by Anthology
“See what you can find out,” she said. “And get to work on the rebid.”
“Already got it covered.”
“And Riebeld?”
“Yeah?”
“Find me the name of that accountant.”
***
It was late when Gavin left the station. By way of apology, he invited Walt to join him on the short trip to Cassel to meet with Barry Lidst. Whether Walt came along as reconciliation or simply to avoid another run-in with Dell was unclear. Regardless, he didn’t seem inclined to talk about the argument as they flew, and Gavin saw no reason to bring it up.
Barry, a Navy SysCom accountant by trade and freelance rainmaker by inclination, had grown up with the brothers. He had left Goss to join the Navy while the Rhedd boys stayed to work the smuggling routes with Boomer and their father before he passed.
Officially, Barry was responsible for negotiating contracts between the UEE Navy and private vendors, but he also managed to broker a few off-the-record jobs on the side. He was, if anything, an opportunist, and Gavin trusted him about as much as he trusted any of the shady characters they’d worked with in the past. Which is to say, not at all.
The fact that Barry was involved with Dell before leaving to join the Navy didn’t factor into his opinion at all. Nope, not in the slightest. Still, Barry had come through with their first legitimate job. With luck, he’d have more.
Gavin swallowed hard, focusing on the fact that they needed work. Walt kept quiet. By the time Cassel swelled, massive, blue and inviting against the gold and turquoise bands of the Olympus Pool, Gavin could feel his brows drawing down into a scowl.
The brothers landed and made their way to a club that catered to the resort world’s local crowd. It was busy, of course, but Barry was waiting and had managed to find an open table.
“I was beginning to think you two bought it in Oberon.” Barry’s naval uniform was cut from some shiny material that was either freshly pressed or engineered to be wrinkle-free. It looked tragically uncomfortable, but did a reasonable job of hiding a rounded gut.
“Oberon took a bit longer than we thought,” Gavin forced a smile, “but we got them.”
“Everything go okay?”
“Absolutely.” he injected confidence into his words and hoped it sounded genuine. Walt looked at him sharply, but Gavin ignored him. They had to appear capable or better jobs were going to be in short supply. “Pirates are not a problem.”
Barry motioned them to sit and his voice took on a somber note. “Word is that Dell’s dad got busted up. He okay?”
“By all the Banu gods, Barry,” Walt said. “How’d you even hear about that?”
“I’m the government. We’ve got our eyes and ears everywhere.” Gavin stared at him and raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Yeah. Well,” Barry shrugged and took a sip of his drink, “those miners on Oberon might have mentioned something.”
“Boomer’s fine. Our ships took more of a beating than he did,” Gavin turned the subject away from his team getting shot up on the job. “I was surprised to hear you were in Goss System.”
“Mom retired here on Cassel,” Barry cast a sour glare around the room when he said it. “I’m just here visiting. Can’t stand it with all the tourist traffic, but she loves the shows and exhibits and stuff. Anyway, I’m glad you guys were able to help out in Oberon.”
“Happy to.”
“Stuff like this comes up from time to time,” Barry said. “It’s not like we don’t want to take care of it ourselves or anything. We do. But the Navy can’t send troops after every brigand and thug in the ’verse, you know? There’s competing deployments, equipment requisitions, system politics…forget about it. So, yeah. No one minds if we feed these jobs to indies like you guys.”
“Well,” Gavin said, “we’re light on work right now. Got anything for us?”
“I might have something—not UEE work, but still a decent job. And I know the client will be happy with your rates.”
Gavin’s heart sank a bit, but maybe they could increase their price without chasing Barry away. He encouraged the accountant to keep talking.
“The job is close, just a couple hops away. It’s hard work, but I can hook you up if you’re interested.”
“What’s the job?” Walt asked.
“You ever heard of molybdenum?” Gavin’s face must have looked as blank as Walt’s. “No? It’s a rare metal used in electronics and stuff. You find it near copper deposits. You know what? Doesn’t matter. A friend of mine knows a guy who just got his hands on the mining rights to a moon.”
“Mining,” Walt muttered. “Why is it always mining?”
“I guess the whole moon is riddled with tunnels and caverns. Apparently there used to be a bunch of copper there, but now all that stuff is gone. The only thing left is the molybdenum. This guy, he’s got three weeks to start producing or he loses his lease to the next prospector in line.”
“Barry,” Gavin said, “if you’re looking for a team to wear hardhats and swing pickaxes, you’ve got the wrong guys.”
“Naw, it’s nothing like that. They’re empty now, but someone set the caves up as a fortified base. Smugglers, probably. They put auto-targeting turrets in there. My guy told me they’re all over the place. Around every corner. Anyway, it’s all Banu tech. A group of them must have hopped over from Bacchus.”
“So what’s the job?”
“They need someone to comb through the whole thing and take out the turrets. They can’t send mining equipment and operators in there until it’s clear. Those guys don’t have shields.”
“That’s it?” Gavin asked.
“Yup. That’s it.”
Walt watched Barry across the table with a bemused tilt to one eyebrow. “That’s the most boring job I’ve ever heard of.”
“Hey,” Barry said, “if you want something with a little higher chance of combat, I’ve got a UEE escort contract up for bid. We were getting absolutely fleeced by the incumbent contractor. I finally convinced the major to rebid the job.”
Now that sounded exactly like the job Rhedd Alert needed.
“Tell me more about that,” Gavin said. “About the escort job, I mean.”
“I, uh…listen,” Barry said. “I wasn’t really serious about that. No offense, but that is an armed escort through some pretty rough systems.”
This was it. The chance they needed. “Our guys can do it,” Gavin said.
“It’s a small job now, but it’s scheduled to mature into something big. I don’t even know if you have enough ships to meet the contract requirements.”
“Give us a shot. If we perform, I’ll find the extra ships and pilots.”
“The outfits that sign on for gigs like this are generally ex-military. Highly trained. Lots of contacts in Navy SysCom. Most of the contractors we use are actually based right next to the Navy in Kilian System. I was joking, guys. Forget I mentioned it.”
“No, we can do this. What’s the run? How many—”
“Gav,” Walt interrupted, “we’re talking naval flight formations and tactics. Superior weapons systems. Maybe we should get more info on the turret thing in the mulberry mine.”
“Molybdenum.”
“Whatever.”
“Come on, Walt. This sounds perfect for us. And I’d put you or Jazza up against an ex-Navy pilot in a heartbeat. Any system, any time.”
“Fellas…hey, listen,” Barry said. “The UEE is trying to push local work to local contractors. The big defense companies are fighting it. If you feel like sticking your hand in the middle of that fire, I’ll forward you the RFP. Good enough? In the meantime…about my buddy with the moon mine?”
Gavin half-heartedly followed along while Walt and Barry discussed the turret job, but in his mind they were already escorting UEE ships through hostile space. Walt startled him out of his reverie when he hushed a surprised Barry into silence.
“Wait,” Walt said, “back up a second. These Banu weapon systems. Did you say this stuff
came out of Bacchus?”
“Probably. Why?”
“This moon…Barry, where is it?”
“Oberon VI, why?”
Gavin’s heart sank again. A glance at Walt did nothing to reassure him. His brother’s smile looked fantastically strained.
“Ah, come on,” Barry said. “You’ve already done good work for these guys.”
“They’ll kill us,” Walt said.
“Naw,” Barry waved at them dismissively, “They love Rhedd Alert.”
“No,” Walt said, “not the miners.”
“Who?” Barry looked concerned now. “Who’ll kill you?”
Gavin answered. “Our team is going to kill us if we drag them back to Oberon.”
“Hey,” Barry relaxed, “it’s a small ’verse. You’re going to end up passing through there sooner or later. Might as well get paid for it. Am I right?”
“Yeah,” Walt said, “but Oberon?”
“I did mention it pays, didn’t I?” Barry keyed something up on his mobiGlas. He turned it so they could read the projected display. At the bottom was a number. A not-insignificant number. Gavin stared at his hands as Walt absorbed the figures.
Walt’s head made an audible clunk when it struck the table. He groaned something muffled and to the effect of, “I can’t believe we’re going back to Oberon.”
***
Gavin left Walt on Cassel. There was a time, back in his single days, when an extended stay on a resort world was the perfect sequel to a crappy job. Now he had a better offer waiting at home and two bottles of chilled Arcesean Red riding shotgun in the cockpit beside him. The better offer, of course, was Dell. The wine was his best hope to reboot his homecoming from Oberon.
It wasn’t exactly the grand entrance he’d planned on making. He felt his cheeks warm and was glad to be alone. With a sigh, he squeezed his eyes shut and let his head fall back into his seat. His helmet bumped against the cockpit frame. When he opened his eyes again, the HUD had died. He rolled his head to eye the waiting bottles of wine. Perhaps he needed the alcohol more than she did.
Rhedd Alert’s hangar was still. The lights were dialed down to a dull, sapphire glow. But while the hangar was quiet, Vista Landing never slowed down. Traffic came and went according to the schedules of a dozen mining companies on Goss I and the timetables of the neighboring systems. The sounds of the complex were a pressure all around him; a constant hum of life that seemed intrusive after a long stint flying solo.
Gavin shed his flight suit and then grabbed the helmet and bottles of wine. The helmet got dumped unceremoniously onto a workbench. The wine went with him to their apartment. It was dark inside—he was too late. Dell was already asleep.
He leaned back against the door while his eyes adjusted to the courtesy lighting in the bedroom. Dell lay on her side with her back to him. Her hair was a dark fan against pale pillows and sheets. There was no trace of the playful blue-dyed tips in the low light. He looked instead to the curve of her hip and the long line of her covered legs.
He left the bottles on a table. They would warm there and need to be cooled again before they could be enjoyed, but he didn't want to risk waking her with light from the fridge. He stripped his shirt off on the way to the little closet. She’d left it open, and piles of clothes made odd shapes in the low light.
They smelled like her. He’d forgotten how much he loved that. He leaned forward, his head slipping between her hanging shirts and jackets. They didn’t have much, but this was home. They were settled, with no desire for any more living out of cockpits and dirty cargo bays. But if he couldn’t make this work, that’s exactly what they would be back to.
Gavin stooped and picked up the discarded shirt. There was work to do. Things to fix.
He closed the door as quietly as he could when he left.
He was at a workbench in the hangar when the light pad of Dell’s bare feet on the cold hangar deck sounded behind him.
“Hey, Slugger.” Her voice was playful, teasing him about the scrap with Walt. The taunting tone was good news, in a way. It meant that she wasn’t quite so angry. Regardless, he was still embarrassed about the fight and didn’t rise to her bait.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said instead.
She rubbed her hand across his shoulders, bumped him aside with her hip and then took a seat next to him on the bench when he moved. “I was asleep, but it sounded like a herd of terradons came tromping through the apartment.”
He felt better hearing the smile in her voice. “Huh…I guess I’m glad I missed that.”
“What are you working on?”
Gavin started running through his list, wondering where to start. He gave up somewhere north of fifteen and simply replied, “Everything.”
“Did we get paid?” He nodded and her look of relief was frustrating. Depending on Dell’s ex-boyfriend for financial salvation wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned his role as a business owner.
“How’s Boomer?” he asked.
“He can’t keep doing this. They patched him up, but he’s been banged around way too much.”
It was true. Dell’s dad had been put back together more than any other pilot Gavin had ever met. Maybe a few military pilots had had more rejuvenation treatment, but their facilities had to be far better than anything civies like Boomer had access too.
“You’ve got to get him to take it easy, Gav. Let him fly support in the Freelancer or something.”
“Let him fly support? This is your dad we’re talking about. He’s at least half as stubborn as you are. And you know how he flies. He’s cool as gunmetal in a dogfight, but he flies like a crazy…flying…kind of…person.”
“Will you at least try? Please?”
There was no way Boomer was going to listen to him, but Gavin agreed. It wasn’t worth fighting with Dell about it. They’d been over that ground before. Plenty of times.
He prodded at the wiring harness of his helmet.
“The heads-up out again?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Here, let me do it.” She pulled the tools closer and set to work. “So…Walt stayed to drink his paycheck away with Barry?”
“Walt worked as hard as anyone in Oberon. Harder than most, actually. He can do what he wants with his cut.”
“While we’re dumping all of ours into repairs and supplies?”
“I brought you some wine,” he offered.
“I saw that.” She snuggled into his side and slid her arm around his waist. “Mmmmm…thank you.” A peck on his cheek. “I put it in the fridge.”
“You should have brought a bottle with you.”
She unwound herself from him and went back to work on the helmet. “It might work out better for you if we save that for a night when I’m not exhausted.”
That killed the mood. Gavin shifted the tools around on the bench. Dell must have sensed his change of mood. She sat up straight, her tone growing somber. “I’ve been doing some math,” she said.
“How bad is it?”
“Not good.”
He hoped that the grimace he made was reassuring. It probably wasn’t.
“Selling the salvage will keep us out of the red for a couple months,” she said. “Good job on that, by the way. I don’t know about the Idris, but that 325a is actually quite sellable. Unless you want to keep it, that is.”
Gavin thought about it. “Sell it,” he said. “We can’t afford to upgrade any of our people, and I’m not bringing on any more pilots until we land some steady work.”
“On that topic, did Barry have something new for us, or did he come to Goss System just to carouse with your brother?”
He told her about the turret job and she brightened.
“This is good, Gav. You think this could turn into a steady stream of work?”
“Maybe, but we’ve got a team of combat pilots, babe. They’re not going to stick around for this kind of work.”
“Then screw them. Let them leave, and I’ll fly with yo
u.”
“You fly worse than your dad. Besides, you wanted to be here to run the shop.”
“I’m here because I want this to work.” She put her tools down and entwined her fingers with his. “Believe me, I’d much rather be flying with you and Dad.”
“Yeah, well. I don’t want you out there. Bringing Boomer back in stasis is one thing, but you…”
She extracted her fingers and patted his hand, pulling away. “That’s an idea you’re going to have to get used to. Dad won’t be flying that old Avenger forever. Eventually, she’ll be mine. But right now,” she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, “I’m going to bed.”
Dell stood, pressed his helmet’s wire housing into place with a click and left.
Gavin picked up the helmet and peeked inside. The glow from the reticle display shown within. She’d got it working again.
They had a good thing going, he and Dell. But chronic, nagging financial worry would eventually tear that apart. He just needed work that paid and that his pilots would stay for. Work that would keep Walt from chasing something shiny, interesting and new. What he needed was that Tyrol escort job.
Gavin pushed the helmet and tools aside on the bench. He keyed up the console and placed a call to Barry’s mobiGlas. The accountant accepted the call.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Barry. Good, you’re still in-system.”
“Just about to leave Cassel, why?”
“What would a bid need to look like for someone to be competitive on that Tyrol contract?”
“Gavin,” Barry’s voice grew serious. “You’re new to this, but you have to know that I can’t give out that kind of information.”
Gavin’s mobiGlas vibrated against his wrist with an incoming message.
“I’m sorry, Barry. I wasn’t trying to cause troub—”
Barry cut him off. “Now, what I can do is point you toward the proper registration and submission forms. How you manage the pricing is your concern. Understand?”
On Gavin’s mobiGlas was a message from an unknown contact. The message was simple, containing only a Credit sign and a number.