Lane typed “FREE TRADER AZURE TARN REQUESTS PERMISSION TO APPROACH.” A keystroke transmitted it on the same frequency as the beacon.
“How long until we get an answer?” asked Roger.
Lane shrugged. “Depends on if anyone’s watching the radio. If everyone is asleep or working outside it could be hours. It’s on repeat in case they’re not recording.”
“If we don’t hear back soon we’ll go to minimum manning.” Landry hid a smile at their reactions. Normally they were happy to have some free time. Now nobody wanted to miss what might happen.
Only ten minutes passed before a reply arrived. The first mate read it out. “Welcome trader. Permission granted.”
“Sounds like potential customers,” said Landry. “Take us in, Roger.”
Betty grumbled, “Or they’re baiting a trap. Permission to ping the planet?”
“Denied. Blowing out spacesuit radios is a bad start to a relationship.”
“They speak English,” said Soon. “No having to do sign language. That’s good news.”
“New message. Audio transmission frequency.” Lane turned on the bridge speakers. Background static hissed and crackled.
A stranger’s voice spoke. “Oorru zpaim foozzer.”
The crew traded glances. Everyone was equally confused.
“Oorru zpaim foozzer,” repeated the stranger.
Lane spoke into her mike. “Greetings, this is Azure Tarn.”
More gibberish came from the speaker. The tone of voice shifted from calm to confused.
“Does anyone there speak English?”
Gibberish again.
She put the mike down. “I’m going to send a query.”
A flurry of keystrokes sent ‘DOES ANYONE THERE SPEAK ENGLISH?’ on the beacon frequency.
The speakers angrily burst out, “A ain zthaigim oomriz!”
“Oh,” said Welly.
The power tech undid her seat belt, walked across the bridge, and picked up the mike. “Ooru mamam zpopon.”
The next response was just as incomprehensible but much more cheerful. Welly answered in kind.
Lane unbuckled, stood, and waved Welly into the comm console seat.
Welly continued the conversation then paused to talk to the captain. “Sir, he’s inviting us to land at his base, and he wants to know where we’re from.”
“We accept. And tell him Fiera.”
He reflected on that. There was no harm in strangers learning the name of their homeworld. Being able to find it . . .
“Betty.”
The sensor tech jerked out of her brooding. “Sir?”
“Can you rig something to trash all the navigation and sensor data from this trip on my command?”
“Easy. I’d have to bring the backup chips up from belowdecks.”
“Do it.”
Betty went out the hatch, muttering, “First sensible—” as it closed.
The conversation wrapped up with cheery equivalents of “See you soon.”
“Welly. How the hell did you figure out their language?” demanded Captain Landry.
Welly shrugged. “Once I recognized a few words it was obvious. They’re speaking English. Just with a strong accent.”
“That didn’t sound like English.”
“Pronunciations changed. ‘P’ became ‘TH’. ‘M’ and ‘N’ moved closer to each other. ‘R’ has faded to a grace note. And the vowels all changed. It’s a continuation of the Great Vowel Shift the language had about two thousand years ago. I, um, was an English major before I dropped out.”
Landry looked around the bridge. No one else considered it obvious. “Good work, Welly. You’ll come along to interpret.”
Welly nodded, face flushed. She turned to the first mate and made a gentle wave to ask if they should change places again.
“I can handle power,” said Lane. “You stay there in case they call again.”
She paused in thought. “I wonder how their pronunciation drifted so far. We have recordings from Earth that came with the evacuation fleet, over a thousand years old. The speech is perfectly understandable. Don’t these guys have that?”
“They might be some isolated backwater,” offered Soon.
“We’re an isolated backwater.”
The hatch reopened. Betty came in holding a pair of memory chips in one hand and a package of explosive bolts in the other.
***
The planet was a rock. Impact craters dotted the surface. The rips of the mining engine made a bigger scar. Plumes of dust kicked up into the near vacuum drew the eye. The engines were larger than any freighter in the Fieran Bubble. Huge maws ingested rock, a mobile sorter processed it, and slag trailed behind.
Azure Tarn descended toward the base. It was a massive refinery with small living quarters attached to one side. Also on that side were two clear expanses of rock striped as landing pads. The ship had been directed to the yellow one.
Roger divided his attention among thruster power levels, short-range radar, the belly cameras, and the view out the windows. A smoothly curving descent would not stay clear of the refinery or the mountains of slag surrounding it. His course doglegged to avoid them.,
Quiet whispers from Soon warned when their course came too close to a slag pile or drifted off the landing pad.
In the captain’s chair Niko Landry gripped the armrests. His palms itched to take the maneuvering controls. But he’d hired a helmsman because he didn’t have a young man’s reflexes any more.
Normally Azure Tarn landed at a shallow angle, letting the thrusters act along her centerline. The slag mountains forced them to come down almost vertically at the end.
Landry checked the system display. Yes, the landing gear were extended. Then a loud thump sounded, and a quiver palpable through the artificial gravity. The display turned the forward legs light blue. Two more thumps.
Roger sighed in relief. “Touchdown. Weight on gear.”
“Good landing. Secure for in port,” said Landry.
Lane responded, “Gravity off.”
Suddenly they were all a third lighter.
“First mate, you have the con. Welly, let’s go suit up.”
As ordered, Marcus and Alys were donning space suits when the other two reached the hold. Landry made a brief speech as they dressed. “We’re not going to do serious business here. Just a little deal, trade them some food or gadgets. What we really want is directions to the nearest inhabited world. And find out what we can about what things are like now.
“Don’t give any information away for free. Watch your expression. If we all gasp at something they say they’ll realize it was important and be more wary.
“Our story is we were updating a routine survey and found a new short cut. Hyperspace is twisty enough to make that plausible. Let them believe we’re from an in-contact world if we can.”
Naturally they had questions. After some discussion Marcus pointed out Welly could refer all questions to the captain and use translation difficulties to avoid answering the hard ones.
The forward personnel airlock was large enough to hold all four of them. The cargo handlers held pressurized sample cases, crowding them.
The outer door lowered to make a ramp.
As he walked out onto the planet Landry looked up at a slag pile and suppressed a flinch. The miners had taken advantage of the low gravity to pile it steeper. To Landry’s experience on heavier worlds the mound looked ready to avalanche down to bury his ship and crew.
On the other side stacks of metal ingots rested between the landing pads and the refinery. Each stack was a slightly different color. Looked like the refinery separated out lots of different metals. The slag piles must be iron, silicon, aluminum, and similar junk common in any system.
Two spacesuited figures waited outside the building. One waved.
Hospitable of them, thought Landry. Some places people sit inside and wait for you to figure out their damned never standardized airlock controls.
W
elly traded unintelligible pleasantries over the radio with them.
The airlock they went into was meant for vehicles. Two flatbed haulers were parked in it. Despite its size it repressurized in seconds once the door closed.
The hosts popped off their helmets.
Landry checked the readouts on his forearm. Pressure acceptable, oxygen fraction acceptable, temperature brisk but survivable. He took his helmet off. His crew followed.
The air stank of sweat and dust and scorched wiring. Not bad enough to be unhealthy. But enough to prove these people didn’t care about more than meeting the minimum standards.
The locals were both men. Their skin was the color of a cookie ready to come out of the oven. Hair and beards were trimmed to a fingerwidth, too short to catch on their helmet ring.
A short corridor led to a lounge area. Couches and chairs faced a blank screen. Three tables with benches were beside a kitchen wall. Two men stood as they entered.
The room showed signs of a recent and cursory cleaning. Stains showed here and there. No trash remained.
Welly handled introductions as spacesuits were doffed. The boss miner was named Zahm. He was one of the pair who’d met them outside. All the miners had firm handshakes.
The men shared a round face and strong eyebrows. Landry wondered if this was a family business. Not unusual for a frontier operation.
“It’s just pleasantries so far,” said Welly. “I’m talking up the dangers of surveying a new route.”
Welly was the center of attention. Alys was drawing looks too, enough to make her nudge Marcus into putting an arm around her. Landry stepped forward to crowd away a miner getting too close to Welly’s side.
Listening to the conversation helped him realize that this was English. The rhythm and structure were more what he was used to than anything he’d heard in the Spanish or Xhosa speaking parts of Fiera. Certain words became clear. When a miner served tea he was able to say “baigz” understandably enough to receive a smile in return.
When a miner raised his hand toward Welly, Zahm slapped him on the forearm and ordered him and the other younger one out. Then he spoke in a more serious tone.
Welly translated, “He apologizes for their rudeness. It’s lonely working here. We should get down to business. Zahm wants to know if you accept the apology.”
“I think it matters more if you accept it.”
“Oh, I’ve had worse at any spaceport bar,” Welly said cheerfully.
Alys muttered, “That’s why I don’t go to those bars.”
“We accept it,” said Landry.
Picking samples of the cargo had been left to Marcus and Alys. They started with food. Zahm’s assistant Nail fetched spoons.
A mixed berry jam was offered first. Nail found some pressed crackers to spread it on. The miners bit into them simultaneously.
Both wore ecstatic looks as the sweetness hit their tongues.
Guess they don’t have much luxury food stored, thought Landry.
Zahm picked up his spoon, ready to dig into the jam jar, then put it down. “He can’t afford to trade for nonessentials,” translated Welly.
“Tell him if we make a practical deal I’ll throw in a few jars as a present.”
Other food samples were refused. Zahm didn’t want to be tempted. Batteries were of no interest. Hand tools could be made in the refinery. A sewing kit produced a demand to name a price.
Landry looked over the miners’ worn jumpsuits. Yes, they needed to patch some spots. “Pull out that bolt of cloth,” he told Marcus.
Zahm made a cash offer. But the cash was Corwynt credit tokens. Landry had no clue how to value them. Interrogating the miners enough to judge the economy of their homeworld would take weeks. And they’d have every incentive to exaggerate the purchasing power of the currency.
“We want to barter,” he told Welly. “What goods will they offer?”
Ordinary English words Welly could understand even if she couldn’t grasp one or two sounds. That didn’t work well for obscure elements. Nail solved the confusion by putting a periodic table on the screen. He moved the rows apart. Dots appeared under each square in the lower half.
“Each dot is an ingot ready to be loaded,” said Welly.
No wonder these guys can’t afford jam. They don’t know enough to keep from showing all their cards at the start. Landry didn’t let it show. He wouldn’t hurt the miners but making the best deal he could for his ship and crew was his job.
“Is this planet rich in Ytterbium?” He tapped the Yb square on the table for clarity.
After a quick exchange Welly said, “No. If a ship reaches its mass limit with more valuable metals the junk ingots stack up.”
He hoped Marcus was keeping as good a poker face as he was. The boy had been ten when Azure Tarn had carried one of her most valuable cargoes ever: a load of wrecked ship thrusters and robots headed for a smelter which would extract the ytterbium from them.
Fortunately, Welly was too much of a tech to care how much her toys cost, and Alys was new at this. Landry carefully didn’t look over his shoulder to check.
Nail turned and shouted at the door. Several miners vanished.
“If your transport fills up why don’t you have it come more often?” Landry asked.
Welly returned the translation. “We’re not profitable enough to be a regular stop. Ships come when they have a gap in other work.”
“Our cargo hold isn’t full. Could we deliver some of your inventory for you?”
After the offer was translated Zahm took a slow sip of his tea. Then another.
Nail said something to him. The boss barked back. Then the two stepped into the hallway for a hushed argument.
“Can you make out what they’re saying?” Landry asked Welly.
“Not well. Nail wanted to send a request for parts for some broken chewers. Zahm thinks we might fly home with his stuff. Now they’re arguing over theft risk versus lost productivity from two chewers down.”
Marcus stepped closer. “Would hauling bulk cargo pay enough to be worth the time?”
Landry turned to put his back to their hosts. “The money would be gravy. Hauling ingots is a way to get directions to their planet, have a good excuse for landing there, and meet whoever receives the cargo.”
The younger man’s poker face relaxed into a smile, then stiffened again. “Yessir. But will they know the way? They’re not pilots.”
“I’ll settle for the emergence point.”
They all turned as Zahm and Nail returned. Welly translated the boss’ speech.
“We have contractual obligations to ship some products only on ships approved by our broker. But you may carry some of the others.”
Not risking the most valuable cargo with a stranger was perfectly sensible. Landry wanted to applaud Zahm for finally making a good negotiating move.
“That’s fine. So the deal is some cloth, sewing kits, and food plus hauling metal in exchange for some metal.”
Then it was the tedious business of dickering over exact amounts. The main compensation for cargo hauling would be a percentage paid by the broker.
Marcus handled selling the goods. He might not get the best deal, but Landry wanted him to have the practice. He’d be responsible for his own ship someday.
Sitting back and listening let the captain get a better grasp of the miners’ accents. As the same words were repeated he could memorize them, and recognize the pronunciation shifts in others.
As they moved into the payment phase Landry pushed for more ingots and said he didn’t care which element as much. The miners suggested ytterbium. Zahm offered six ingots of it.
“Ehzp zeegy?” said Landry, hoping he’d gotten ‘just six’ right.
Zahm sighed and said an unfamiliar word.
“He’s offering twelve,” said Welly.
“That’s fair.”
One knot of worry in Landry’s belly went away. They were guaranteed a profit for this trip now.
Then
it was all shifting cargo. The crane and forklift work were delegated. Landry suited up every couple of hours to stand on the cargo hold aft stairs and watch without commenting. He and the first mate both checked the load balance calculations Marcus entered in the ship’s computer.
On his fourth visit to the stairs Landry decided to make comments. The cargo hold was open, the main hatch lowered to make a ramp for the miners’ forklifts. Marcus used a flashlight to direct them to the stacks of ingots. Alys used the crane to shift the original cargo to the corners of the hold.
The new addition was Tets. The apprentice mechanic was applying an electric welding torch to a pair of ingots.
The captain went down the ladder and waited for the forklift to leave. He walked over to Marcus and touched helmets. “What’s with the welding?”
“Oh, the miners said that’s normal. Our tie-downs aren’t strong enough to keep the ingots from sliding if we have a strong side-vector. Spot welding them makes a solid block and that we can secure. “
“Right.” He didn’t have to ask what Tets thought of the extra work. The arc light showed the mechanic’s grin clearly in his faceplate.
***
Zahm provided a chart of where their supply ships had emerged from hyperspace. The curve indicated another spiral rift matching the one they came in on. The rest of the course instructions were verbal descriptions of landmarks but Soon was confident she could find their destination.
“As long as we’re at the right star the planet is easy.”
The rift didn’t give them any trouble. They emerged on the far side of Fwynwr Ystaen from the Fieran Bubble.
The bridge crew was silent with appreciation for long moments before they started looking for the target star. A vast expanse of hyperspace was clear. Trailing horsetails emerged from thunderheads and more gently glowing puffs of pastel clouds. Nowhere in the Bubble had such a view.
“There it is,” said Soon. “When he said ‘bird’ I expected something vague you had to squint to make out. This . . .”
The landmark for Corwynt’s sun was a phoenix shape, two horsetails forming wings as they emerged from a dark red cloud much the shape of a bird’s head and body.
Storm Between the Stars: Book 1 in the Fall of the Censor Page 3