by Dale Sale
“That’s putting it mildly, besides I don’t have much use for a dress uniform these days,” Gus said. “Actually, no one seems to have much use for me either. Anyway, you really are roundly binned my little talking trash compactor. Makes sense now why I’ve never heard of your ICS Deliver.” He hauled his last set of khakis out of a drawer and dressed. “You missed both the Isolation and the Great Collapse. We haven’t heard anything from Old Earth since the Gateway shut down about the time you said your ship blew up.”
Late in the afternoon, Gus said, “I’ve got business at Lift Port. I want you to stay here and put things back the way you found them, you hear? No more improvements!” He grabbed a battered flight jacket and stamped out the door, purposely leaving his helmet on its peg. He mounted his powercycle, “Make sure you get that bathhouse done before I get back. You can leave the walkway and the windmill, those are okay. I expect you to have some fish caught when I get back too. The market will be needing fresh stock.”
The little bot cautioned Gus as he keyed the starting circuit, “Bosun Johansson, I feel I should notify you that I have made some adjustments to your velocipede. The performance curves may be a little unfamiliar to you.”
Johansson growled as he jammed a cloth cap on his head, “Don’t you worry about me, you oversized garbage grinder, just get back to work!”
HAM shouted, “Have a nice liberty, Sir!” just as Gus hit the throttle and rocketed out of the yard with a scream and cursing a blue streak.
Gus piloted the powercycle down the cracked pavement. Like a lot of things on Terne, the road was hastily built and already worn out.
The Governance had only recently annexed the planet and was still trying to consolidate control. Dropping military retirees here was part of the master plan to civilize the place, but it wasn’t making much of a difference, Lift Port was the only sizable settlement on the planet and even that had a raucous boom-town vibe.
At least the storm washed off the layer of dust that usually coats everything in this shithole, Gus thought as he purposely detoured along the giant fused silica fields of the star port. From the number of lifters working, he could tell that a big hauler was in orbit. He had toyed with the idea of getting a civilian lightering job. That would bore me to death. It seemed pretty weak sauce compared to dropping fast and hot against incoming fire while recovering an ops team in the shit.
Maybe I can find some old shipmates on liberty. He turned toward the seedier part of Lift Port where sailors usually hung out.
Gus parked in an alley and hurried through the smell of a malfunctioning composter. A couple of rats were tag-teaming a pizza crust. They ignored Gus as he entered the back door of a familiar haunt.
A raucous cry of “Gus!!!” erupted from several regulars already at their places, even though it was barely dusk. Gus was quick to remove his hat, the last thing he needed today was to be buying a round for the bar. Although he had been known to leave it on purposefully when he was fat with cash to spread the wealth.
“Hey Willis, what’s new?” Gus asked the bartender as he poured Gus’s usual, a local porter from up country.
“Sounds like there are still piracy problems around the Spelex Core.”
“Are we still stuck in that mess? I swear my first cruise out of boot was to support the Spellers.”
Willis shrugged, “Someone must still think they are worth it.”
Gus just snorted.
The bartender pointed his chin toward a group of laughing sailors at a nearby table as he filled a pitcher, “Got a crew in port, Fleet Auxiliary Vessel Halsey on some kind of humanitarian mission.”
“Well, I’ll just say ‘Hello.’ Always good to support shipmates.” Gus grabbed the pitcher and headed over. “Friends! Let me welcome you to Terne Lift Port.”
A brawny Engineman 1st class taunted, “Gawd, you are an ugly barmaid.” The whole table laughed.
Gus smiled as he pulled up a chair and filled their glasses, “Ah, well if you are looking for pretty young things then I fear you will be disappointed by the clientele here. But the beer is cheap, and the pours are strong.”
A Marine sergeant piped in as Gus filled his glass, “Hey, I recognize this guy! Aren’t you Bosun Gusty Johansson? This guy right here, my friends is a legend. He has the record for pulling more sorry Marine ass out of bad situations than anyone. Didn’t you win the Legion Medal for saving some big shots’ wife and kid?”
Gus murmured, “Nah, the Navy Cross, but that was a long time ago and I’m afraid my star has dimmed considerably since those days.” He perked up. “Enough about me, what’s the scoop skyside?”
“We got lucky today,” said a dark-haired female Corpsman 2nd class, “Supposed to be hauling a ship full of cryofrozen refugees but the operation is on hold. We pretty much have rolling liberty parties until the situation sorts itself out.”
“Lucky for you, unlucky for them,” said Gus as he raised his glass. “So, you all ready to see what Lift Port has to offer?”
Captain Harrison Grey, Commanding Officer of the Terne Orbital Station, opened the door to his quarters and paused. Three, two, one.
“Harrison? Is that you? Where have you been? You were due here over an hour ago.” Mitzi Grey tottered into the living room on spindly stilettos, her long bleach-blonde curls swinging free.
Harrison regarded his wife. She was still beautiful, although she really needed to give up the tight dresses and accept that she was no longer the twenty-year-old college girl he fell for as an Ensign. Three questions and an accusation in fifteen seconds. A record. “Hello Dear, things have been very busy on the Station today.”
She sniffed, “Ha! Nothing exciting ever happens in this spinning fart wheel. Would you like a drink? I’m having one.” She grabbed an expensive bottle smuggled from Celas and topped her glass. Grey noticed that the drink was more vodka than soda.
“Is that wise? We have dinner reservations at the Club in thirty minutes,” he asked.
Mitzi narrowed her eyes and shook the glass at her husband, “This, my Darling, is what makes this place bearable.”
“What about all those shopping trips you keep making? Aren’t those keeping you busy enough? I don’t know how one woman can shop that much.”
“Oh, so you are going to deny me a little retail therapy?” Mitzi said as a dare. “If you had made better choices, we wouldn’t have been exiled here in the first place. I’m gonna call Daddy again and see if he can’t pull some strings, haven’t we been punished long enough?” She pouted and took a large swallow.
Grey turned towards the bedroom, “I’m going to change.” He knew it was better to let Mitzi’s jabs go than to engage her before dinner.
She did have one valid point. Terne Station was a dumping ground for officers going nowhere. Harrison Grey was not going to accept being shuffled off into a series of dead-end postings leading to humble retirement.
Something is gonna to break my way soon, I can feel it.
Recently “released from active duty” Governance Marine Gunner “Fancy” Nancy Stanski paused to let her eyes adjust to the dim lighting of the Terne Station All Hands Club. She pulled at her stiff collar. Still not used to wearing these civilian clothes. Well, better get used to it, girl. I don’t think the Corps is going to offer your old job back. She was thirties, short blonde hair, pale blue eyes that crinkled when she smiled, and tall with a slim-hipped-broad-shouldered athletic build. The pagan hammer, Mjolnir, was tattooed on her right forearm. Several battle stars formed a halo around it.
Nan had struck out so far getting her current employers, miners from a rock named Lestus 884, released from quarantine. They were getting antsy at her lack of progress. She was looking for Terne Station’s Executive Officer now.
She walked up to the bartender and offered her hand, “Hi, Nan Stanski.” She spoke with the thick Slavic accent of northern Nakon, the Governance capital world.
“Mike” he replied as she gave him a firm handshake.
Harrison
Grey pushed past without acknowledging her, “Mike, Mrs. Grey and I will be at our usual table.” He turned and walked away without waiting for a response.
Mike said, “Of course, Captain.”
Nan noticed Mike wave to an overdressed leggy blonde threading through the tables. She didn’t look too steady. “So that’s the Station CO’s wife?” Wonder what she ever saw in him?
Mike answered, “Yeah, looks like Mitzi has already been at it tonight. Her father is First Lord Admiral Falkirk McGowan, head of the whole damn Navy.”
Nan raised an eyebrow at that information and said, “Ah. Say, Mike, can you tell me if Fredrika DeWitt is here?”
“She’s the one sitting by herself, frowning at the data tablet.” He nodded toward a woman sitting alone at a nearby table as he polished a glass.
The Lieutenant actually had several tablets on the table and was working all of them.
Nan sized her up. Late twenties, brown hair in a regulation bun, still in the uniform of the day with a barely touched dinner. Cute too! “What’s she drink, Mike? Make it two.”
He poured a couple of frothy mugs of stout. Nan grabbed them and walked over.
“Mind if I join you?” Nan Stanski. Without waiting for a reply, she set one mug in front of the Lieutenant and offered a hand.
The Lieutenant looked up from her tablet, a little startled, “Uh, sure,” she shook the offered hand. “Fredrika DeWitt” she said.
Nan flashed a smile, “What do you drink, el tee?”
“Uh, Cronsburg,” replied Fredrika.
“I happen to have an extra here. You from Ransom? That’s the only place I know for Cronsburg.”
“Yes, I am,” Fredrika spoke with a posh accent to hide the fact she was actually from a backwater minor planet. She cautiously sized up Nan.
Nan began, “Fine place, Ransom, good people there. Always treated us Marines well.”
“Marine hmm, on leave?”
“Well, recently separated actually, pursuing new opportunities.”
“What kind of opportunities?” Fredrika actually welcomed the chance to ignore her tablets. Nan looked like an interesting distraction.
“Well, right now I’m working security for Sirace Mining. Pirates are making it hard for decent folks to survive. Plus, my crew is in quarantine because someone caught a cold.”
“I’ve heard some random reports. Sorry about that, the Governance is stretched pretty thin out here around Ix.”
Nan held up her hands, “Oh, I’m not here to ask any favors, just making small talk.” She raised her glass to Fredrika, who responded in kind. “Cheers to Ransom.”
The smiling pair had just finished a second round when they heard shouting coming through the doors. A group of regular Army came in laughing loudly. Their badges identified them as Dragger’s Raiders.
“Oh great, these assholes!” Fredrika said under her breath. “They’ve been causing trouble here for a week.”
“Hey XO!” one of the group called out and stumbled over to the table. “Who’s your friend? Mind if we join you?” the man didn’t wait for a reply before plopping down in an empty chair. “Hey, look who it is fellas, our friend Lieutenant DeWitt.”
The group smelled of stale beer and trouble. Nan could see this wasn’t their first stop of the night.
One of the Raiders noticed Nan’s tattoo. “Well, look here guys, we got ourselves a genuine war hero.” He grabbed her forearm and lifted it to show everyone her tattoo.
Fredrika jumped up, put the Raider in a wrist lock, and frog marched him out. Nan broke into involuntary laughter at the sight of a determined Dewitt, who barely came up to the guy’s shoulder, booting the drunk through the door. The bartender reached under the bar and raised a stun bat in anticipation of what he was pretty sure was going to happen next.
“Oh, think that’s funny huh, war hero?” sneered another of the Raiders. He lunged.
She batted away the punch. Unfortunately, it landed squarely on a Chief Petty Officer at the next table. The Chief yelled, spun around, and threw a roundhouse at the Raider.
Fredrika whirled at the noise and watched the whole place erupt into general mayhem. She drew her capper. Mitzi Grey screamed.
Two burly Raiders squared off on Nan. She quickly dodged around a table, flipped it, and backed away.
“Big bad Marine running from some lowly Army ruck humpers,” one taunted.
Nan grabbed a tray for a shield just as one one thew a punch. He screamed as his hand smashed against the steel. She broke the other one’s nose with the now bent tray. He dropped to his knees.
“I would love to stay and chat boys, but I gotta run.” Nan turned to dart away.
Broken nose shook his head and caught her by the ankle, “Got ya now!”
She fought like a wildcat until she was tagged by a stray cap round. The pair hoisted her up and heave-hoed her over the Greys’ table and through the video wall. Mitzi was still screaming. Grey was speechless. The Raiders laughed and pointed. Bartender Mike walked up behind the pair and zapped them.
“Well, so much for a quiet evening.” Mike said, looking around at the wreckage.
Gus pushed the powercycle up the road towards home. His head was sore, and he didn’t feel up to fighting the machine.
That was one Helluva liberty run, Gus! His stomach roiled. You might be getting too old to hang with the young pups.
Gus had steered the crew of the Halsey and their full wallets to all the owners he had kickback arrangements with.
Hey, a guy’s gotta make a living, somehow don’t he? Gus was into self-justification after evenings like this one. Besides, everyone had a good time. No one is in the brig, and I got a few extra credits in my account.
But retirement wasn’t turning out like he imagined. His pension didn’t stretch far enough for comfort. Fishing everyday had sounded like a great life when he was cruising in service, but it turned out to be even more boring than standing midwatch alone. The occasional liberty run with crews from visiting ships just made him feel more melancholy when it ended. He was more than a little jealous when the “Haulsome’s” crew lifted for orbit.
Well, that’s the hand yer dealt Gusty old boy, so play it like it’s a winner.
Gus topped the dunes and stopped short when an overpowering stench hit him like a brick. Near his boathouse was an enormous pile of fish of every shape and description baking in the sun as scavenging gulls wheeled overhead.
“Oh, Welcome home, Bosun!” HAM called from the dock. The bot was dragging a straining net behind him as he trundled along. “I hope you are pleased with the catch I have assembled in your absence?”
Gus gaped as he reached the festering heap. “What the Hell have you done now, you rusty can opener?”
He could see at least 20 different kinds of fish he knew, and several unknowns best described as nightmares with teeth. Some of which were still snapping and gnashing several rows of needle-sharp teeth on the end of long scaly necks.
From the smell, Gus guessed that HAM had started this pile shortly after he left.
“I do hope this will be enough fish for the market Bosun? I have had the opportunity to make several trips since your departure.” HAM paused before considering, “However, it appears that I should have constructed a refrigeration center before starting. You didn’t mention if the market for fresh was better than frozen, so I assumed you preferred fresh. Your reactions indicate that I may have made an error in that regard. My olfactory sensors must need recalibration.”
Gus made a valiant effort to keep from gagging as another fresh breeze wafted toward him. The gulls dive-bombed him to protect their treasure.
“Do you have to be so damn literal with everything you do?” Gus wailed, “I’m gonna get in plenty of trouble from the Eco Cops for overfishing because of this.”
“Oh dear, I only strive to be helpful, Sir. I am much better at following established protocols than independent action.”
“Really? I haven’t seen anyth
ing you haven’t fouled up yet! Why don’t you just go back to wherever you have been hiding for the last 1400 years?”
“That is an excellent idea, Sir!” he said, then shot directly into the ocean and disappeared.
“What the Hell was that about? What is that antique Roomba up too now? Well, good riddance!”
Gus turned toward the fish pile, hands on hips, and wondered what he was going to do about it. He felt a low rumble through his feet. The surface of the ocean was rippling. A bulge of water was forming. Something was rising to the surface, something big.
Very big.
Chapter Two
A great curved back broke the surface. Waves of dark sand and sea grass cascaded down the slick sides and splashed in the sea.
Gus stood open-mouthed and stared.
Gus thought he knew the silhouette of everything flying, but he didn’t recognize this. It was the largest ship he had ever seen in atmosphere. Two graceful arched wings curved away from the primary hull. A tenuous tail stretched behind. It rose from the sea and two legs unfolded as the ship set down on the sand like an enormous bird.
It seemed to be a special purpose. Gus couldn’t imagine what it was, though. The most striking thing about the ship was the color; It appeared to be a deep black. Though the bright sunshine played across the structures in odd ways, light couldn’t grasp it reliably. It appeared to bend light so you could see through it. Blue sky and clouds reflected upon the wings as if it was an enormous black mirror, but the horizon behind the ship was visible through it!
Gus closed his eyes tightly. Staring at the ship made his head throb.
A hatch opened, and a ramp extended. HAM leaped from the opening, performed a somersault, and land with his stubby arms held high. “Ta-da and ahoy, Bosun Sir! I have acted on your most excellent suggestion. This is where I have been hiding for oh so long. After completing repairs to my ship, I had no directives to act on, so I have been awaiting orders. Orders that you have now provided. Would you care to come aboard?” the little bot asked hopefully. “it would delight me to give you a tour of your new command.”
