Want to Go For a Ride In My Spaceship?: The Nathan Daniels Saga: Act 1 (Parts 1, 2 &3)

by Sam Lippert

  After a day spent working on it, he had accomplished the former, and he was no longer sure about the latter.

  “Damn it, Max!” Nathan groused to the tabby. Whenever he was alone in the ship it was not unusual for him to talk with the cat as if she were another human being. “This thing is definitely high end! Military grade if I don't miss my guess. As near as I can tell, it is designed to utilize the local star field to determine position and trajectory, then transmit that information in a highly encrypted form over n-wave. This,” Nathan picked up a small chip from the parts that were carefully scattered about on the galley table and waved it under the cat's nose. “has to be the n-wave circuitry, but it seems the encryption algorithm is an integral part of the chip! Unless I can figure out how to by-pass it our signal will be just so much 'noise' to anyone who doesn't have the encryption key. Even then, the device appears to only have transmission circuitry, nothing for receiving.”

  The importance of being able to communicate by n-wave could not be overstated. Any world that was advanced enough to be able to identify incoming spacecraft generally took lack of communication as a sign of hostility. Some simply dispatched a squadron of military ships to guide you to a landing in some 'out-of-the-way' area, but Nexus was a member of the Consortium, and Consortium members had a nasty habit of shooting at anyone who would not exchange the usual 'pleasantries' with them. Chalk it up to the fact that the Consortium worlds were actually large scale space stations, and did not have any 'out-of-the-way' areas, or to their underworld roots, either way he did not want to be approaching Nexus without talking to them.

  “Mrrreoow?” the feline replied. Even Nathan knew she was probably echoing the sentiments of his own grumbling stomach.

  “Yes, Max, I'm hungry too.” Daniels reached over and stroked the tabby's head. “But, if I can't figure out this n-wave dilemma, hungry is going to be the least of our problems!” Max began to purr, and Nathan switched to rubbing under her chin. “Purr all you want, it doesn't make up for the fact that you haven't offered a suggestion yet.” Nathan lifted the cat, transferring her from the table top to his lap. He leaned back, petting Max, and relaxed, for the first time in days.

  Thomas Edison, one of history's most prolific problem solvers, had a method he would use to tackle particularly difficult problems. He would keep a notepad by his bed, and on a table next to a comfortable chair in his office. When the solution just would not come to his alert mind, he would relax until he was on the verge of sleep. In that foggy, near dreamland, his subconscious would process the data he had available and render a solution, which he would promptly write down. Inspired by Edison, this technique has been used by other great, and not so great, minds throughout the intervening centuries. Sometimes, the method is stumbled upon by accident.

  Sitting in the galley, petting his cat, Nathan began to drift off to sleep. Like Edison, once relieved of the stress of having to solve the problem, his brain immediately found a solution. The simplicity of it shocked him out of his near sleep state.

  “Max, we've been looking at this all wrong,” Nathan explained to the cat, just to hear it out loud. “N-wave is only necessary for FTL communication! It was developed for communication between worlds in different star systems, but as the cost came down it became the standard for communication for spacecraft and spaceports as well. However, for near-field work, such as EVA, old-fashioned electromagnetic waves are still used. EM radios are standard in all spacesuits! Most commercial n-wave units can also send and receive EM signals. All we need to do is boost the power of the suit radio and patch it into Nola's systems! I should even be able to do it without jeopardizing the suit's safety or integrity!”

  * * *

  The Consortium was a collection of three artificial space stations that had one thing in common: each was home to an activity that, while both popular and profitable, did not produce anything of value that could be exported. It had originally started with two members: Nexus, the galactic hub of prostitution, both male and female, and Vegas, a huge casino complex where it was possible to wager on just about anything. The nature of both of these enterprises meant that tremendous amounts of each of the varied currencies of known space flowed in, while very little flowed out. It wasn't long before a third 'valueless' enterprise developed on a third station by the name of Axis: Banking.

  The upside to the Consortium was that you could enter with any currency and leave with any other, after paying a nominal exchange fee. This service is what made trade possible with the Consortium, since a trade ship docking with any of the three stations would leave empty, something traders tried to avoid at all costs. However, a trader, after selling his cargo, could simply take payment in the currency of whatever civilization he planned to visit next. Of course, there was a downside. Because the Consortium was a system of artificial habitats, everything was at a premium, even oxy. The Consortium required everyone to pay for their anticipated stay up front. So, if you were a trader you had to have enough cash on hand (in whatever currency) to pay for your stay. If you were lucky enough to be carrying a cargo that was in high demand on a Consortium 'world' it was sometimes possible to arrange a buyer prior to docking who would put up the cash required to obtain authorization, but this was not the norm. All things considered an independent trader, such as Nathan, generally avoided the Consortium unless they had accumulated a large surplus of cash.

  Given the events of the last week, cash on hand was something Nathan did not have. He didn't even have cargo. He would not have even set course for Nexus except that he had, for many years, deposited any extra cash he had to a numbered account in Axis whenever he did business in the Consortium. Since Axis banking was initiated to handle the cash flowing into Nexus and Vegas, an Axis account could be used anywhere in the Consortium. If his memory was correct, he had enough on deposit to pay for a year's stay, provided he steered clear of the Janga tables in Vegas. More than enough for a short stay: repair, refit and resupply the Nola, then expend a little cash trying to figure out who the hell had hit them in deep space.

  “Nexus, this is private spacecraft Nola, requesting permission to dock. Please respond.” Nathan had positioned his beloved space suit in Remi's chair, and was bent over it as he spoke into the helmet microphone. To the casual observer it looked as if he were kissing someone in the suit. After speaking Daniels activated his jury-rigged 'repeater' so that the sentences would continually transmit. The Nola was still several light-minutes out from Nexus when Nathan started to transmit. Given the delay that was involved with speed-of-light communication and the fact that just using EM was uncommon, he wanted to make sure there was plenty of time to make contact.

  He returned to his chair, sat and waited. The Nola had been slowed to a cosmic crawl, as Daniels wanted to ensure he actually had permission to be there before showing up in Nexus space.

  The wait was agonizing as the Nola continued to move ever closer to Nexus. As the station came into view, Nathan was convinced that his gamble had not paid off.

  “Nathan Daniels?” the radio crackled. “Do you have any idea how close you came to being vaporized, before I thought to check EM? Speaking of which, why the hell are you transmitting on the suit band, anyway?” There was only one person who could possibly be manning a radio anywhere in the Consortium that would immediately be able to identify the captain of the Nola just by hearing the ship's name. Nathan scrambled out of his seat, shut off the repeater, and once again 'kissed' the invisible occupant of his space suit.

  “Tranda? They have you handling traffic for Nexus now? Were you winning at Janga too much for them to let you stay in Vegas?” Nathan had met Tranda at a Janga table and had been impressed by the skill that he had seen. It had not taken more than a couple of drinks and a few Janga games (all of which Nathan had lost) for the two to become close friends. Nathan tried to take in a game with Tranda whenever he was in Vegas, even though it usually meant losing no small amount of money.

  The thirty second speed-of-light lag se
emed like an eternity.

  “You know how it is, Pretty Boy. Go where the bosses tell you, so you don't find yourself outside without a suit. Can we switch this over to n-wave? I feel like I'm aging a year between each transmission, and even I don't moisturize enough for that.”

  “I'd be using n-wave if I had the capability. Ran into a little problem between New Rome and here. EM radio was the best I could throw together with what I had available. Give me permission to dock and we can continue this conversation over a beer and a nice porterhouse! Required funds are on deposit. Axis account number 7723437897Q.”

  Again the seconds dragged on. The fact that he was so close to food caused Nathan to notice just how hungry he was.

  “Nola, you are cleared for bay 1129, it's a dry-dock berth. I assumed that since you had no n-wave she was in need of a little work. Your account certainly can cover it! Have you been hitting the Janga tables without me? I've found someone to cover the rest of my shift, so I will meet you at your berth, and we can go for that steak and drink. I would say, since you are in trouble, it was on me, but not after seeing your account balance!” Tranda chuckled. “Is there anything else you need?”

  “Mrroww” Max said, as if on cue.

  “Tranda, can you bring some food for Max? I doubt she's going to wait for dinner leftovers, not that there are likely to be any.” Daniels re-engaged the sub-light engines and took Nola the rest of the way in. He would have felt relieved if he had Remi next to him instead of a lifeless space suit.

  * * *

  In the late twenty-first century, on Old Earth, the human population was approaching fifteen billion. It had taken the better part of one-hundred fifty years for mankind to spread out into its home solar system, but that did not significantly reduce the population pressure, as most of the planets and moons that were within reach just were not that inviting.

  Fifteen billion people living on a planet with a total land area of just over one-hundred forty-eight million square kilometers works out to right around one-thousand square meters per person. Sadly, the combined effects of mining, drilling and an addiction to fossil fuels that lasted far longer than it should have, meant that less than half of that land was more than marginally habitable, and an even smaller amount could be farmed in any real sense of the word.

  The combined effects of population pressure and lack of farm land meant that the human race could barely grow enough plant products to feed itself, and most certainly could no longer sustain the vast numbers of livestock that had supported the meat based diets that had dominated the 'developed' nations in the earlier part of the century. By necessity, nearly ninety-nine percent of the population of Old Earth had become vegetarian, meat being a luxury of only the very wealthy.

  That is, until 2093 when Mahmood Thompson, an undergraduate student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology noticed the obvious. Half a century earlier the planets biomedical engineers had developed a method, using stem cells and three-dimensional printing, to 'grow' human organs and tissues in vitro to repair and replace those that had been diseased or damaged in an individual. Initially the costs of these replacements were high, but had decreased significantly since first brought to market. By the time Mahmood entered MIT, a sophomore biomedical engineering student had use of such fabrication devices for design projects.

  After a Friday night of particularly intense partying left him famished, Mahmood 'borrowed' some bovine stem cells from a biology lab, fed them into a tissue fabrication unit and programmed himself a steak. Meat was once again on mankind's menu, and they ate it up!

  After the discovery of FTL travel led to the human race spreading to every nook and cranny of the galaxy, land was no longer at a premium, and livestock was once again bred and raised for food. Mahmood Thompson would have become a footnote in history if it were not for the needs of artificial space habitats like those of the Consortium.

  If a grocery or a restaurant in the Consortium wanted to offer meat they, by necessity, either offered an affordable fabricated product, or paid an overly large sum to import the real thing from the nearest inhabited planet, or an even larger sum to import it from Old Earth itself. The best steakhouse in Nexus, uncreatively named The Porter House, was famous for its two kilogram real meat porterhouse steak, imported from Texas, the heart of what was again 'cattle country.' Since Nathan was buying, this was where Tranda insisted the pair go for dinner.

  “So, let me get this straight,” Nathan had just finished recounting the last few months, in an edited way, to Tranda. The pair were seated at a quiet booth and Daniels was in the process of savaging one of the legendary porterhouses. “You, Nathan Daniels, the most notorious loner in the galaxy, not only took on an apprentice, but a female one at that? Did she not run a background check on you before accepting the position?” Nathan nearly choked on a bite of steak, but managed to wash it down with a gulp of the nice amber ale in his mug.

  “Then you managed to lose not only her, but your cargo as well, between New Rome and here? Are you going soft on me, Pretty Boy?” Tranda was a native of the planet Saffron, and like all Saffronites, he was gender neutral in appearance. While a Saffronite did have a gender in the usual sense of the word, it was impossible to tell what it was except by very careful inspection of the genitalia. Because of this, the Saffron culture had no copulation or marriage taboos, and the entire race were what could only be described as bisexual, preferring to allow attraction, not gender, determine who they would engage in sexual activity with.

  “I didn't 'lose' anything, Tranda,” Nathan managed to say between mouthfuls. “They were stolen from me, by bandits, I think. We'll know more once the forensics team I hired is done going over the Nola.” Daniels took a swig of his beer, and looked in his friends eyes. The Saffron were a truly beautiful people, embodying the ideals of both masculine and feminine beauty. Muscular, but in a way that exemplified good health, not masculinity, dusky skin tone, similar to those of the Mediterranean region of old earth, shoulder length blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones and soft features were all traits Tranda shared with all Saffronites. It had never disturbed Nathan that he did not know his friend's gender, as they shared a jovial camaraderie that had never led to anything further. Except for once, when they had polished off a bottle of tequila together. But, one never speaks of the things done under the influence of tequila.

  “The story is just so incredible! There hasn't been a ship hit within a week of Nexus in years! I can't imagine what you could be carrying from New Rome that would make you a target.” Tranda's head shook, sending a wave though the blonde hair that caused everyone in the restaurant to swoon, except Nathan who was too busy eating.

  “It was only a hold full of religious art! I mean, I could understand if I had been running Ice Blue, but Mary Magdalene paintings?” Actually, with the discovery of the tracker, Nathan was convinced that Remi had been the reason for the attack, and the removal of his cargo an afterthought, but he could not tell anyone, even Tranda, without compromising her identity.

  “So, you were planning to make some money off of the Magdalena's, eh? Is nothing sacred to you?” Tranda laughed, bringing to mind cathedral bells.

  “Believe it or not, I let my apprentice make the decision this time.” Nathan cut another piece of the medium-rare goodness in front of him. “The sacredness is what we were counting on, Tranda! You know as well as I do that the sky is the limit when it comes to something sacred!”

  Everyone entering the Consortium was issued a comcard. First and foremost, the comcard tracked the guest's usage of things like air and water, deducting the charges for these from the guest's account on a regular basis. Secondly, the comcard allowed a guest to bill any expenses directly to their account. Finally, the comcard allowed communication with the guest, anywhere in the Consortium. It was acting in this third capacity that Nathan's comcard began to vibrate in his pocket.

  Nathan removed the card and looked at the surface. The message stated that the forensics team w
as done with their sweep of the Nola, and he should return to the berth for their report. These guys were good, he had expected it to be at least another hour before they were done.

  “Sorry, Tranda, gotta run.” Nathan stood up and headed towards the door. “You've got this, right?” He said with a wink, while indicating the dinner and drinks. The pair had a running contest, each working to find inventive ways to stick the other with the bill when they were out together. Although it had been looking like this one would be a win for Tranda, being summoned by the forensics team had given the match to Nathan. He was out the door and on his way to get some answers before his friend could object.

  * * *

  Stomach full for the first time in the better part of a week, Nathan lay on his bed perusing the forensics report. As he had suspected, Omany had put up one hell of a fight while he and Remi were unconscious in the control room. The team had found residual brain tissue from at least six different individuals, meaning the old man had done quite well before being overcome. There were blast patterns and residues throughout the ship that indicated the use of Rathshelliam military weaponry, although evidence indicated these were from much later than the time of death of the six raiders. Finding this peculiar, more tests were run, which indicated the weaponry used was likely from Kalifet, but 'tuned' to mimic that from Rathshelliam. The report did admit that it was possible that the reverse was true as well. The team did find evidence of the use of Kalifet immobility gas and a Kalifet stun grenade. The final conclusion being that the bandits had used Kalifet military weaponry, but had wanted to make it look like the raid had be conducted by the Rathshelliam.

  Nathan was going to have to risk contacting the Empress.