A Deal with the Devil's Broker

by Steve Ruskin

  The outer zone was a lawless frontier, and the various mining companies competed to stake claims on the choicest moons, dwarf planets, and asteroid fields. They often resorted to privateering, jumping each other’s claims by force with small private armies.

  Like most transports, the Devil’s Broker carried ore toward the Aquitania System’s inner habitable zone, where it was deposited at larger orbiting trade stations and sold to wealthy buyers on the inhabited planets. For efficiency’s sake, most ExoRok freighters like the Devil’s Broker had ore-processing facilities on board. Instead of processing the raw ore where it was mined, the metals could instead be refined while they were being shipped.

  That saved time. Which made the company more money.

  The Broker’s processing facilities were next to the cargo bay. As the Broker traveled, its load of ore was refined into valuable metals: iron and copper, gold and platinum, tungsten and molybdenum. Those were melted down into long bars, thick ingots, or rolled sheets, and delivered to the cargo bay. Then Noemi and the other lifters stacked them according to buyers’ orders, so when the Broker docked, its cargo was ready for immediate delivery.

  The ship had two lift teams, Alpha and Beta. Jeral ran the Alpha team. Each team had four lifters who operated the large metal exoskeletons they called mechs. The teams alternated continuous ten-hour shifts—one team resting while the other team worked—throughout the ship’s standard twenty-hour days.

  Noemi was the only rookie on Jeral’s team. The other members were Kett and Mackie, both second-class lifters. She was also the only woman, which was perhaps why she hadn’t yet clicked with her teammates. They ate without her, watched vids without her. In fact, in the few weeks she’d been on board, they’d essentially ignored her.

  Maybe now that she had saved Jeral, that would change.

  He was disoriented. “When does our shift start?”

  “Soon, I think.” She instinctively checked her wrist, forgetting about her ruined coat. “Um, what does your wrist pad say?”

  He checked the readout on his sleeve. “Damn! We’re due in fifteen minutes. Braddock is gonna be mad if we’re late. Let’s go.” He pushed himself up.

  Pers Braddock was the Broker’s cargo foreman. He oversaw the onboard ore processing and cargo bays, and reported directly to Mayve. He’d been on the Broker for decades. He expected everyone to do their jobs and didn’t care much for shipboard politics. Noemi had heard from some of the other lifters that he’d butted heads occasionally with Mayve, who was herself a relative newcomer; she joined ExoRok from a different mining company three years ago, and had only been serving as the Broker’s SCO for a few months.

  From what Noemi had seen, Braddock clearly didn’t care much what others thought of him. And as long as the work got done, he kept his opinions to himself. He wouldn’t be happy if she missed her last shift before they docked at Cassius.

  Noemi held up her bloody hand so Jeral could see it. “I cut my thumb and finger on the hatch trying to get you out. I left my gloves and medkit up in my room.”

  “Huh. Well, Braddock won’t let you drive a mech like that. You’d better get up to Medical.” And then, as if he’d just then noticed that her upper body was covered only by her thin bodysuit, he said, “Hey, what happened to your coat?”

  She picked up the muck-drenched pile of fabric from the floor. It dangled pathetically, oil and puke dripping down its tattered edges. She quickly dropped it again, her nose wrinkling.

  “How did that happen?”

  “When you fell into that trash chute up on Habitat Deck, I thought you were stuck part way down. I couldn’t find any rope, so I took off my coat and lowered it down to you by one sleeve. I kept calling for you to grab it, but I guess you were knocked out. When I pulled it up, it caught on something. I had to yank it free, ripping it in the process.”

  Jeral made a face. “That coat’s a mess.”

  “And now it’s too damaged to function. Cold as hell down here without a working coat. At least I got you out of the chute.”

  She waited again for him to thank her. He didn’t.

  “Look, I know I’m new to the Broker, but why are we ejecting trash now, just a few hours before we dock at Cassius?”

  “There’s a minor asteroid belt just on the border of the inner zone. We usually slow down here to dump the ore tailings from processing. Our cargo is taxed by weight, so we always dump the excess ore—it’s protocol. The trash chambers always eject their contents at the same time.”

  “Ah, okay.”

  He turned to head out and slid on the grease. “What is all this stuff?”

  Noemi sighed. “I tried to use it to open the hatch, but I spilled it. Then I slipped on it and cut my fingers as I fell. It was a disaster. Then I laid my coat over the grease so I wouldn’t slip again while trying to loosen the lock wheel. Oh, and on top of that, I had to cut a strip off of it to bandage my fingers.” She grinned sheepishly, laughing. “How’d I do, boss? I really went above and beyond, eh?”

  She smiled. He didn’t.

  Great. She hugged herself tightly. Now that she was no longer running around, her core temperature was falling fast. After a moment, she realized Jeral was glaring at her.

  “What?”

  “Your coat is part of your techsuit, Noemi. It’s expensive. Until you’ve paid it off, it’s still company property. You’re required to maintain company property in good working condition at all times. Mayve’s not gonna be happy.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you can help me get a new one, right? I mean, I just saved you from dying. It’s not like I was just goofing around.”

  “Only Mayve can authorize a replacement when there’s unpaid debt on an old one.”

  “But I was trying to save you after you fell down the chute!”

  “I fell because you startled me!”

  She remembered how she’d come across Jeral, his upper body half inside the chute. She assumed he was throwing up.

  “Well, I thought you needed help,” she said somewhat indignantly. “After the party, even though you had tried to—well, never mind—I found you head-first in the trash chute. You were puking, weren’t you? Too much to drink at the farewell party for what’s his name—Devan, from processing—right? I came up and put my hand on your back for support, because hey, we’re teammates, right?”

  She looked at him for some affirmation. Nothing, so she continued. “I didn’t expect you to freak out like that. You fell forward and slid down the chute before I could grab you.”

  She heard the pleading in her voice, and couldn’t believe she had to defend herself for trying to help him.

  Jeral glanced back inside the trash chamber. His suit was still functioning fine, bright green and steaming in the frozen corridor, despite being stained by garbage. “You scared the crap out of me up there, Noemi.”

  “And I’m sorry. But look, without a functioning coat I can’t work. I’d freeze to death in the cargo bay. Hell and starlight, Jeral! I’m freezing now. Will you please talk to Mayve for me?”

  He hesitated. “I dunno, Noemi. ‘Never remove your techsuit outside Habitat Deck.’ That’s part of the ship’s health and safety protocols. It’s a serious violation. Mayve could nail you.”

  “Well, come with me and tell her I did it to help you! She’ll listen to you. You’re always telling me how you two are related. Extended members of the dar Bueil clan, right?”

  “I wouldn’t feel right about that, Noemi. I don’t want it to seem like I’m playing favorites or something. Mayve is my cousin’s step-mother’s sister, you know.”

  His apathy stunned her. “Well maybe I’ll tell her you’d been drinking before you went down the chute. And”—she really didn’t want to bring this up, but now she was desperate—“that you tried to kiss me in the hallway after we left the party. That’s probably some violation, too, right? Hitting on a subordinate?”

  He smirked. “I seem to recall you kissing me.”

  “Yeah.” She lau
ghed uncomfortably. “In your dreams. If that’s the case, why did I push you away?”

  “Who knows? But seeking favors from a superior is another serious violation, Noemi.”

  His reply was like a punch to the gut. “What? You hit on me! Check the corridor cameras! I heard you clear as starlight—”

  “Heard? The corridor cameras don’t record audio. Just video. If you tell Mayve I kissed you, I’ll tell her you offered to provide me with, how did you put it, ‘additional heat’ for a good score on your load times.”

  Noemi’s eyes grew wide. “I never said that!”

  “It’s my word against yours.”

  “I don’t need to trade anything for better numbers on my load times. I can pilot my mech faster than anyone on our team. Braddock will back me up on that.”

  “Braddock may be the foreman, Noemi. But I file Alpha Team’s reports.”

  Noemi just stared at him. As her team leader, Jeral could report whatever numbers he wanted, and that’s what went in her corporate file.

  “Why are you doing this? I’ve been working my ass off for the past few weeks. I’m a good lifter! You’re the one that got drunk—I knew you weren’t thinking straight when you kissed me. I just want to get a new coat so I can keep my job.”

  His face was expressionless. “As I told you, Noemi, I don’t take bribes—it’s a violation of protocol. And I don’t appreciate being shoved into the trash because I wouldn’t submit to your advances. I’m going to have to report this.”

  Noemi’s stomach turned. “What! Why?”

  He smiled wickedly. “I know you’re just a rookie, Noemi, but you’ve demonstrated a real lack of judgment. Removing your techcoat in unauthorized areas of the ship, leaving required safety gear in your room, hitting on your superior, and then pushing him into a trash chute when he wasn’t receptive to your advances. A series of bad choices. The last of them possibly criminal.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  “Those are lies!”

  “I never lie about company protocols, Noemi. They’re both law and gospel on the Broker. Violating them is detrimental to the crew, the ship, and ExoRok itself. This will all be in my report.”

  She gaped for a few seconds, the cold all but forgotten. Then the words tumbled out. “I’m going to fight you on this. I don’t care if Mayve is your third cousin’s mom or whatever. I’ll take it to Braddock.”

  “As I said, it’s your word against mine. But I tell you what. If you keep your mouth shut, maybe things can still work out for the best. You’re a good lifter. The company will probably sell your debt on Cassius Station, but maybe I could arrange to buy your debt package—” He inched closer, lips parted slightly, just as he had done before when they were alone in the hallway.

  “Are you serious?” She was shouting now, despite her chattering teeth. “You’re firing me and hitting on me at the same time? You’re a total bastard!”

  “Hey, you brought this on yourself. Protocols are—”

  “Screw you and screw this ship and screw ExoRok’s goddamn protocols!” She stood and picked up her coat like it was a dead animal. Jeral’s vomit had frozen into a slushy crust on one sleeve, but she could still smell it. Suppressing a gag, she put it on, mostly out of habit. Shivering almost uncontrollably, suspecting she was on the verge of hypothermia, she stumbled down the corridor in the direction of the stairwell.

  Behind her, Jeral called out. “Sorry it didn’t work out for you on the Broker, Noemi.”

  Without turning around, she raised her hand above her shoulder—the unbandaged one—and extended her middle finger.

  “Suit yourself,” he said. “Let me know if you change your mind.” She heard a clang as he shut the trash chamber hatch, then the squeal of the lock wheel turning.

  Shaking with rage, she found the stairs and started climbing.

  Below her, the countdown resumed, faint and echoing.

  “ONE MINUTE UNTIL TRASH CHAMBER EVACUATION.”

  The thick soles of her boots scraped the metal steps as she hurried up to Habitat Deck.

  At least there she would be warm.

  3

  Medical

  Medical wasn’t busy, but the three female nurses still scowled when Noemi arrived. She waited in the decontamination airlock, two identical sets of glass doors between the outside central corridor and the sterilized interior, while the nurses moved purposefully around inside, casting occasional glances her way.

  In the glass reflection, Noemi saw her face. Grime streaked her angled cheeks, and the cold from Maintenance had turned the tip of her nose blue and puffed the skin around her almond eyes.

  Noemi sat on one of the hard benches built into the wall while UV lights buzzed and sensors checked her over. She didn’t mind—the warmth of the airlock was heaven. Medical was one of the few areas of the ship that was always heated. Whoever had said that Hell was a fiery pit had never spent time in the cold bowels of the Devil’s Broker.

  A minute later, a light flashed green and the interior doors slid open. Noemi stood up, tasting the sudden, acrid odor of disinfectant that filled the air. A harsh white light gave everything in Medical a pallid cast, including the gleaming surgery bot that sat in one corner like a giant metal spider, its many arms folded inward while it awaited its next victim.

  Two of the nurses were busy packing their leave bags, obviously prepping for a little R&R on Cassius Station. When Noemi stepped out of the airlock, her injured hand tucked into the crook of her opposite arm, they were discussing which of Cassius’s bars had the best chance for a hookup with some cute frigate officer or shuttle jock.

  Under different circumstances, Noemi would have tried to join their chatter. It would be nice to have friends. She’d seen these women around the ship, but her first weeks as a rookie had been too busy to allow any socializing. In fact, the party she had just attended with her lift team had been the only event she’d been invited to so far. Everyone on the Broker just seemed to keep to themselves or their small group of coworkers.

  So instead of making small talk, Noemi just raised her bandaged hand. “I’m bleeding. Sliced my fingers pretty badly while, uh … working.”

  They stared at her, the looks on their faces letting her know they weren’t happy with the sudden arrival of a patient so close to station leave. One of them, wearing the blue armband of the senior nurse, sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose, and then looked with disgust at Noemi’s coat, where Jeral’s frozen vomit was starting to melt.

  Self-consciously, Noemi took the coat off and folded it over her forearm, as if that might do something about the smell.

  The senior nurse and another of them turned to their companion—a younger, thin brunette with coppery skin who had been tapping at a keyboard. The meaning of their look was obvious: this one’s all yours.

  “The AI surgeon’s been powered down already,” said the brunette. “We weren’t expecting any more patients before we docked.”

  “Sorry,” was all Noemi could think to say. She almost asked if it was against ship’s protocol to get injured, but thought better of it.

  Noemi guessed the brunette was in her early thirties, a few years older than she was. The nurse had pouty lips, which, though pretty, were pursed together in a sour expression.

  “It’ll take a few minutes to bring it back online and prep the skin synths and other mats. Think you can avoid bleeding to death in the meantime?”

  “I’ll try,” she muttered.

  The nurse waved Noemi toward an uncomfortable-looking couch upholstered in slick white fabric. It was not made for comfort.

  The other two nurses went into a side room to continue to gossip. Noemi suspected that, like her, the brunette was the low girl on the totem pole.

  Noemi had only been in Medical once before, to get her rookie medical scan. Even then, she’d had the impression that the uncomfortable seating and businesslike demeanor of the nurses was designed to ensure no one overstayed their welcome.

  Over at t
he surgery bot, the brunette began flicking switches and turning dials. She pressed buttons much harder than was necessary, a not-so-subtle way of letting Noemi know that her arrival was an imposition.

  The bot began to hum. It was an older model, probably original to the Broker. While it buzzed and blinked and ran through its automated startup checks, the brunette came over and grabbed Noemi’s hand roughly, tearing off the makeshift bandage and pulling a crust of dried blood with it.

  Noemi winced.

  The nurse shook her head, made a tsk tsk noise. “Not properly bandaged. Where was your med kit? You should have used nanoclots.”

  “I ….” Oh, what the hell. “I didn’t have it with me. We were at a party. A farewell party for some guy from processing—he’s got a new position on an inner-zone freighter.”

  “Ah yes, Rol Devan,” the nurse said. “We did his out-processing scan yesterday.” She lifted a torn swath of Noemi’s coat and muttered, “Hmm … looks like he may not be the only one leaving the Broker once we get to Cassius.” She went over to a monitor and tapped at her screen ominously—tap tap, tap tap. Reporting Noemi’s violations, no doubt.

  God, Noemi thought. This whole ship is full of cold-hearted bastards.

  The nurse came back, waved a hand-held scanner over Noemi’s hand, scowled, and typed again.

  And bitches.

  “I’ll be back when the bot is ready.”

  She walked out, leaving Noemi alone.

  Noemi had grown up at the edge of the Aquitania System, on Tiber Station. Tiber orbited near the gas giant Dacia, and it had been a miserable place to be a kid. Just another deep space outpost, one sorry node in a network of trade stations that shuttled supplies and spacers to the Dacian corporate mines.

  By System law, all trade stations were company-neutral, managed and overseen by the Aquitania System Council. No one company owned them, so commerce could be transacted fairly. That part made Noemi laugh. Maybe trade was fair for the companies on the stations. But not for those who lived there.