by S. H. Jucha
It was the fact that Harbour rarely needed anything for herself. She was content with what the colony ship provided her. That resulted in the coin mounting up with minimal expenses.
Harbour laughed to herself, as she composed a quick message to Devon, requesting the accounts of the explorers, except for Jessie’s. She added that it was a surprise and requested he keep her secret.
Minutes later, Devon supplied her with the information that she’d requested, and Harbour composed a second message to Aurelia, Devon, Olivia, Pete, Bryan, Tracy, Nelson, and Jacob. Before she sent it, she took half of her enormous personal funds and divided it between the eight explorers. It wasn’t enough to allow them to retire, but if they invested it wisely for the next decade or two, it would be.
Harbour’s message to the eight explorers said, “For services rendered to the citizens of Pyre, I thank you.”
Reflecting on her message, Harbour crafted a third one and sent it to Liam and Dorelyn. She detailed what she’d done for the eight explorers and ended with, “I suggest you match my transfer of coin. I’ll be watching for your generosity and be anxious to share the goods news with Pyre that the commandant and the council value what these courageous explorers have accomplished.”
* * * *
Harbour waited for Liam at the corridor intersection that led to the terminal arm, where the Belle’s shuttle was docked. She stood watching the flow of pedestrians in the broad promenade corridor. Everything about Harbour drew the attention of a passerby — her beauty, her striking skins, which outlined her shape, and her alien medallion, which was prominently displayed.
As opposed to years ago, when Harbour would have engendered furtive glances, perhaps even fearful ones, she witnessed stationers nod or smile as they passed, although not all of them. Spacers were another matter. They tipped their caps or touched fingers to brows in a salute to her.
The stationers and spacers weren’t the only individuals who had changed. During Corporal Terrell McKenzie’s attack on Harbour, his anger and shock stick had overwhelmed her ability to call on her power. The fight with the Colony sentients had sharpened her control and increased her abilities. The thought occurred to her that it had probably done the same thing for Aurelia.
Today, Harbour knew that she needn’t fear an assailant or even multiple assailants if she had a moment’s notice. Certainly, no normal possessed the mental fortitude of the Colony sentients that Aurelia and she had held at bay.
Liam strode to meet Harbour, and the pair of them joined a short line to share a cap to cross the station’s ring. A boy, who was strapped across from Harbour, stared at her medallion. Harbour fingered it and whispered to him, “It’s a Jatouche gift that talks to aliens when I meet them.”
The boy’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed an astonished “o.”
The Belle’s shuttle was half full, and Liam took his time walking down the center aisle, enjoying the seating’s quality. When they were settled, Claudia exited the pilot’s cabin to welcome Harbour and Liam aboard.
“Congratulations, Commandant on your election,” Claudia said.
“A quick question for you,” Liam said. “I understand you believe this shuttle can’t be used to make an intravertor delivery. That it was a near escape. Do you believe the platform is the best option, for the future?”
Claudia considered the question, glancing once toward Harbour, whose expression was impassive. “Let me say this, Commandant. Even if every investor, council member, and you were aboard this shuttle, indicating your trust in our ability to make a second delivery. Danny and I would tell you to fly this ship yourselves … after you bought it,” she quickly added. “The platform is the only safe and economical means of delivering the intravertors, especially considering we’re going to be seeing a steady stream of them.”
“Thank you for your candor, Claudia,” Liam, said, dismissing the copilot.
Liam regarded Harbour to check his reaction to the questioning of Claudia.
“My opinion, Liam, is that you’re smart to gather as much independent opinion, from those closest to these projects, as you can. Never rely exclusively on reports, accounts, and data.”
Exiting the bay into the colony ship’s corridor, Harbour and Liam were met by Dingles.
“Welcome aboard, Commandant,” Dingles greeted Liam, “I believe this is your first trip to the Belle.”
“It is, Captain,” Liam said, furrowing his brow, as he examined the tight corridor and the garish piping running close overhead.
“She wasn’t built for elegance, Commandant,” Dingles remarked. “Our upgrade funds have been spent on the ship’s engines, systems, tanks, hydroponics, and cabins. Oh, let’s not forget that we possess the finest cantina in this solar system.”
“That, I’m interested in seeing,” Liam replied, smiling and erasing the frown.
“This way, Envoy and Commandant. Your table is set in the captain’s quarters,” Dingles said, leading the way down the narrow corridor.
Dingles triggered the door to his quarters, and Liam was greeted by a beautifully laid out dinner table. Yasmin and several empaths stood by, ready to serve.
“Commandant,” Jessie said, striding forward to shake Liam’s hand.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Dingles whispered to Harbour. She smiled at him, laid a hand on his elbow, and sent him her thanks. “Always a pleasure,” Dingles said softly, before he exited the cabin.
Harbour, Jessie, and Liam waited until the drinks and first courses were served. Liam murmured his delight about the freshness of the ingredients and the exotic mixture of his fruit drink, and Harbour and Jessie let him enjoy his meal.
As the main course dishes were cleared away and desserts served, Harbour signed to Yasmin to end their service. Yasmin nodded, ushered the other empaths out ahead of her, and closed the cabin door behind her.
Harbour waited until Liam was partway through his dessert before she said, “I must congratulate you, Liam, on some of your actions, which have been taken so soon after taking office. In particular, the shoring up of your officers by promoting Devon and your sergeants.”
Liam had no expectation of that being kept from Harbour until after his announcement, and Jessie’s passive expression said that Harbour had spoken to him in advance of this dinner.
“It turns out that I’ve got Devon for a limited time and must make the best of him,” Liam replied good-naturedly. He regarded Harbour to confirm that Devon would leave when the Belle completed its next haul of slush.
It was Jessie, who laughed, and said, “Devon’s definitely gone.” He tapped his chest over his heart to indicate why.
“A lot must have happened during your journey,” Liam offered. He had finished his dessert, and was tempted to lick his plate.
Without a word, Harbour passed the last half of her dessert to him.
When Liam glanced up in surprise at the proffered plate, Jessie said lightly, “If you don’t want a response in the presence of an empath, don’t broadcast what you’re feeling.”
“And how do you do that?” Liam inquired, ruefully twisting his lips, as he accepted the dessert plate and dug into it.
“With great difficulty,” Jessie replied, laughing.
“To answer your remark about our journey, Liam,” said Harbour, her expression serious. “Nothing personal happened between Devon and Aurelia. However, the experience bonded the explorers in ways that can’t be explained. For instance, Tracy Shaver wants a berth on the Belle.”
“I offered her a crew position,” Jessie interjected, “but she said it had to be the colony ship. She said she wanted to be near the empaths.”
“Did you give her a berth?” Liam asked Harbour. The stare he received had him adding, “Of course, you did. My apology, Harbour.”
The tip of Harbour’s head to Liam appeared to say that he was forgiven. Watch your mouth, Liam, he thought.
“The first mate, Nelson Barber, hoped to get his old position back but Flannigan has promoted
crew in his absence. The captain did offer Nelson a severance bonus,” Harbour said. “In turn, Jessie found him a spot as second mate on a different mining ship. The first mate has indicated he’ll retire in another two or three years.”
“My bet is Nelson won’t last,” Jessie offered.
“Because of what he experienced in the domes?” Liam hazarded.
“Exactly,” Harbour replied. “And now that you’re commandant, Olivia, Pete, and Bryan want to support the construction of the intravertors and platform. Captain Bassiter has already hired Pete’s and Bryan’s replacements.”
“Which brings me to the subject I wish to discuss,” Liam said. “But first, what about Jessie and you?”
“We’ll be on station when the Belle sails with Jessie’s ships,” Harbour announced. She could see and sense the relief that Liam felt, and she sympathized with him. The commandant’s position was a challenge, in and of itself. Add the nightmarish history of Liam’s predecessor and the alien gifts, and it was enough to emotionally founder anyone.
“Let’s retire,” Jessie offered. He stood and led Liam into the study.
Harbour poured small drinks from a bottle that had lived in the captain’s larder for centuries. Liam sipped at his glass and exclaimed, “What is this?”
Harbour silently handed Liam the bottle. After examining the label, Liam didn’t seem any more enlightened.
“We don’t know either,” Jessie chuckled, hoisting his glass to Liam.
Harbour and Jessie settled together on the couch, and Liam chose to sit across from them in a comfortable oversized chair.
“Thank you, Liam, for matching my contributions to the eight explorers,” Harbour said.
“It was the least the station could do for them,” Liam allowed. “Has the council contributed?”
“No,” Harbour replied, “and I don’t expect to see anything from them.”
Liam sipped at the ancient liquor, incredulous that such a thing existed. “I’m not sure how to proceed with the projects that support the rehabilitation of the planet’s surface. The cost estimates for the present load of intravertor parts and the platform will empty the Pyrean Green fund and that includes the station’s contributions.”
“What about the downsiders?” Jessie asked.
Liam explained his efforts to pressure the council to match the topsiders’ transfers into the Pyrean Green fund. “I’m hoping that adding the station’s construction funds will galvanize topside investors, but I don’t know what the council and downsiders will do.”
“I realize you’re frustrated, Liam,” Jessie said, “but you don’t need to fix this mess overnight. Take it slowly; think it through.”
“What can we expect from the Jatouche and the Tsargit, Harbour?” Liam asked. “You’ve said in your broadcast that there are rewards. Too bad it can’t be a shipload of coin.”
“Real coin,” Jessie teased.
“You know what I mean,” Liam groused. “We need help funding our existing projects. But even if we manage to get the platform built and deploy a few intravertors, what do we do when the next shipment of intravertor parts arrive?”
“We documented the Colony’s insidious expansion efforts,” Harbour explained, “and, according to Mangoth, the Tsargit delegate, we’ll be rewarded for our efforts. In addition, we did discover new races and one of the mysteries of the consoles. The former should cause the Jatouche to increase their reward, and the latter should serve both the Jatouche and the Tsargit.”
“In what manner do you expect these rewards?” Liam asked.
“I’ve no idea,” Harbour replied, shrugging. “The Tsargit is the alliance’s governing body. According to Mangoth, their rewards are in whatever manner we want, within reason.”
“So what and when do you intend to ask these groups to deliver?” Liam asked.
“I’m thinking on that, Liam,” Harbour replied. “We need so much, and I’m afraid to ask for all of it and appear to be the envoy of a whining, upstart race.”
“Or we could ask for too little and insult them,” Jessie posited.
“That too,” Harbour agreed.
Liam had hoped that his visit with Harbour and Jessie would provide an outline of a way forward and offer some insight into how to finance the ongoing projects. He drained his glass and sat back heavily into his chair. There was no hiding his disappointment.
“Maybe you’re right,” Liam said, staring at Jessie. “Maybe it should be done slowly, but I suspect that the topsiders’ will to complete these projects over several decades isn’t there.”
-42-
Sika
Sika arrived on station and began her investigation. What was interesting to her was that none of the usual contacts, those paid by Dorelyn and other family heads, knew anything about who hired Roby. The more she dug, the more convinced she was that a stationer hired the assassin. It fit with what Sika had suspected, when she researched the means to reach Roby in medical.
Instead of pursuing the families’ station contacts, Sika focused her efforts on locating Roby’s connections. Spending time in poorer cantinas and visiting with coin-kitties, she identified a few of Roby’s friends and many more of his accomplices.
Using various disguises and background stories, Sika met casually with each individual. She uncovered their weaknesses and spun tales about the type of work she could do for them. Frequently, she produced proof of her supposed skills and assets — coin, drugs, or false documents.
Sika was never disappointed in her failure to elicit the information she sought. The unsuccessful ending of a contact was a nonevent to her. She simply crossed the name off her list and moved to the next one, secure in the knowledge that persistence would eventually pay off. It always had.
One evening in a cantina located deep in the station, where gravity was near eighty percent, Sika approached one of Roby’s associates. Her downside demure posture was not in evidence. She’d donned a worn pair of skins and some slightly ostentatious makeup. Sitting on a stool next to her target, she ordered a cheap drink.
Sandy eyed the woman sitting next to him. Everything about her suited him. He refused to pay for coin-kitties, but the opportunity to pick up a spacer on downtime was exactly his style.
“Evening,” Sandy said to the woman. “In from a ship?”
“Yeah,” Sika replied. “Two more days of downtime, and then it’s back to the belt.”
“I’m Sandy,” Sika’s target said, extending his hand.
“Portia,” Dorelyn’s assassin replied, giving Sandy a friendly smile and shaking his hand.
The pair shared their stories. Sandy worked in station maintenance, and Sika, as Portia, was a backup pilot. Slowly Sika worked her way around to her complaint. She didn’t make enough coin to save for retirement, but she didn’t intend to do the same old thing year in and year out.
“I had a deal set up with this stationer, but I make the JOS and find out he’s dead,” Sika said.
“That stinks,” Sandy commiserated.
“We had this opportunity, you know,” Sika lamented. “A good one. The kind where you have a good partner. Both of you know some of the same pieces of the operation, and each of you knows only some parts.”
“Right, you had balance,” Sandy said, trying to sound appreciative of the arrangement. “What was the deal?” he asked. He smelled opportunity, and his focus shifted from a night with a ship’s downtimer to the possibility of picking up some extra coin.
Sika’s eyes narrowed, as she regarded Sandy.
“I get it,” Sandy said. “You have something on the side, and you don’t want to share or you don’t want to trust a stranger.” He leaned conspiratorially toward Sika, and said, “I can help you now that you’ve lost your contact. My work in maintenance allows me to do a lot of things off the logs.”
“What kind of things?” Sika asked.
“What kind do you need?” Sandy parried.
Sika finished her drink, and Sandy immediately ordered her
another. He didn’t need her leaving because of something as minor as a lack of coin.
“Thanks,” Sika said, taking a sip of her drink. She pretended to be thoughtful before she said, “On my last downtime, I met this stationer, and we hooked up. Turns out he had a downsider connection, but he wasn’t sure how to make use of it. The downsider had these customers, who’d pay him for the product, but he needed the people for all the steps in between.”
“What was your part?” Sandy asked, more intrigued than ever.
“I came up with the idea of using spacers,” Sika said.
“Spacers? Why?” Sandy asked.
“The shipment would be distributed over a considerable length of time, and it had to be kept hidden from the prying eyes of security,” Sika explained. “Spacers would hide the stuff on their ships. I have six spacers on six different ships, besides mine. We’d spend a total of about fourteen months per year on downtime between the bunch of us.”
“Yes, but it might turn out that no one was docked at any one time,” Sandy pointed out.
“True. That’s why we worked out a quiet storage place to leave the stuff for the next ship to dock,” Sika temporized. “There might be a week or two without distribution, but the downsider said he was okay with that.”
“That’s actually kind of clever, Portia,” Sandy said. “Security would suspect stationers and would be chasing their tails looking for them.”
Sika murmured her agreement in her drink, as she took another swallow.
“How much was your contact offering for your services?” Sandy asked.
“My partner and I would get paid quarterly based on sales,” Sika said, setting her trap. “That’s why I liked this deal. The downsider was incentivizing us. We expected to split about eighty thousand a quarter, and we had to pay everyone else, customs, crew, storage, runners … the lot.
