Bad Bargain: A Space Rules Adventure Part 1

by Ian Cannon

“There,” Tawny said pointing forward.

  “Yep—that’s what we need.”

  Ben piloted REX carefully, weaving through the garbage and coming to a mammoth freighter, easily two thousand feet of iron and scraps. Its upper deck had been dismantled and carried off a plank at a time revealing the stacks of cargo carriers within.

  “Perfect.”

  REX glided over the thing’s massive hull, settled overhead and began towing the compartments up, locking them down between the mag-spires. There were enough cargo units to gather far more than a full compliment, but they would take only what they needed. Once done, they rotated the mag-spires to an overhead vertical position allowing REX to land on Norg’s little asteroid home, and lowered to the surface with a gentle, sandy thud. The umbilicus extended from the nearside igloo, and they exited their ship.

  The airlock hissed and rolled out of the way showing Norg’s entrance hub inside. Like his field of space junk, the place was littered with decades, perhaps centuries, of antiquities—machine parts and tidbits the old turtle-man had collected over time.

  Norg approached on fat, short legs lending to a full carapace. A narrow, struggling cane supported his weight from one mighty, green hand, and that everpresent frown on his face gave him a discerningly unhappy look. But they knew better. For such an isolated old fart, Norg was as companionable a creature as they’d ever met. And he was always happy to see Tawny and Ben stop by.

  “Well, it’s been a chelonian year. Thought you two had forgot about me.” He stopped and looked closely at Tawny. “Tawny my dear, dear, dearest love. Your beauty grows like muck slime.”

  Tawny accepted this as its intended compliment. Muck slime was Dekorrah’Bha’s primary source of beauty, growing only in the rare mountainous regions. The gelatinous green ooze showed dull and murky during the daylight hours, but glowed a brilliant, lovely color at night. It grew slowly like everything else on Dekorrah’Bha, and more beautifully over time.

  “Thank you, Norg,” she said giving him an awkward hug. His body was hard, heavy and wide, nearly impossible to embrace.

  He turned his old, slow body to Ben and said sourly, “And then there’s you. You’re still as ugly as a Molosian muggle-wump.”

  Ben chided, “And you’re still as nasty as an old rim husk.”

  “And slow as a sig echo, I’m afraid. Come here, old friend.” They shook hands, embraced. “Of all my clients, you two are my favorite.”

  “You tell that to all of them, don’t you?”

  “If I did, you’d never know.”

  “A man of many secrets,” Ben said.

  “Ha! I’ve lived a long time. Secrets tend to pile up. But I’ll be dead soon enough, and with me all my secrets.”

  Ben gave him a curious look. He’d never heard Norg talk about death. Of course, the ancient old geezer could be close to death and still have eighty years left to go. Ben smirked, “A sad day for the system in deed.”

  “Not for me!” Norg said. “Come on in, you two.” He turned and slowly led them through his greeting hut into the adjoining passage.

  Ben eyed his old friend. The turtle-man’s cane clicked and his feet thumped. He moved very slowly. But that was the nature of the Dekorrans. They were slow, long living creatures, with no need to hurry. Ben said, “You seem to be doing just fine.”

  “Oh, pah! I should have been dead these two hundred annuals. You’re lucky I’m still around. But I accept your flattery. It’s obvious though, you’re here because you need something, don’t you?”

  Ben and Tawny shared a look. Ben said, “As we told the Cabal greeting party, we’re just here to see an old friend.”

  Norg waved his cane and cried, “What a bunch of sploof! Nevertheless, you may enter, you clamorous bunch of star kickers. Sit down.”

  They strolled into his central living area. Parts and junk hung from the ceiling causing them to have to navigate through the room. Slanted shelves on the walls had meticulously placed bits of old machine parts. A stove toward the back housed a collection of steaming pots. The smell of hot spiced tea wafted heavily.

  Norg found his spot and sat down with a groan. It was an old, broad tree stump he’d brought up from his home planet, the one organic thing in his entire abode. He cupped his hands over the cane’s nob. “So,” he said, “I’m prepared for the good news. Do tell.”

  Ben and Tawny looked at each other questioningly. “What news?”

  “Hatchlings!” Norg declared thumping his cane once. “You’re obviously having hatchlings.”

  Tawny bugged her eyes at him and said, “Uh, no, Norg, no hatchlings.”

  Ben just laughed nervously trying to evade the topic.

  Norg thudded his cane again angrily and said, “Stop wasting time, then! You don’t have as much as I, you know. I’ll never understand you short-cyclers. Always wasting time you don’t have.”

  They both looked down absorbing his words.

  Norg continued, “You have been busy though, haven’t you?”

  Ben looked at him. “Meaning what?”

  “Ha!” Norg grunted. “Modesty. Another waste of time.” He said, “The Orbinii heiress job. Well done.”

  Ben cringed. Their involvement in that case was supposed to have been left anonymous. But he didn’t have to wonder how Norg had gotten ahold of it. The old Dekorran had a way of syphoning information from the stars that the vast majority didn’t have—a thousand secret ears, a few underground comm lines, whispers in the vacuum. Even the Solar Twin War couldn’t keep secrets from Norg. He had secret access to it all.

  “A job well done, you two. I’m sorry it ended as it did. You save their heiress … now they want your heads on a pole. Doesn’t seem right.”

  “No it doesn’t, does it?” Tawny said bitterly.

  “Stay away from the Orbinii. They’re a lustful and eccentric bunch. They’ve forgotten the simpler things, the actual things. You would think war would fix them. But nope. If you want something from them you have to play their game… and always give them the advantage.”

  Ben said, “Speaking of the war, have you heard anything?”

  “Oh, I’ve got my fingers where they fit,” he said getting slowly to his feet. He turned to his stove and tested the heat of his percolating drink maker.

  “What’s the latest from the underground?” Ben asked.

  “The latest is always old news anymore,” he said now rummaging through a steel, overhead cupboard. “New names, same old situation. The Imperium takes the moon ridge of Velinor 10, so the Cabal takes the planet. The Imperium retakes Xyiang’Sut, so the Cabal strikes at Dito. One side declares a victory, the other denies it. Over and over.”

  He pulled three cups down, started pouring the steaming liquid into each.

  Tawny said miserably, “It’s been that way for so many centuries. It’ll never end.”

  Norg paused to look up and said, “Ha!” He started pouring again. “A hundred billion souls, each with the technology to visit stars dozens of light years away, yet all trapped in a bubble of space barely a cubed light day in size, able to communicate with each other within minutes of transmission, most of us seeing each other hanging in our skies, and you think nothing’s going to come to an end?” He carried Tawny her drink and handed it to her. “Oh, my dear, I’m very afraid you might be mistaken.”

  She cupped it in her hands feeling the refreshing warmth and asked, “You believe there’s an end to it all?”

  “I don’t believe in beginnings and endings. I only believe in inevitabilities.” In his slow, painstaking way, he handed Ben a steaming cup.

  “What do you mean, Norg?” he asked.

  The turtle-man took his own cup and sat heavily down on his stump with a satisfied look on his face. He sipped, savoring the liquid with a fat black tongue and said, “War is an organism. Like any organism, it must eat. Unfortunately, war has only one food source. Itself. So what does it eat? Well, it eats itself, of course. The more moons that are destroyed, the more planets
that fall under siege, the healthier the war. War wants to consume. It wants to rage on and on. It ensures that we are all each other’s enemies. It’s the perfect formula. If everyone is an enemy, then we must do only one thing. We must fight. We must feed the organism.” He sipped again and said, “That’s why you two are my favorite clients, my favorite of all.”

  Ben and Tawny shared a look. She flashed Norg a curious grin and said, “Why is that?”

  “To end a war you have to starve it. You two have done that.” He took another sip, smacked his big, beaked jowls and looked up, surprised to see them giving him a silent look, both a bit mystified. He said, “You look shocked. It’s true, though. It’s what you represent to the organism. You two are dangerous. You know what you represent?”

  Tawny flushed. She would have reached for her husband’s hand if he hadn’t been sitting across the hovel. She said, “Love?”

  Norg nearly spilled his tea with a hearty, “Ha!” He looked at them both. “Pathetic. No one knows what love is, not really. You vaguely mention the word love and watch how people look at you, watch their reactions. They either look blank, or they act like they know what you’re talking about—oh, yes, love, of course, a beautiful thing, the most beautiful of all—Ha! They haven’t got the slightest clue what you’re talking about. How could they? Love occurs to each of us in our own weird ways. Love sees only what it wants and cuts everything else out, makes everything expendable.” He said with a giggle, “Love is arse-poo!” and sipped. “No—you two do not represent love. You represent something far greater; the one thing everyone needs and no one wants.”

  “What?” Ben said almost desperately.

  “Character!” and—WHOCK—he thrust his cane into the floor making his point. “That’s right. Character. It’s hard and humble. It requires humility. Character is patient and strong. It pauses from time to time so it can think. It considers more than its own point of view. It’s not blind like love. Character goes beyond itself. It learns about the things it does not want to know.”

  He turned around in a long, slow motion and reached up to tap his cane against the one tiny porthole window in his hovel. “Look out there. What do you see?”

  Tawny adjusted to see out the window. There was nothing but Norg’s field of junk. She guessed, “Space garbage?”

  Norg gave her his version of a dissatisfied grimace, his long mouth arching even more dramatically at its ends. “No. Look beyond my little abode, love. Look out there, further than your eyes. What do you see?”

  She pulled back, sat back down. She didn’t have to see beyond Norg’s junkyard to know what he was referring to. The war, of course. She said, “I see people yelling.”

  Ben added, “Leaders.”

  “I see people fighting.”

  “Armadas.”

  Norg nodded his big head. “Yes, and they all speak about the things they love, don’t they? Love, love, love. But character—no one ever speaks about character. No one ever charges into the fold howling—for character! They’re too busy trying not to understand the other. They’ve bent themselves on destroying the other side. And do you know why?”

  Ben set his teacup down, folded his hands together. “They do it for power.”

  Again, Norg blurted a big, “Ha! If only that were so. At least it would be an honest war. No. They destroy each other because it’s simpler than understanding them. They kill so they won’t have to learn. They even die just to avoid a conversation.” He chuckled pathetically and got to his feet carrying his cup back to the stove. “Looking the other in the eye is far too much to ask. And all that’s left for them is doctrine—the doctrine of nations, the doctrine of gods.” He poured again and turned to face them.

  “And that brings me to the two of you. A Wi’ahr assassin…” he lifted his cane and tapped Tawny on the shoulder, “and an Ae’ahm warrior…” now he tapped Ben and continued, “… putting down their arms and coming together. Tisk tisk. How can such a thing be?” He sat back down. “You two have broken the bonds of war, broken the shackles of ideology. You’ve starved the organism, you see?” He swished a thick wrist at them. “You can speak to me of love all you want, and perhaps that is what you feel for each other. But how do you feel about yourselves? Hehe—oh, I know the truth. It’s written all over you, both of you. You feel responsible. You’re aware of consequence. That’s character. Period.” He punctuated his point with a big, fat finger. “It has outweighed the hatred you were taught to possess for each other. It’s even outweighed the love you were taught to have for yourself. Nation. World. System. Even god. All wonderful things, but they belong at home. You step out your door with them and they become perfectly good reasons to kill. But no, not for Benjar and Tawny, eh? You’ve adopted character. And through your character, you’ve shown that peace among people is possible. You’ve shown that the war machine can be put to rest, once and for all. You’ve even shown that love can exist between foes.”

  He took a big, weary breath and said, “But you must be warned. In a galaxy so determined to destroy its other half, it will view the two of you as its greatest enemy. You present a model of peace and preservation. You protect one another, even in spite of who you are and where you come from—in spite of your own ideals. You are the solution in a machine that wants to be broken. Character. It’s a despicable thing to worlds at war. And because of that, this galaxy will try to rip you two apart from each other. It will tear you down and destroy what you have built up. That’s its mission. Remember, the organism must eat. And it’s a very hungry organism. Don’t let it.” He leaned dramatically forward and said, “Do. Not. Let. It.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Outer Commerce Routes

  Planet Hydras

  Non-partisan space region

  It was very cold in this region of space. Both suns shown distantly no larger than grape-sized discs pulsing with light—Ae’ahm flickering a hot white to the starboard, Wi’ahr showing a bloody red to the port. Independents operated out here always under the watchful eye of a patrolling Cabal battle group, or an Imperium gun runner sliding through. They usually took what they wanted without payment, simply allowing them to continue operating.

  Hydras was one of the more resourced planets. It was completely lifeless having an atmosphere comprised almost entirely of methane and hydrogen. She was a proud, white gas giant tinted a deep blue toward its center as methane populated her lower skies giving it a dizzying sense of depth. Huge tankers collected entire lakes of hydrogen from the upper atmosphere, transporting it to their orbiting fusion centers and splicing the gas with oxygen. At the end of a complicated filtration process, the crews turned the natural skies of Hydras into enormous tankers full of clean, drinkable water. It was irony that tagged such a lifeless mass as the ‘life-giver.’

  As they neared, the planet took up the entire viewport. It was so large it seemed they would go tumbling down into it, and yet tiny in the distance they could see one of the process centers hovering over the atmosphere. It was a massive steel latticework with multi-levels and operation quarters lending to a series of pressure engines. A central drive chain spit out whole mega tons of new water in great big tanks—each one big enough to pressure pump water into their dozen cargo haulers.

  “Hailing,” Tawny said. “Filtration Station River, this is the private cargo freighter REX on approach.”

  “REX, we’re receiving. What’s your business?” a voice returned.

  “We have a purchase slot for a hundred thousand units of H2O, appointment one-zero-one-one-two.”

  “Commercial or private?”

  “Private.”

  “Okay, yeah, gotcha. Come to oh-ten planet side, dock up at seventeen for filling. We’ll have the invoice transmitted upon receipt of payment.”

  “Copy,” she said and input the money transmit.

  A few seconds later they heard, “Received. You may proceed.”

  Ben huffed. “What, no surprises?”

  “Yeah, that’s kind
of a surprise itself,” she said. “Okay, River. Seventeen it is.”

  REX slid up under the superstructure as outbound vessels, their steel bellies full of new water, moved overhead. He came to the planet side where the view of Hydras was unobstructed, performed a graceful about face and lifted toward pump station seventeen. They connected. A service drone under Station River’s command began working diligently to move from one cargo hauler to the next, attaching a tremendous feed hose to the couplers and pumping water into the haulers. The process would take an hour, maybe less. It gave Ben and Tawny some downtime. While she disappeared into the main hold, Ben found himself looking down at Hydras. A sensation of relief took him. This was not like staring woefully into Speculus, the mirror planet. This was wholly different. In fact, Hydras was full of energy as great billowing bands of cloud churned and boiled giving the planet a moving, breathing quality.

  Life giver.

  Before long, one final thump let them know the last cargo unit had been filled with water, the coupler disconnected and the drone’s work completed. A voice said, “REX at seventeen. You’re full, clear to disembark.”

  Ben replied, “Thanks River,” as Tawny rejoined him in the cockpit.

  “Happy flying.”

  “Yep. See you again.”

  They scooted out from the traffic, beyond superorbit and out into open space. Hydras began falling away.

  “REX,” Ben said. “Plot laid in?”

  REX’s mechanical mind analyzed their drive plot, said, “Yeah, Cap. Next stop, Mortus.”

  “Okay. We’re set and met and the systems are go. Let’s burn.”

  BOOM—gone.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Outer Commerce Routes

  Planet Tantalus

  Moon Mortus

  Non-partisan space region

  They came in like a blink from the ether, halting over the moon. Ben and Tawny stared down at it as they settled into orbit. Tantalus sat below the moon with its rapid rotation visible as gray, black and white bands of toxic atmosphere moved across its face in a slow rhythm. There were no other space vehicles here, no cargo runners, no tourists with roaming eyes, no military vessels.