Exhausted, Charley spotted a hotel and pulled into the shadowy garage underneath the three-star establishment. She found a place to park and killed the D23. It had served her extremely well but she had to let it go. She’d be able to reach the port dome by street shuttle when the time came. Hauling her water and gear with some difficulty, Charley checked into a modest room and slumped on her queen size bed with immense relief. She’d made it all the way to Spacetown!
A metallic thunk preceded a whirring sound.
“Where you going, FIGJAM?” Charley asked with irritation. The fucker had crawled out of her treasure bag.
“Just scopin’ the joint …”
The robot stopped at the window that overlooked the street.
“What are you looking for?” Charley asked.
“Tando, may he rest in peace, had the excellent habit of checking the street every hour. This place is overflowing with people who would kill for a single credit bit.”
“True,” Charley said, conceding a solid point. Just because they’d reached the big city didn’t mean they could drop their guard. The opposite, in fact. Here they could be attacked without warning. She headed to the window and studied the street. She saw a throng of people going about their business.
“So many ways to die,” FIGJAM mused with uncharacteristic gravity.
Charley went to assemble all the treasures she was about to sell.
“There’s a dealer in the Metro Arcade,” FIGJAM said. “Yasker. Mid tier, desperate to build stock but not too desperate.”
“Right,” Charley said. “And the D23?”
“Tando never sold his cars,” FIGJAM replied.
“Thanks, FIGJAM,” Charley said from the door. “You might be useful after all.”
“Geez, thanks mom.”
Charley smiled and locked the door behind her. Thankfully she didn’t need to walk too far to find a likely dealer for the rock crawler.
“I got a car that needs special attention,” she said to the fat man behind the counter.
“You locked out?”
“I need it shifted quickly, if you know what I mean.”
“I understand, darlin’.”
The fat man nodded to someone in the back room. Within seconds two runners were across the street and into the underground car lot. A coldness gripped Charley’s spine.
“How did you know where to go?”
The fat man regarded her with blank, pig eyes.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” he said with a hint of menace.
Charley understood. She’d made the mistake of dealing too close to her hotel. These guys had seen her enter the car lot on her own. Now that they also knew her vehicle was stolen, she was an easy mark. The D23 was being stripped as she stood dumbly in the kiosk. She resisted an impulse to shoot the fat fuck to the floor. Instead, she rested a hand on her right holster. The fat man shrugged. He knew that if she wasted him, an entire cartel would be on her trail.
“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’m done with it anyway.”
Charley cursed herself as she headed to the Metro Arcade. There was no one else to blame. At least she still had a bulging sack of trinkets - she need cash flow and she needed it now. It took her several minutes to find Yasker’s storefront in the chaos of the Metro Arcade. The thoroughfare was alive with borgs in various stages of excited chatter. An implant salon was running a firesale. Despite the crowd she was soon standing in front of a dirty plastic overhang and a window so grimy she could barely see through it. Yasker himself was behind the counter, a hunch-backed bear of a man with a blinking optical array.
“What you want, girl?” he asked irritably.
“I have exoticana,” Charley, said.
She unloaded the sack on the counter. The idols fell over each other to be noticed and made a pleasant tinkling sound. Yasker’s optical array flared, registering surprise.
“Mmm,” he said, focusing on the colorful items. Charley suspected his optical array would be feeding him information on the possible origin of these things. She didn’t mind at all - Silverton had traveled the galaxy and she had no reason to doubt that the idols were genuine. In fact, it was highly unlikely a pirate would be caught with a fake.
“Very nice,” said Yasker distractedly. He held an onyx bull up to the light. It flared with amber veins. “Oh, yes.”
A clucking sound erupted from the back of the store. The place smelled like a mixture of plasma, mint and animal shit. Charley waited patiently, trying hard not to look like a rookie. At length Yasker completed his assessment. By that stage he’d lined up fourteen figurines.
“Quite a collection,” he said. “Most are religious in nature, though some have urban iconography. Very impressive. I’ll give you 1200 credits.”
Charley had thoroughly rehearsed this moment.
“Bullshit. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and rip me off.”
It was a gamble, but she had no other play. Yasker eyed her with interest before barking with amusement.
“Fine, fine. Excuse an old man his fun, eh?”
“5300,” Charley said with what she hoped was unshakable confidence. She’d heard that interstellar berths on the meanest cargo freighters could go for as much as 4500.
A faint smile crossed Yasker’s face. Was she underselling again?
“4100,” said the dealer.
“5300,” Charley repeated, cursing herself for getting this bartering thing wrong again. “If you bid low one more time I’m gonna raise it.”
Yasker held both arms in the air.
“Fine, fine,” he said in a gentle voice, like a man stepping around a tiger and unable to believe his luck. “Looks like we have a deal.”
“In cash,” Charley demanded.
“Is there any other way on this fucking planet?” Yasker said with good humor. Charley supposed not.
Five blood red credit tubes in 1000 denominations did the trick. Charley pocketed the tubes with a wry smile. She’d fucked up the trade - those idols were worth more - but at least she had enough to make it off Abeya. Freedom beckoned at last. She felt so happy she could’ve cartwheeled from the kiosk. Of course, fencing Silverton’s prized collection of idols wasn’t ideal, but she’d honored her side of the bargain and had no obligation to preserve his entire cache. The last she saw of Yasker was a dealer greedily lining up his new idols.
18
The air was thick and sultry when Charley rejoined the street. Heavy cloud had rolled in from the north and looked pregnant with rain. The sight seemed to be a novelty for many in the street. Rain on Abeya was a rare occurrence indeed. Satisfied with the clink of credits in her pocket, Charley holed up in a noodle bar and paid for a premium stool with a view of the street. She ordered tarbor noodles with eggs and chili. The old-school Spacetown dish was delectable. It was a pleasure to sip the rich broth as she watched folks walk by. Some were clearly off-worlders, dressed in exotic fashions and brandishing an air of galaxy-weary experience. Most of these people, on the other hand, would never get anywhere. As Charley had always suspected, being stuck on Abeya was about as low as you could get. Some locals liked to believe that the rest of the galaxy was as dangerous and as ugly as Abeya. The first bit may have been true, but Charley was convinced the second part wasn’t.
She looked over to the port dome, flickering in the murky light. A heavy cargo freighter lifted off with a bass thrum that reverberated throughout the city. It was a thrilling sound. For Charley, it represented independence. People in motion, doing something about their lives. She watched the freighter soar into the dark cloud bank and disappear in spiraling vapor trails. The heavens broke, dumping rain onto the urban sprawl. A cheer rose from the street as thousands recognized the novelty of getting wet. The soothing rain was a brief, magical interlude from their tired, desperate lives. A broad smile on her face, Charley crossed the street and headed up to her room.
“What’s up, sexy?” FIGJAM asked, picking up on her buoyant mood.
“It�
�s time to go, FIGJAM,” she said, liking the sound of those words.
“Then let’s do it, baby.”
She slid FIGJAM into her belt and made sure her weapons were primed. They were about to enter the unknown and needed to be ready.
Shuttles frequently ran from the town center to the port facility. Charley took the first available transport and accepted a seven-credit charge. The ride was a little unnerving, as the rain seemed to have loosened the inhibitions of many city dwellers. There were visible riots in the north side res blocks and several gunshots were heard. Sheeting relentlessly, the rain also slowed the traffic down. Before long, all Charley could see through the windows were rivulets of water. She breathed a sigh of relief when the shuttle finally deposited her on a sidewalk in the driving rain. A huge neon sign reading ABEYA PORT loomed over her. She hurried through the main entrance to the terminal, which was awash with sweaty, nervous humanity. People always got fidgety when the weather was unpredictable, and a port terminal experienced the worst of this. Civilians argued with port officials at every turn. It seemed there were delays on all off-world flights. Charley lost herself reading the departures board, her heart hammering with every exotic destination. She savored the names - Andalia, Klondow, Prime One, Obeyo, Bonesse, Gamione, Desarre IV. So many planets to explore! And these were only the planets within freight distance of Abeya. If she wanted to get to the Galactic Academy to meet with Silverton’s contact, she would need to long-haul to Danderly and take a connector to the Academy itself. She was relieved to see that two freighters were heading that way. On the other hand, both had red squares next to their names to indicate they were full. At first Charley felt a little heartbroken, but then reason kicked in. Perhaps there’d been a cancellation? She approached the terminal desk with trepidation.
“Hey, babe …” FIGJAM murmured, but Charley ignored the PalBot.
“I’d like passage to Danderly, please,” she said hopefully.
“Well, let’s see,” said the tired-looking flight broker. “Do you have your ID card?”
Charley’s blood went cold. “My what?”
“Your ID card. You would’ve been issued one when you turned twelve.”
“Ah, no, I think I lost it.”
“Hmmm,” came the doubtful reply. “You can’t do much without one. Where are you from?”
Charley figured there wasn’t much point in lying. “Sandflower Downs.”
The broker emitted a high-pitched laugh. It was achingly condescending.
“I’m sorry, but folks from Sandflower Downs don’t usually travel. In fact, I’ve never had one.”
Charley stared daggers at the broker. “That doesn’t mean we don’t travel at all.”
The woman struggled to stifle her infuriating smile. “I’m sorry, but unless you have an ID card, I can’t process you.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Charley snapped. “Do you realize what I’ve been through just to get here?”
She slammed five blood-red credit tubes to the counter.
“I want off-world, bitch.”
The broker nodded to a security guard.
“I’m sorry, honey,” she said. “The galaxy needs to know who you are first.”
“Babe, back away,” FIGJAM murmured.
Charley did so reluctantly, her face scarlet with fury.
“I tried to warn you before,” FIGJAM said. “Sandflower Downs won’t get you anywhere. Take me to that machine over there.”
FIGJAM directed Charley to a vending machine by the wall. It dispensed lost ID cards for 70 credits a pop.
“What good will this do?” Charley asked irritably. “I’m just an urchin from a remote outpost. A shithole. How could I be in the system?”
“Now, steady on, sexy lady. FIGJAM might have a few tricks up his sleeve.”
The PalBot’s wheels began spinning.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Charley asked.
“Open the code port at the back,” FIGJAM said quietly, his digital eyes darting around.
Charley hesitated. There were several watchful guards on patrol.
“You want out of here - just do it,” the PalBot commanded.
Charley made as if she were leaning against the wall as she dropped the PalBot to the floor. It extended a data jack from under its face.
“For installing new personality components,” it explained. “Folks don’t know that I can push data out too.”
FIGJAM inserted its data jack into the vending machine’s code port.
“What’s the plan?” Charley asked, looking around nervously.
“To shake an identity free, of course,” came the distracted reply. “I’d say a mid-level tech dealer would be enough to get you off the planet.”
“Fine, just hurry up.”
“Genius takes time, darlin’,” came the indignant reply. “Besides, this kinda feels good.”
“Get on with it, creep,” Charley said, shaking her head. She was foolish to put her faith in a strange little robot. Something was happening from inside the machine.
“Go round the front, sweetheart,” said FIGJAM.
Charley checked the dispenser slot - an ID card bearing the name CHARLEY SILVERTON sat in there. A nice touch for the PalBot to remember that. The occupation read TECH DEALER and there was even a photograph underneath. It was a frontal shot of Charley looking slightly agitated.
“Have you been taking photos of me?”
“My personal collection is my business.”
“On second thought, I don’t want to know,” Charley sighed. “Thank you.”
“No sweat,” FIGJAM said as Charley slotted him back into her belt. “I want off this planet too.”
This time Charley approached a different broker.
“A single to Danderly,” she said resolutely, laying down the credit tubes alongside her ID card.
“Certainly, ma’am,” the broker said, plugging in her data.
“There’s a Borsian freighter leaving in three hours,” the official said. “Bulkhead passage only. You don’t mind roughing it?”
Charley shook her head - she would take whatever she could get. Her heart lurched when the broker produced a single, tantalizing micro-chip.
“Report to Gate 54. The vessel’s name is Fortitude.”
Charley beamed at the broker and hustled through the crowd. She pressed her micro-chip into the wall cavity at Gate 54 and wandered into a huge hangar. The area was a hive of activity. Engineers buzzed over hulking freighters like swarming ants. Fortitude was an ugly, snub-nosed vessel but at that moment it was the most beautiful ship in the galaxy. It represented freedom. Most of all, it represented a glittering future.
19
Charley found a place to sit and watch the port workers go about their business. FIGJAM was more pleasant than usual, joining Charley in a withering assessment of the engineers’ private lives. It felt good to laugh again. Charley felt as though she hadn’t had cause to smile in months. She thought of her mother and brothers back at Sandflower Downs. There was no emotion to spend on them. If she never saw her brothers again, that was entirely acceptable. Whilst they’d never treated her badly, they’d never gone out of their way to protect her either. As for her mother, the less said about her the better.
The port speaker system announced that Fortitude was boarding. Her heart racing, Charley climbed the aft ramp and was engulfed by the leviathan ship. A sturdy man with blond hair nodded curtly at her.
“Charley … Silverton?” he asked, peering at a lightboard.
“That’s me,” Charley said proudly. “Nice to be aboard, Captain …?”
“Tyran,” the sailor said, gripping her hand tightly. “Andor Tyran. I hope you’ll be comfortable on Fortitude.”
“I don’t doubt it, Captain,” Charley said brightly. “Anywhere is better than here.”
“You got that right,” Tyran said with a smile that came out as a scowl. “She ain’t much, but this tub is dependable. At the very least, you’ll be safe st
rapped to the bulkhead.”
“Come again?” Charley asked.
“Strapped to the bulkhead,” Tyran said impatiently. “You aren’t exactly traveling first class. No padded warp capsules in here.”
“I see,” Charley said, trying not to look too disappointed. “How long will we be in warp space?”
“About a week. My warp tech is working out the correct dosage right now.”
“Dosage?”
Tyran looked at Charley as if she was dim.
“Warp drugs.You think you can amuse yourself for a week with nothing but a pool of vomit to keep you company?”
Charley’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose not.”
“Welcome to the galaxy,” Tyran said with a smirk, realizing this was Charley’s first time. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”
“Eww,” FIGJAM said rudely. “Let’s move on, princess.”
Leaving the bemused Captain behind, Charley made her way to her assigned bulkhead. This wasn’t the most romantic introduction to space travel. She’d imagined spacious observation decks and waiters carrying trays of champagne. Barely larger than a wardrobe, her bulkhead smelled of urine and industrial cleaner. Feeling slightly sick already, she strapped herself to the wall, following holographic instructions that sprouted from an operations panel. Ensuring that FIGJAM and her weapons were secure, she waited, humming a little tune to herself over and over. The PalBot seemed as apprehensive as she did.
The Pirate Guild Page 8
