“Kievor Station.” I answered Manuel’s question. There were several such Kievor Trade Stations within reasonable jumps of human inhabited space, but I had one in particular in mind.
“Which one?” Tanya asked innocently.
“The one we always go to.” I told her with a small bit of annoyance. The Station’s designation number was H496-847, whatever that meant. The reason she was asking was that H496-847 was where a certain woman I knew worked and lived. She was a Public Relations Officer there for the Kievor and a woman with whom it might be said I had a special relationship. At least when my schedule allowed for it. Every Kievor Station near human space had a human Public Relations Department to smooth over the frictions any two such races were bound to develop in such close relations, though I for one found the Kievor an honest, easy to do business with race and in whom the only problem I had ever encountered was in getting a good price for the goods I brought them. The Kievor were tireless hagglers and would use any tool at their disposal to deprive you of your goods at a value less than what they were worth. All honestly, of course.
“Back to where you blasted that Mudok last year?” Bren demanded incredulously.
“Ancient history.” I said, but had it really been that long since I had last seen Cheryl? It hadn’t seemed like it. I did recall her saying, however, that if I wasn’t going to be coming to see her on a regular basis, that if there couldn’t be any semblance of normalcy in their relationship, then that I shouldn’t bother to come and see her at all, because I wouldn’t be welcomed. I clearly remembered that much, but it had not been my fault. A guy had to make a living, didn’t he? My ship would not run on good intentions or my credit, because I had no credit.
“Mudoks mate for life. I sincerely doubt the Mudok will have forgotten you. They do not have such short memories.” Bren said angrily, incensed that I would risk my life for no reason he found of importance, but I had killed numberless lizards over the years and I’d certainly never let that fact alone sway my behavior afterward. Humans killed lizards and lizards killed humans. It was a simple fact of life that was unlikely to ever go away and if I ran in fear from every potential confrontation that might greet me I should never be able to visit one of the Kievor Stations ever again. The Kievor Trade Stations were crawling with lizards of every stripe, from every corner of the Galaxy, and I would not hide my head in fear of them.
In all honesty, however, Bren had a right to be concerned. Mudoks are a particularly vicious breed of the common sentient reptile (which I liked to call lizard, because they knew it was derogatory and it angered them) of a breed that massed about triple what a human does, has a mouth full of razor sharp teeth, cat like reflexes, a plodding low grade mental capacity and a very long memory. I’d had no choice but to cut down the lizard in question. It was either that or get my head bitten off. Something this lizard would have had no problem doing if I had not dove out of the way at the last second, and drawing my blaster as I moved, splattered it guts all over the bar, the tables, the walls, and the patrons behind it (including it's mate) in the flea ridden lizard watering hole I had gone into to gamble. The Mudok had had the temerity to accuse me of cheating, which in this case at least, due to its terrible ability to play cards, had hardly been necessary. It had been an affront to my dignity, more than anything, which had caused me to laugh in its face. Then of course it had tried to bite my head off. Totally unacceptable.
The Kievors did not care who killed whom on their Stations as long as you weren’t trying to kill one of them. The Kievors are non-aggressive and do not mingle with those whom they do business with. They do not enter the warrens of the trade sectors and to see one of them a special dispensation must be arranged, and then that would occur deeper within the heart of the Trade Station, under strict Kievor control. The Kievors did not mingle, in other words.
The rumor went that there had been heavy betting on H496-847 concerning the outcome of the potential confrontation between the bereaved mate (who I had held at bay with my blaster while I made good my departure with my winnings and who, I had heard later, was definitely looking for me) and I. Though I had not been hiding, I was not actively seeking this lizard either. I was not a cold blooded murderer. I could have murdered her then and there if that was what I had wanted. The way I saw it, the Mudok had to look for me and make its threats to keep its honor intact, but as long as it didn’t look too hard and actually find me, I wouldn’t have to kill it. Then the Mudok’s ship had pulled out and that had been the end of it, I had thought, until Bren decided to remind me of it.
“Don’t sweat it, Bren.” I said. “I’ll protect you.”
“The Captain can barely protect himself.” Tanya scoffed. “That Mudok only missed you by a hairs breadth, and Mudoks aren’t even really very quick, as far as the lizard races are concerned.”
“If they’re so slow, why didn’t you blast it before me?” I demanded, scoffing back.
“Because you had just finished telling me, when I pointed it out to you that the Mudok was beginning to show all the signs of oncoming rage,” Tanya pointed out, “that you did not need a woman’s advice. That I wasn’t to interfere in a man’s business. I’m sure you recall that little conversation. Remember, I was telling you to take your winnings and to get out while the getting was good? But you didn’t want any advice from a meddling woman, as I recall.”
I really had said that, as I did recall. That had been the liquor talking. That and Tanya and my constant dispute with her over dominance. The lizard really had been getting angrier and angrier with each new hand it lost, and it was losing them one after another. Tanya had certainly tried to warn me, and as usual, I would not listen. Several hands later the lizard’s patience wore out and it tried to snap off my head. It was a good thing the lizard was so enraged because instead of making a grab for its holstered weapon it reverted to its primordial instincts and tried to do the job with the tools Mother Nature had endowed it with. It’s mouth full of razor teeth, but teeth aren’t as fast as hand guns.
“From now on you’re ordered to interfere.” I snarled ungratefully. Snarling was the only thing I think Tanya truly understood. It was the only thing that ever seemed to get her attention, at least, I thought. She often seemed to have me on edge, I noted belatedly as a small smile flickered briefly across her face, but I couldn’t stop now. “That’s your job! Even though I hadn’t needed your help.” I tried to finish calmly, but somehow didn’t seem to pull it off, if the looks on the faces of the others were any accurate judge. Damn the old hag!
“Don’t sweat it, Captain. I’ll protect you.” Tanya said, and everyone laughed.
At me. I felt the heat gathering around my ships uniform collar, but I smiled gracefully, as if unperturbed. Then Coto chittered from the ceiling behind me, sensing my agitation, and giving me away. As if there had been any great secret.
“Thanks Coto.” I said, but not really sarcastically. Coto’s friendship was unconditional and I couldn’t get mad at it. In its simple mind it was backing me up. It quit chittering instantly, knowing I was talking to it. The last thing I wanted was to create animosity between my hairy little friend and any of the crew. Coto’s bite would necessitate a trip to the Auto-Doc and some serious anti-venom treatment. If it tried to bite the wrong crew member, Coto would need that trip to the Auto-Doc. A trip that would likely do it little good. The Auto-Doc could not replace vaporized flesh. There was simply only so much it could do.
“I keep expecting that thing to jump on my head whenever I have to walk under it.” Manuel said.
“It knows better.” Tanya growled but without actually looking up at the monstrous insect. I think there was a grudging respect between these two that went without acknowledgment that did not need to be acknowledged. That was understood. Two predators who understood one another well enough to respect the other, and that did not require tacit threats to be understood.
“Coto’s not going to bite anyone.” I said. “Stop being ridiculous.” I made k
issing noises and Coto ran across the wall and then when it got near enough to me leapt down and into my lap where I was now sitting in one of the lounge chairs. It crawled around on me for a moment and then made itself comfortable there in my lap. My hand petted it’s black, bulbous rear section lovingly. Bren made a choking, gagging noise, but he was one of those spider/bug haters anyway, so what could you expect. “You aren’t right, Marc!” Janice said, but she was grinning. People make pets of all kinds of strange creatures and I’d seen what I considered far stranger. Coto was a guard pet of the highest order, and thus, to my way of thinking, the idealist of pets!
“What’s our ETA?” Melanie asked, surprising all of us, I think. Melanie seldom left Last Chance. Far different than I, she was content to stay aboard and do her thing here. She practiced her Chinese Martial Arts, perused her personal interests and lived her life quietly, calmly and serenely. There was nothing, or never had been anything, that held any interest for her on any of the Kievor Trade Stations, so it was with surprise that we heard her ask when we would be arriving.
“You’re not deserting me, are you?” I asked, genuinely concerned. Bren looked suddenly stricken.
“Why would I?” She asked, no expression on her face, but her question was not an answer.
I only smiled my acceptance, but my smile felt forced and contrived. Something seemed to be wrong, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I couldn’t imagine that she would want to leave. Though we lived a life of constant danger I had always somehow managed to pull us through in the past. I had a knack for survival in a Universe that was characterized by its brutal nature. Melanie had not fared well before I had found her and with no substantial amount of credits to depart with was unlikely to fare well if she left. Though I felt uneasy about it I let the subject rest. If she had nothing to say about it there was little I could do.
“Seven days or so.” I answered. I could have gotten us there much more rapidly by utilizing the jump engine but it would be a waste of fuel when with the velocity at which we were already traveling we would get there in the seven days or so without spending another micro-gram of fuel, except deceleration at the end. Though Last Chance had enough fuel for years, I would never really be able to leave behind my humble beginnings, when nothing was wasted frivolously because you had no idea where or when the next was coming.
Living amongst my own crew was like living in the savage jungle, amongst cannibalistic savages, I sometimes thought. If you left yourself unguarded one exposed moment too long, you might find yourself on the dinner table. At least that was the way it felt. There was little mercy among us. We acted this way with one another to counteract the stresses of a perilous, strife-ridden life. Yet I think mankind was designed for optimal performance under these or similar other difficult circumstances. As much as we seemed to hate it we always seemed to rise to the occasion and even sought new such occasions out. So I guess I only felt I was doing them a favor by taking them back into the eye of the storm, returning us to the Kievor Trade Station to see what new mischief we might stir up.
“I’m looking forward to doing some shopping, anyway.” Tanya said happily. She would never shun trouble. She liked trouble. She liked it in its every form.
“Shopping or thieving?” I asked her.
“Is there a difference?” She asked. “At least I don’t kill my victims before I salvage them.”
“I have never attacked an innocent person in my life.” I snarled.
“Paint whatever face you want on it, Murderer!” She replied sweetly. She had gotten me mad and I spluttered out something nearly incomprehensible, to which she only smiled the sweeter.
“The kettle calling the pot black.” I added after a moment, but a moment in which all knew who had scored the telling point.
We settled into an amicable silence. No one was really willing to jump into the chasm Tanya and I had left within our midst. I thought we could all use the vacation, anyhow. Tanya wanted to go shopping. Melanie had her secret plans. Bren, Janice and Manuel would go ashore (an old Earth adage I liked using), and I, I would go see Cheryl, see if my old charms were still working (add to those already powerful incentives my new youthful form), dump this load of Trinium, and even maybe win a few credits on the card tables (it was amazing how quickly the lizards had picked up mans' vices!)
Time always seemed to move at its slowest when you were waiting for something. It was a good exercise of patience for me not to run to the Bridge and jump us into warp. As much as I wanted to I pretended I did not want to and forced myself to find other things to do. Forced myself not to talk about it. To pretend I did not care. Of course I was seething inside now that I had made the decision. Made the decision and also gotten over the hurdle of informing the rest of the crew, which was in essence the most difficult part of the hurdle to begin. I think it earns me a bit of respect to be able to restrain myself in things like this, and I need all the points I can get, because I am often completely unrestrained.
I was really looking forward to seeing Cheryl though, and not only because it had been so long since I’d had a woman, but because I really truly missed her.
We picked up the Kievor Trade Station on long range scan while we were still five days out. Five days at our present velocity. Someone had to be on the Bridge now at all times because we were so close to the major shipping lanes and I did not take undue risk. I pulled one of the shifts and continued to wear out my old deck of cards in preparation for the games to come, while watching the vast emptiness of space unroll outside the ship. The Kievor Trade Station finally came into visible range and we all watched it on video link from our outside camera feeds.
There were thousands of various space craft all over scan. The auto-pilot had to be disengaged because it wanted to alter course. We kept an eagle eye on everything around us, because not only were pirates a concern but I had many enemies as well. Most whom I wouldn’t even recognize. I began to regret sailing in here at such a sedate speed, because everyone and their brother had had plenty of time to scan us and do computer recognition. If there was anyone actively looking for me, they would have detected us. Sure as my name was Marc Deveroux. Part of the downfall of such a successfully long run was that my enemies just continued to pile up and I was still just me. Me and Last Chance. My eyes were especially watchful for Katon signatures, however, as I knew they were looking for me.
The closest ship on scan registered as only several dozen clicks off, yet was completely invisible until I zoomed in on its location. A massive ore freighter, it was long and rectangular, made of cheap iron and dinged and banged from much use. A massive engine threw an orange flame many clicks into space behind it, burning some kind of hydro-carbon fuel and an immense waste of valuable fossil fuel resources. I hoped that for their sakes they didn’t have too far to go as I brought it into sharper focus and could see that they weren’t warp equipped. Whichever race it was had probably journeyed a long time to get here and had probably come looking to trade for technology. It was a good arrangement for the Kievors. The Kievors traded them the knowledge they needed to upgrade their fleets and bring the Kievors even more trade.
The ore freighter was only one of hundreds of various space craft coming and going from the Kievor Trade Station. The various races came to trade, to sell, to buy, for repairs, or even just for pleasure. Numerous personal pleasure craft, representing every type of alien species imaginable, lay off outside the Kievor’s Protected Zone while their passengers caroused. It cost credits to stay docked so many just stood off after dropping off their passengers. I would never leave my ship like that. Along with the docking fees came the guarantee of the Kievor’s Protected Zone. It cost credits but while within the Protected Zone you were under the Kievor’s protection and no one would dare to infringe upon that. If I couldn’t afford the docking fees I couldn’t afford to be there. That was my rule. There are no laws on the Kievor Trade Station beyond respecting the Protected Zone and the Kievors themselves, and every vice
is readily available to those who can afford it.
The Kievors were the most technologically advanced race we humans had yet met. I have visited four different Kievor Trade Stations personally, the fourth so far away that we might have been the only humans within her at that time. I saw neither other humans nor signs that humans had ever visited. I have heard the stories of human explorers who claim to have visited dozens of Kievor Trade Stations, but we have all heard these rumors and I personally have never met any of these supposed explorers myself. They are no more than rumors, I believe. It is a generally accepted fact that the Kievor Trade Empire is massive beyond belief. We humans may not have traveled much, but there are thousands of alien races just in this sector and we hear their stories as well. The Kievors are technologically superior and trusting in this superiority has expanded, unchecked, throughout the Universe, if the stories are all to be believed. The Kievors true numbers or strength is an unknown factor, at least to humans. None of the races with which we are familiar, however, would dare to challenge the Kievors. There are none with which we are familiar who would dare. In this part of the Universe, at least, the Kievors are dominant.
We were less than a day out and now decelerating when Tanya came to stand on the Bridge with me. Despite our differences we are much alike. She is a careful, untrusting being who likes to make sure her life is not being risked needlessly. I was sitting at Bren’s Station, watching scan, trying to determine what ships, if any, posed potential threat to Last Chance, when she joined me. A few of them were giving identification readings that Last Chance listed beside their scan signatures, but most, like Last Chance herself, were nothing more than unidentifiable blips on the screen.
Chronicles of a Space Mercenary Page 5