Brothers in Exile: Sons of the Starfarers, Book I

by Joe Vasicek

  A Slaver’s Bargain

  The bluish-white light of Vulcana reflected in hues of silver and brown off of the star’s protoplanetary disk, casting a milky glow that obscured the starfield and filled the sky with light. Almost two million kilometers away, a vortex was visible in the cloud of gas and dust, the super-massive protoplanet Hephesteron which was still in the process of formation. In time, fusion would probably ignite in its core, turning it into a faint brown dwarf for at least a few hundred thousand years. Whether that process would prove sustainable and the lonely protoplanet would achieve its aspirations to become a star was anyone’s guess.

  Hephesteron Station orbited the planet and star in a highly elliptical trailing orbit. The brothers were in luck: the station was on the high end of its orbit, in a region clear of gas and dust. Every three or four standard years, the station passed through the protoplanetary disc, effectively cutting it off from the rest of the outside universe. The debris cloud was too dense to jump into safely, and few starships had sublight engines powerful enough to facilitate travel from the outside. On the long voyage to the system, Isaac had come across a short novel in the starfarer database which told a tragic tale of two lovers separated during the transit period. The translation into Gaian was surprisingly good—probably because it had been translated by an actual human and not an AI. That, or the translation algorithms for the New Pleiades were much more developed than those for most other Outworld languages. Either way, it was a sign of strong cultural ties between this sector and the Coreward Stars.

  “We copying, Medea,” the operator’s voice cackled over the comm system. “Clear to dock. We transmitting flight plans now.”

  “What did he say?” Aaron asked.

  “He said they’re transmitting flight plans for the docking procedure. Send them to me as soon as you get them.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Aaron’s going to have a hard time getting around this system, Isaac realized. Probably the whole New Pleiades. According to the Gaian Imperial catalog, the star cluster had been settled predominantly by colonists from Gaia Nova, and the local dialects were much closer related to Gaian than anything in the Orianan language family. Since Aaron had never learned Gaian, even the creole was largely unintelligible to him. That was bound to make for problems. Isaac would have to stay close to him while they were on board.

  “Okay, got ‘em,” said Aaron. “Looks like a pretty standard docking maneuver. Sending them to you now.”

  Isaac’s main display showed a three dimensional grid with the path between them and the station, complete with multiple vector lines for all nearby ships and objects. He set the autodocking routine and leaned back in his chair as the sublight engines engaged.

  “So this is the New Pleiades,” Aaron mused aloud, staring at the protoplanetary disk out the forward window. With its milky glow and the vortex of the planet forming within, it looked unlike anything else they’d seen together.

  “One of the border stars, yeah.”

  “Do you think they’ll have the equipment to thaw the henna girl?”

  Isaac shrugged. “They might. If not, though, they’ll probably be able to point us in the right direction. Just stay close, and try not to wander off too much.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I can take care of myself, you know.”

  Can you? Isaac wondered silently. Even if he could, Isaac wasn’t about to let him out of his sight. They’d come so far from the stars of their birth, there was no telling what they’d find when they disembarked.

  * * * * *

  Hephesteron Station was unlike any other orbital space station Isaac had ever seen. Instead of running the living space along two rotating wheels—as was standard throughout the Outworlds—nearly the entire facility ran on artificial gravity. Since the energy costs for AG field generators grew exponentially with the volume of space they covered, Isaac had expected the interior of the station to be cramped and crowded. Instead, it was the exact opposite.

  An elevator led from the utilitarian spaceport at the bottom of the station to a large atrium at the center of the topmost level. An expansive glass ceiling gave an unparalleled view of space, with Hephesteron and the system’s golden-amber protoplanetary disk taking center stage. The vista alone was enough to take Isaac’s breath away, but the extravagance of the station’s central square was even more incredible. Every structure, from the walls and floor to the pillars around the edges, was made from polished white-green marble. Wide, spacious avenues branched off in the eight cardinal directions, each one lined with shops and market stalls.

  The people of the station were dressed just as extravagantly. Leather and silk were everywhere, with almost none of the utilitarian trappings he was used to. A woman in a shimmering silver dress briefly caught his eye, followed by another wearing a wide leather belt with a blue and gold bead design sewn in. The place was practically exploding with color, making him feel as if he’d stepped into an alternate universe from one where everything was gray and drab. In some ways, perhaps that was true.

  “This place is amazing,” said Aaron, giving voice to a sentiment they both shared. He gawked openly at the grandeur of the place, with its high glass ceilings and long, broad avenues. The people milled about as if nothing was out of the ordinary, but that was certainly not true for either of them.

  “Can I be helping?” Isaac blinked and came back to his senses. A short man in a green frilled shirt waited patiently for their response.

  “Uh, yeah,” said Isaac. “We’re starfarers from the Oriana Cluster, looking to make some trades. Where can we find some people willing to do business?”

  The man chuckled. “Is here, friend. What you wanting?”

  “What did he say?” asked Aaron. “Do you think he knows where we can find that cryothaw equipment?”

  “Shh!” said Isaac, perhaps a bit harsher than he’d intended. Even though the people here spoke their own particular dialect, there was no telling who was within earshot. A bald man with a cybernetic implant running from the base of his neck to the top of his head walked past them while a cluster of dark-skinned women in flowing orange robes headed in the opposite direction. The station was clearly a major hub, with people from all over the sector coming and going—perhaps even from all over the Outworlds.

  “There is problem?”

  “No, no,” said Isaac. “We’re fine, we’re fine. Thanks for your help.”

  The man raised an eyebrow questioningly. Isaac smiled and bowed, hoping that was how people said goodbye in this place. Evidently, it was. The man returned the bow and soon blended back into the crowd.

  “What was that about?” asked Aaron. From the scowl on his face, he didn’t seem too pleased with the way he’d been cut off.

  “Sorry about that. Here, let’s find a place where we can scope this place out.”

  “You mean like a cantina or something?”

  Absolutely no alcohol, Isaac almost blurted, catching himself just before he said it. The last thing he wanted was a stupid fight with his brother in this place.

  “No, let’s wander around for a bit first,” he suggested instead.

  Aaron shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

  They set out down one of the avenues, passing a number of market stalls selling robotic parts and used electronics. None of the goods looked particularly interesting—they were probably manufactured somewhere else and sold here for the planetesimal ores and radioactives that were so plentiful at Vulcana. There weren’t too many leather goods for sale, either, which was strange considering how popular it seemed among the locals. They probably got those from a nearby system, perhaps from one of the terraforming projects.

  “Are you liking?” said one man, pointing to a collection of exotic knives laid out on a dark blue blanket on the marble floor. The blades appeared to be made from tempered durasteel, or perhaps meteoric iron.

  “No, thanks,” said Isaac, waving him away. Aaron lingered, though, drawing the man’s attention.

  “H
ow much is he asking for these?”

  The man, who was short and dark-skinned with a crude prosthetic hand, turned from Isaac and put his good arm around Aaron’s shoulder. “You wanting, yes? I show, you seeing, come coming.”

  “Aaron, get away from there,” Isaac said, bristling at the way the man was treating his brother. For his part, though, Aaron seemed perfectly willing to play along, even though it was clear that neither he nor the vendor could understand each other.

  He reached down and picked up a double-sided blade that was almost twice as long as his hand. Hefting it to test the weight, he set it down and picked up another—a single-bladed item that curved slightly forward. The man reached down and picked up three more, holding them eagerly out to him.

  “Aaron, what are you doing? We’ve got to go.”

  “Go where? I’m only checking this out. Pretty neat, don’t you think?”

  Isaac sighed. “What use do we have for this kind of stuff? They’re trinkets. They’ll just take up our mass allotment.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Aaron, slicing experimentally through the air. “We’ve got room enough for personal belongings. Besides, it would be kind of nice to come away from this place with a souvenir.”

  “Is good quality, very good quality,” said the man, still unaware that Aaron couldn’t understand him. “We are making it from pure refined space rock, melted into purest steel and fashioning by hand technique. Is good steel, very good steel. You are liking, yes?”

  “What’s he saying?” asked Aaron.

  Isaac took a deep breath and shook his head. “He’s just trying to give you the sales pitch. Best quality, made by hand, folded so many hundreds of times, yada yada.”

  Before he was finished, the man interrupted them. “You are starfarers, yes? For you I am making special price. Is worth five hundred station credits, but for you it is being two hundred.”

  “Isaac, what’s he saying?”

  “He says—”

  The man shook his head and stepped in so that he was right in Aaron’s face. He lifted his hands and with firm, precise hand gestures, he made clear the price. Aaron grinned.

  “Two hundred, eh? Is that what he’s saying?”

  Isaac rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair. “Aaron, let’s just—”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

  With the air of a casually interested buyer, Aaron set the knife down and raised his hand to his chin. The man quickly grabbed another one and put it in his hands, using hand gestures to set the price at one eighty. Aaron shrugged, but glanced out of the corner of his eye at another, which the man promptly picked up for him to see. Like silent dancers, they went around like this almost half a dozen times before they got back around to the first one, which Aaron was clearly interested in.

  Isaac folded his arms and looked away as the bargaining began in earnest. He had no doubt that Aaron would talk the man down to a reasonable price, but he still didn’t like it. What did they need a knife for? Not only was it a foolish, wasteful expense, it was a potentially dangerous one, too. Those knives looked pretty fearsome. It wasn’t hard to imagine Aaron hurting himself playing with one. Hopefully, he’d lose interest before that happened, but if he didn’t, they’d have to lay down some rules, especially in the confined space of the Medea.

  Aaron and the vendor were signing furiously at each other now. Eventually, the man put his good hand on Aaron’s shoulder and smiled. They both nodded, and Isaac realized they’d reached an agreement.

  “How much?” he asked, pulling out the datachip with the information for the Medea.

  “One-twenty,” said Aaron. “Almost didn’t think he’d do it, but he did.” He stepped back to admire his new blade while Isaac sighed and completed the transaction.

  The man nodded and bowed deeply to Isaac as he inserted the datachip into the dome-shaped computer at the corner of the blanket. The station would register a purchase and withdraw the credits from the Medea’s trading account, paying the man in the local currency, whatever that happened to be.

  “Oh, and he threw in the sheath too,” said Aaron. He held out his hand, and the man reluctantly handed over a black leather sheath with a dark steel tip and a simple belt clip. It was a little longer than the blade itself, about forty centimeters, and bent forward to accommodate the blade’s peculiar shape. Why he would choose such an odd looking knife from the others, Isaac had no idea, but he sighed and finished the transaction.

  “There. Happy now?”

  “Yeah,” said Aaron, clipping the knife to his belt. A couple of people glanced at him as they passed by, making Isaac a little nervous.

  “You might want to keep that out of sight,” he said. “Don’t want to bring security down on us.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  Aaron unclipped the knife and slipped it inside his vest jacket. Behind them, the vendor went back to haranguing potential buyers, just like everyone else in the busy market.

  “Let’s find somewhere to eat,” said Isaac. “It would be good to sit down.”

  “Yeah. I wonder what they drink around here.”

  “I’ll bet if we ask around a bit, we can find someone who can help us with the cryothaw stuff,” he said, hoping to distract his brother from the prospect of a drinking trip. It worked.

  “Yeah,” said Aaron, his eyes lighting up. “Let’s do that.”

  Just as long as we’re cautious about it, Isaac thought silently. As colorful and vibrant as this place was, he had no doubt that there were plenty of scumbags as well.

  * * * * *

  They found a cantina not far from the central atrium. Judging from the flight suits and jackets of the people drinking there, it appeared to be a place frequented by starfarers and traders. If they were going to find any information that would help them to thaw the henna girl, this was the place to find it.

  Aaron sat down casually at the bar, as if the fact that he didn’t speak the language wasn’t a problem for him. He had picked up a few Gaian words for popular drinks, though there was no telling if they served any of that here. Either way, Isaac figured he’d have to stay close. He claimed the seat next to him and waved down the bartender.

  “What are you wanting?” the bartender asked. He was a fat, ugly man, with a cybernetic implant in his eye that reminded Isaac of Master Korha back home at Megiddo Station.

  “One bottle beer,” said Aaron in his halting Gaian. “Local brew.”

  “Local?” said the bartender. “Is only vodka spirits brewing local. Beer we are importing from Atalia and Merope Nova—”

  “We’ll take that, then,” said Isaac. “Two pints.”

  The bartender nodded and poured their drinks, much to Aaron’s chagrin. He turned around on his stool and leaned back with his elbows propped up on the counter.

  “You didn’t have to order for me,” he said.

  Isaac shrugged and glanced to his left. They’d attracted the attention of a couple of women, both of whom were bald except for a single braided lock that stretched past their waists. It was a style peculiar to an esoteric New Humanist whose followers hailed from fringes of the Coreward Stars. The girls were probably looking for a starfarer to give them passage somewhere. Isaac glanced over his shoulder, but no one else in the place seemed to pay them any mind.

  “There’s a guy who might be able to help us,” said Aaron. He motioned with his chin at a middle-aged man in a smart-looking business uniform, with a silver wrist console and a headset terminal interface that covered his left ear. He was smoking a hookah and reading something on the table’s holoscreen display.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “All the girls are hanging out around the bar, which probably means that’s where the pilots are. Pilots carry wrist consoles, but that guy’s got a headset—only suppliers have enough local contacts to need equipment like that.”

  Isaac glanced around the cantina. He had to admit, his brother’s reasoning made sense. But if the man
was sitting at a table, that meant he was waiting for people to come to him. He’d have a lot more power in a bargaining situation if they went over to him immediately.

  “Let’s give it a couple of minutes,” he said. “We don’t want to look too eager.” He nursed his drink, sipping from it occasionally as he watched the various patrons go about their business.

  A tap at his shoulder snapped him to attention. He glanced at his side and saw a man in a black silk shirt with a synthleather vest and gold wrist console, with studded earrings up the sides of both ears.

  “Excusing,” the man said, taking the seat at Isaac’s left. “New you are coming here, no?”

  Aaron perked up, turning around to get a better look at the man. Isaac leaned back so that they could talk with him together, even if Aaron could only nod and pretend that he was following the conversation.

  “Yes,” he said. “We have come many parsecs from the Oriana Cluster, by way of Esperanzia. Are you looking to trade?”

  The man bobbed his head from side to side, indicating an ambivalent interest. He was olive-skinned and bald, with some sort of eye enhancement that made his pupils flicker. Was that a common implant in these parts? It made it difficult for Isaac to look at him while they were talking.

  “Perhaps, perhaps. Where you are going after stay is finishing? Maybe deal am having, giving you good price.”

  “We don’t know yet,” said Isaac. “This is a new place for us. We haven’t planned our next trade run.”

  The man grinned. “Is good, is very good. Many suggestions I can offering, help you much I can. You are with starship, no?”

  “What’s he saying?” Aaron whispered.

  “He’s about to give us information on trade routes,” said Isaac. The man waited patiently for them to confer.

  “Why don’t you ask him where we can find that cryothaw machine?”

  “I’m getting there, I’m getting there!”