by Daniel Gibbs
Miri didn't quite keep the fear from her face. It was an instinctive one but would at least secure her cover. Anyone in her position would have cause to fear being brought to Harron, where the non-existent law and the practices of the locals brought with it the genuine worry of being sold into slavery.
Piotr noticed her and shook his head. "No need for worry. I not sell you or anyone. Would be offense to God. Besides, protection was paid for your ship."
"I understand. Thank you." Miri wondered if he would be so friendly if he knew she was Jewish. The old prejudices didn't always die out here, even with aliens around to make the bigotry seem even more foolish.
Piotr gestured to the Harr'al. "This is Vasily. Christian name. He convert to Church, our agent here."
The Harr'al nodded. "My greetings." He pronounced English almost as poorly as Piotr. Miri watched him cross himself in the Eastern Orthodox style, using two fingers. "Christian. Christians are true religion."
Piotr beamed with pride at Vasily.
Miri had little knowledge of Harr'al religion herself. It was not unheard of for religious conversions to happen between species, if the religions had compatibility with a species' needs and psychology anyway. She briefly wondered what led this Harr'al to embrace a Human faith over his own world's choices, then promptly decided it was none of her business.
"Will take you to dwelling place," said Vasily. "Get you food."
"I would like access to communications as well," she said. "So I can report in to my employers about the Kensington Star."
"Have sent message already," Pavel said. "But is still good you send your own. There is place for spacers. Vasily will take you." He gestured away from the ship. "We launch soon. Keep eye out for League ships, spread word."
Miri answered with a nod, but not an enthusiastic one. She figured she would have a hard enough time explaining things to her employers. A lot of people would be inherently suspicious of any claim about the League's involvement. She had a video from her suit, but that might not be enough.
It will have to be, she pondered as she approached the open-topped Harr'al helicar. Vasily took the driver's seat, and her the other. She buckled the harness and said nothing while the Harr'al manipulated the controls. The vehicle lifted into the air and went out the hangar door.
This revealed the spaceport, a collection of circular structures built around landing pads and a big central terminal. The structures of the city proper beyond were boxy, looking like they were shaped by clay instead of brick or another material. Other vehicles flitted about in the air around them, going to and from other locales in the city. The streets below teemed with life of all varieties. "I am unfamiliar with the cities on your world," she said to her Harr'al escort. "Where am I?"
"Sektatsh. Eastern edge of Calnat country… nation. Enclave for off-worlders. Taking you to Alien Quarter, rooms there."
Miri recognized the name. Sektatsh was one of the seedier ports, certainly. "If you don't mind me asking, what caused you to convert?"
Vasily nodded, although she wasn't sure what that gesture might mean. "Calnin worship Tashin. Tashin not nice God, Tashin make slaves. Taken as slave myself. Freed by missionary, learn about true religion, and how Jesus came to free slaves!" The answer, enthusiastic as it was, was also punctuated by the broken English Vasily spoke.
"I hope you have found happiness, then," Miri said. "This city, are there any slavers?"
"Slavers everywhere on Harron. Everywhere. Not open here, but still here."
So I had best be careful. "Is there somewhere in the Alien Quarter where I will be safe?"
"Yes. Take you to spacer home."
Miri was glad to hear it, and soon she noticed the destination given the symbol of three round shapes arranged in a circle on a dark blue field, the insignia of the Interplanetary Spacers' Union. Like many others in the trade, she—or at least Karla Lupa—was a dues-paying member of the ISU, and for a good reason. Her case was one of the significant reasons the organization existed and continued to get membership: support in the event of surviving the loss of a ship, and advocates to argue with the transport carriers, corporate or private.
The roof was topped by the assemblage of discs and antennae of a quantum transceiver. The connection it had to the regional quantum entanglement network would allow her to connect via commlink to her accounts and pay for things, as well as let the owners of the Kensington Star know what happened.
Miri pondered if she should alert them at all. The League had agents in neutral space, agents that might pick up any message she sent. If they realized she was a witness to the attack, they'd come after her. Even if they didn't know that Karla Lupa was Miri Goan, hated spy and traitor. Perhaps she should disappear and become someone else and find another ship to get off Harron.
Then again, the Tokarev brothers had already told the owners about her. If Karla Lupa went missing, the wrong conclusions might be drawn. And if these League raids kept up, well, it was folly to think she'd get away again.
"Vasily, I need a gun," she said, her tone insistent.
"As you need breath," he answered.
A small smile came to Miri's face. Given the reputation of Harron and the enclaves on the planet, those two things were likely connected. "Do you know someone trustworthy?"
"Yes. Missionary. Can take you to them."
The fact that even missionaries on Harron had firearms was not surprising. "I'm going to be a bit, but I can give you a tip to wait for me. Extra money?" She added the last to ensure he understood. "Then we'll go see your missionary."
Vasily nodded in understanding.
Miri thanked him and left the helicar. Once inside the hostel, she found that it met the usual design of such places. The lobby not unlike a hotel lobby had several chairs and couches, mostly worn to some degree, and some occupied. An HV with vidlink capability was active, displaying a holovid series from another world for the enjoyment of a few Human spacers. A pair of big Saurians were at one table playing a lively game of rastek. The distinct smell of Tal'mayan sweet smoke wafted through Miri's nostrils, as did the distant scent of liquor. No spacer hostel or hotel worth its salt would be without a bar.
She approached the main desk. A young man of East Asian appearance was on duty, his head nearly shaved bald, and several star pattern tattoos mixed with Japanese characters inked on his head and neck. "Union ID number?" he asked her in a perfunctory tone.
"Two Nine Zero Four Eight Two Nine," she replied immediately. "Karla Lupa out of Laffler."
The concierge immediately typed the number in. An identification station on the lobby desk became active, lighting up blue. Miri applied the fingers of her right hand to one scanner and pressed her eye against another. The scanner machine checked her retina, fingerprints, and geneprint against the Union's database. After an electronic ping, the concierge checked his screen and nodded. "Miss Lupa. Welcome to the Sektatsh ISU Hostel and Hotel. Are you seeking a bed in the common area or…"
"A private room, please," she said. "With full commlink access."
The young man nodded. She noticed him pale a little. "You… you're from the Kensington Star?"
"Yes." Miri glanced around quickly. No one else was nearby, so they hadn't been overheard.
"She's on the missing list as of yesterday. They flagged you and every other member of the crew," he said. "Is she here?"
"No. I was adrift in space and picked up by other spacers." Miri wasn't about to admit "Karla" was saved by the Tokarevs. The ISU got twitchy about pirates for understandable reasons. "I escaped after our ship was taken. I… I didn't see by who." She made the lie work. The kid might talk, and if he did, it would draw even more attention than she was already getting. And her employers would likely be unhappy if she told some hotel clerk before them. "I need to report in."
"Um, alright, here." He took a blank keycard and ran it through the machine to encode it with her personal information and the room authorization code. "Room 288. Second floor."
"Thank you." With that done, Miri accepted the card and set off for her room. She'd make the call and get back to Vasily to get her weapon. She was already confident she'd be better off with one.
10
The last crate of lithium settled onto its place on the cargo truck. Tia gave a thumbs-up to the driver, who brought his engine to life and pulled out of the hangar. With the job done and the receipt already filed and waiting for Henry's final signature, she and the others were free to do as they pleased for the rest of the evening, as was custom for their first night back into port. She considered the message she received over the GalNet and already knew how she'd spend her evening. She looked forward to it, just as she was sure the others would want to do their own thing.
Indeed, Tia didn't even get the time to return to the hatch before Cera and Piper emerged, wearing unzipped spacers' jackets over their blouses. Cera had on knee-length shorts while Piper was in a set of faded blue jeans. "Everythin's secure," Cera said. "We're off t' the pub."
"You two behave," Tia said. "Don't think we've forgotten what happened on Hendry's Station."
"You take all the fun out o' it," Cera protested while Piper giggled.
"Hey, wait!"
Brigitte emerged from the hatch as well, wearing a gaudy pink suit jacket over a purple blouse with pink leggings and lime green shoes. "I'm coming with!"
"The more, the merrier!" Piper answered.
"I still cannot believe you go out into public like that," Tia sighed. As much as she appreciated their skills, the behavior of her three comrades when on leave could still frustrate her sometimes. "Keep your commlinks on, and don't get yourselves arrested!"
"Right, Mum!" Brigitte said sarcastically while falling into step with the other ladies.
Tia briefly rested her face in her right palm before turning away. She walked into the Shadow Wolf via the same hatch, leading into the port hold, which now stood empty.
Yanik was standing by the inner hatch. "I will never understand Humans," he said.
"I'm Human, and I don't understand us sometimes.”
"Captain Henry has already granted all pay and bonuses for the run," Yanik remarked. "I have already arranged my earnings. What about you?"
"I've got business in town to 'arrange my earnings,' as you put it," she replied, thinking of the message again. "Personal business."
"Of course." Yanik fell in with her, following Tia to the stairs leading to the upper door for the hold. "Pieter, Oskar, and I will remain to watch the ship, if you desire time in the city."
"I have a few things to finish up first, but thank you. I will take you up on that."
Pieter prided himself on his skill in dealing with the myriad repairs that even standard operations on the ship demanded of him. And he prided himself on avoiding the kinds of accidents that could bruise, cut, or generally harm men and women in his position.
It was thus quite the blow to his pride to walk into the Shadow Wolf's infirmary cradling his bleeding left hand, his face twisted into a grimace of pain and hurt pride. "Doctor, a little help?"
Oskar looked up from an open box of medicines. "Ah, Pieter. What can I do for you?"
"Bloody damned hinge is worn down on one of the port thruster access hatches, smashed my damn hand. Cut it pretty good too."
"Let me see it." Oskar beckoned him to one of the four exam beds arranged in the infirmary. He examined the left hand by eye for a moment before bringing out a scanning tool. It rendered it into a holographic image. He tapped a key, rotating between x-ray, magnetic resonance scan, and a couple of other images. "No breakage, at least. Damage to muscle and other tissue. Here." He went to his bandaging gear. Within moments, a clean white pad was affixed to the center of the wound, turning crimson where Pieter's blood stained it. Gauze from a roll was swiftly wrapped around Pieter's hand to hold the pad in place. "There. It should be better in a few days."
"Nothing to hasten it?"
Oskar laughed. "Nothing we can afford, I assure you. Perhaps if I was back, well, you know where, I could do something more. If my chief approved the treatment."
Pieter smirked at him. "You're telling me the precious bloody League, and all of its talk about caring for everyone is shit?"
"Shit indeed." Oskar shook his head. His expression darkened, and his eyes grew distant. Old memories seemed to be playing through his mind. "Society is not improved if resources are wasted on the careless and undeserving, after all. Back home… it is not so bad, since there are so many resources, but the moment you run even a little short…" He sighed. "It makes a little sense, I suppose, in a rationing situation. An engineer needing his hand fixed is more important than repairing the leg of a station-minder, since he or she sits for their work. But the League maintains such systems even when the rationing is not necessary. Individual austerity is the mandate. To consume unnecessarily is to emulate the failures of Humanity before the League."
"Huh. Sounds a bit like how things can get back home," Pieter said. "If you don't need something, why should you have it?"
"At least New Oranje can argue it has the finite resources of a society that has yet to fully use the resources of its own planet. It isn’t an interstellar society with many thousands of star systems within its borders." Oskar shook his head. "But I am getting political again."
"Were you like this back in the League?"
"Oh, heavens no! Getting political can make one a social danger, after all. Unless you're in a political post, and you have to be a dedicated Society man to get one of those." Oskar shook his head. "I was just a medical student, you understand. I graduated from Regensburg with a desire to become a doctor in my hometown. But the League Military Secretariat had other ideas. I was called up for service in the Social Defense Militia and shipped out to Sagittarius to serve in the occupied systems."
Pieter nodded. Getting Oskar to talk about his past was never easy, and he’d never had occasion to overhear him speak about it. But despite that, he knew where the story eventually went. Military hospital work, and then... "I guess seeing the camps made you political?"
Oskar closed his eyes. "You could say that," he admitted. "Yes. Seeing everything I was told, everything I believed, revealed as lies." He shook his head. "It’s the past. I am here now, and here I will stay. Captain Henry has been good to me."
Pieter said nothing. He remembered when Oskar and Brigitte made their way aboard, following a visit to a League colony, much like New Hathwell. Henry allowed them to stow away on the Shadow Wolf and covered their escape, for which they opted to work for him. "You gonna go out to see the city, Doctor?"
"No," he answered. "If a League man spots me and knows who I am…" The older man shuddered. "I am quite content to stay here and take inventory. Just as you would prefer to do the same for your equipment, yes?"
"Right." Pieter tested his bandaged hand. "Thanks, Doctor. You're good folk. Not like the other Uitlanders."
"I'm sure you mean a certain other word?" asked Oskar.
"No, I don't," Pieter answered harshly.
"Not for whites, anyway," Oskar added with a bemused smirk.
Pieter didn't answer that, although he knew it was right. It was one of the reasons he didn't miss home.
Okay, that was a lie. There were times Pieter did miss home. He missed the fields of grain, the warmth of the orange star that made New Oranje habitable, the sight of the native furred viervoetige herds—literally four-legged or four-pawed, the basic designation stuck—thundering their way down the Kruger Valley as they sought the open grasslands that the Boer farmers of said valley had not yet fenced off. He missed his mother's cooking and his sister's jokes. He missed playing "trekkers and savages" with his brothers Paul and Thomas and all of those cousins and local boys. He missed his Uncle Maarten's lessons on the family farming equipment.
But he didn't miss his father and the callused hands that had beaten him throughout his childhood. He didn't miss the small-minded ignorance of his neighbors, the bigotry and hatred shown
to the "uitlander." The presumption that God had selected the Boers for salvation and already damned other peoples offended his very soul. Their sense of superiority for a society that still judged fellow Humans as inferior when they were in a galaxy that had already introduced them to other sapient species? It offended his soul and his mind.
His father had been particularly ready to throw his slaps and even punches when Pieter said things like that. "We once tried to live with the others, and do you know what they did? They tried to steal our land and wipe us out! We won't fall for that again! The only good uitlander is a dead one!" Pieter sometimes wished he had known then the history of his people, the full history, so he could have pointed out that they stole that land first. It would have merited a full beating, but the moral victory would have been sweet.
Pieter blinked. He realized he was still sitting in the infirmary, staring blankly ahead while Oskar watched quietly. "You and I have that in common," Oskar said.
"What?"
"We both have reasons to go home," he said, "but none as powerful as the reasons why we can't."
Pieter nodded in agreement. "We are a ship of exiles, it seems," he answered. "God, help us all."
"If there is anything like a divinity in this uncaring universe, I highly doubt they would care about us," Oskar answered. He smiled thinly. "But I am the Leaguer atheist of the crew, so I'm sure my opinion on the matter is obvious."
The reply from Pieter was a chuckle. The fact that his father would have slapped him for showing amusement at such blasphemy caused the chuckle to turn into a laugh.
Tia walked into the spacers' bar and enjoyed, for lack of a better term, the smells therein. Human and alien sweat, or whatever passed for such with regard to non-Humans, mingled with all of the other substances to be found. Smoke from tobacco, synthetic and natural, joined with the particularly tangy wisps of Tal'mayan sweet smoke and what Tia thought was Saurian kriska. As she neared the bar, the smells were joined by some of the drinks being offered. She flashed a five escudo note and called out, in Portuguese, for a Thanh's Special. The Thanh rice liquor, a product of her homeworld Hestia, had a good kick itself, but mixed with single malt Scotch straight from the brewers of Caledonia, it was just the kind of drink she preferred when dealing with old memories.
