’s operating systems. Without him, a crew of four could not hope to run the Vishnu, designed for more than a hundred.
“You see?”
Tully, the cook of the Vishnu, had no answer for that. Pal was his only true friend on the ship, and was designed to be infallible, like all machines.
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” Noomi said cheerfully as she vacated the pilot’s seat.
“We leave the ship in your watch, Pal,” Indri told the robot, which resembled a primitive pot-bellied stove in general shape and possessing a number of arms, each of which had a specific function for his duty as ship systems overseer. One of these was a tentacle, for example.
“Yes, sir,” Pal replied almost gleefully.
“I will be saying here,” Rastheln’iq said, “but as I am busy, Pal is in charge of the Vishnu.”
“Oh?” said the Delph.
“You do not require my help to accept a consignment of ore,” answered the plant man. “I have important work to do here.”
“Very well,” said Indri, wondering what sort of work Wormwood was doing as he joined the others at the main elevators.
The spaceport on Twilight lay in the frigid zone of the two-faced planet. The atmosphere there was calm, even one hundred miles from the turbulent region of Terminus. The facility was not built for tourists. It lacked the creature comforts associated with such spaceports. It was designed for cargo, and normally the only sentient beings passing through it were employees of the Tri-Planetary Corporation, which was one of the largest companies in the Imperium, a megacorporation that spanned star systems. Robot stevedores that were short and squat did the work of moving the ore, some of which was refined on Twilight, from the freight trains that came from Terminus into enormous pods that were taken by tugs into orbit where cargo ships waited. These were little more than engines with bridges.
The process was a fascinating sight to behold, a multitude of machines moving with delicate precision like the innards of an old-fashioned mechanical clock.
A big, thin, bony fellow waved a hand, catching the attention of the three visitors. It was hard to miss him, for he towered over the stevedores, being in the neighborhood of seven feet tall. But they only got glimpses of him, between gravsleds laden with ore as they whizzed by between him and them.
The trio saw him come toward them, sidestepping a gravsled to avoid collision. Even though these moved rather slowly, about the pace at which a man could walk, the mass of even an empty one was so great it would almost certainly instantly kill a sentient if it struck one.
Looking no worse for the wear when he finally arrived after threading his way through the field of gravsleds, he introduced himself. “I am Allender Weihorn, Tri-Planetary’s sales agent here. Welcome to Twilight.”
The fellow’s skin possessed a slight bluish tint and his skeleton structure was blocky – his head looked like a rectangle. He was very tall, in the neighborhood of seven feet. His white suit was immaculate and impeccably in place despite his dodging of gravsleds. His shirt was collarless, and from the neck hung a long, thin black piece of cloth. Remarkably, it had stayed in place despite the hustle and bustle of the spaceport.
“I am Trinat,” said Indri Mindsinger, who usually acted as the group’s spokesman, since he was best suited by skill and temperament. The Delph were well known for their negotiating skills, which manifested itself in their culture by producing diplomats and merchants. “Trinat” was a name Indri had adopted for use with strangers, since he was a wanted criminal. Noomi, now dressed in one of the old Vishnu uniforms, had done the same. This was primarily navy blue, and she looked quite smart in it. “These are my associates, Kat Kano and John Smith.”
“This is what you will be purchasing,” Allender Weihorn said, waving a long arm about. His limbs were disproportionately long, his appendages oversized. His bluish fingers were similarly elongated. “We do not get many private buyers here. Not often.”
“We recently came into a windfall,” Indri explained.
“You brought cash?”
The Delphite priest sensed anxiety underlying the question. He nodded, bringing up a small case into plain view.
“That is good, considering the situation here,” said Allender Weihorn.
“We’re not fond of Templar banks,” explained Noomi.
“What do you mean, the situation here?” Tully asked. He had an aversion to danger, and bad news in general.
“A minor labor dispute,” Allender Weihorn answered lightly. “Nothing for you to worry about, I assure you.”
The fellow’s manner did not inspire confidence. Even those present who did not possess psychomantic skills sensed that he was soft peddling the trouble. Probably, the workers wanted to unionize, which would have been the standard setting in the Imperium. In the Borderlands, there was no such representation by law. There was no interstellar law at all, officially. Each government had its own rules and regulations, and when disputes became too large to handle, the Templars were called in. A mercenary organization more than a millennium old, it was more powerful than the majority of local governments in the Imperium.
With his psychomantic senses, Indri understood that the problem was much deeper than the executive let on, but said nothing about his feeling. “We’re not interested in politics, Wk. Weihorn. Only our shipment.”
The tall, blue-skinned man shrugged slightly, as if he meant it. The gesture wasn’t exaggerated, being hardly a movement at all. “Very good. If you will follow me.”
Allender Weihorn led the trio to the passenger terminal that lay on the other side of the facility, almost on its outskirts, because most of what moved through the spaceport was cargo, not people. The number of visitors and workers going to and fro on Twilight was insignificant to the tons of ore being shipped. The three visitors had to hurry to keep up. The big man’s strides were quite long.
He took them to a small train, the track of which ran parallel to the cargo lines. Almost as soon as the four sentients were seated, the capsule began moving. It rapidly picked up speed until it whizzed along at three hundred miles an hour. It was a maglev job, which eliminated most of the drag by terrain, and the capsule would be at its destination in a few minutes.
“You said something about a situation here,” Tully said to Allender Weihorn.
“I thought you were not interested in politics, Wk. Smith.”
“I’m not. I’m interested in keeping my skin in one piece. I like it. It does what it’s supposed to do, and I’d hate to see it damaged.”
Tall, blue-skinned Allender Weihorn smiled wanly at the Earthman. He gave that little shrug again, and Indri Mindsinger decided that it had been carefully practiced.
“The miners went on strike,” explained the executive. “The mines are effectively shut down now. Negotiations have been difficult.” Glancing at the sentient he knew as Trinat, he added, “Perhaps we should have hired someone of your species.
“Your order was filled just in time. Had you called it in even a day later, I am not certain it would be ready for you now.”
“So it is ready, free and clear?” asked Noomi anxiously.
Allender Weihorn nodded. “It is waiting to be loaded onto a train even now. As soon as I receive payment, I shall release it.”
“We have to go to the ore for that?” Tully asked.
“Not the ore,” answered the big man. “My office, where I can secure the funds.”
Indri sensed strong anxiety in the executive’s mind. There was no good reason the transaction shouldn’t have been handled at the spaceport. Unless he worried about getting to his office with the money. If true, it did not bode well for their deal.
The Delphite priest sensed that the situation was more dire than Allender Weihorn had said, or something else was going on. Perhaps he feared losing his job as a result of the failing or failed negotiations?
And then the capsule arrived at its destination.
There wasn’t much activity at Term
inus City, where the headquarters for the mining operation was located, when the four emerged from the train capsule. Robot laborers still did their jobs but the living workers milled about in groups, looking disgruntled. Most appeared surly, not a single one happy.
Terminus City was a company town. Tri-Planetary owned everything, the shops, the parks, the office buildings – even the residences. They did not own the government. They were the government.
The gloom of twilight surrounded the quartet here. Ahead, sunlight obscured the horizon, while behind them, blackness reigned. The air was thin, causing each of the visitors to gasp a bit before adjusting to the atmosphere, which had been pressurized in the spaceport and the train. They took in deep measured breaths to compensate.
Glancing at the small case Indri Mindsinger carried, Allender Weihorn said, “Let us get that to my office.” He turned and led the way to the administrative building, which had the shape of an imperfect pyramid. Its walls were made of glass, which were noticeably covered in dust that blew in from outside the small city. Sickly trees lined the walk that surrounded the structure. These had been spaced in such a way that indicated that they’d been expected to grow more robustly than they had, no doubt due to the thin, polluted atmosphere of Twilight.
As they followed the oversized executive, Indri said to his compatriots in a low tone, “Those miners are unhappy, very unhappy. They feel cheated and mistreated. Violence lurks in the hearts of many, just waiting for a spark to ignite it.”
“Wonderful,” grumbled Tully. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”
“Well, whatever their complaints, it’s nothing to do with us,” Noomi said.
“Reality does not always value truth,” warned the Delphite priest.
They had by this time covered the short distance between the passenger terminal of the train station and the administration building, and were taken to an elevator located at the back of the lobby. This shot up to the ninth floor, which was the uppermost of the blunt-topped pyramid. Atmosphere suits resided in lockers just outside the elevator, as they did on every floor.
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