With its close proximity to the new Frontier Zone, it was a sure bet that Stewart would eventually become a major freight hub. Some freight haulers won't travel into the Frontier Zone, so this would be an ideal location for their hub. Short haul freighters, who were unafraid of traveling in the frontier, or were at least willing to do so for the substantially higher financial rewards, could pick up and deliver cargo to the hub, while the long haul freighters would bring food and manufactured goods, and return with ore and special products not available closer to the center of Alliance territory.
Arriving at her quarters after the end of the workday, Jenetta was delighted to find that she had personal messages waiting. She sat down at her desk and selected the one from her mom first.
"Hello dear, I just had to send you a message right away. All of the news channels are talking about you again. Space Command just released a story about how, with just a scout ship that you were commanding, you captured an entire Raider base near the new frontier. They say that you destroyed sixteen Raider warships, and took almost seven thousand prisoners, then defended the base during two attempts to retake it by Raider cruisers and destroyers while waiting for reinforcements to arrive. The news announcer has said that GAC has designated the base as a Space Command Base and that you've been named as the Base Commander. I'm so proud of you, honey, but I'm worried about you. You always seem to be right in the middle of the most dangerous situations.
"I've sent notes to your brothers and sisters, but they probably know already. I guess that I won't be seeing you again for a while, with you being so far away, but I know that you'll come home for a visit when you can.
"There's the timer. Take care of yourself, dear. I guess that things will be much quieter for you now that you're posted on a base. I love you. Bye."
As expected, the message from her father was quite a bit different.
"Hi honey, I'm so proud of you I could bust. I'm working on the base again while I wait for my ship to be refitted and re-commissioned, and you're the main topic of conversation everywhere I go. Everyone is talking about your coup and speculating on how you might have accomplished it. There's also some talk about your scout ship not being a scout ship at all, but rather some new secret weapon, although I haven't been able to get any specifics. Some officers claim to have heard that you broke the theoretical speed barrier wide open, while others are saying that your ship is indestructible. I think that some people just can't believe that one person could do the things that you've been doing, and they're looking for some other explanation. It's about time that Supreme Headquarters realized that if you can accomplish the things that you do with old freighters and scout ships, they should give you a destroyer to command, instead of a base. Our best line officers should be on the bridge of a ship, not negotiating contracts with merchants looking for shop space.
"My time is almost up so I have to close. Take care of yourself, honey, and keep pounding the Raiders at every opportunity. I love you."
The other messages were from Billy, Richie, Jimmy, Andy, Eliza, and Christa, all congratulating Jenetta on the victory and on her new posting. They all talked about the news being on all the channels and how they wished they could be there to help defend the new base. Christa, aboard the Chiron, was the only one actually aboard a ship presently headed for Stewart.
Jenetta was having a meeting in her office a couple of weeks later with Lieutenant Jacoby, her engineering chief, when he raised the issue of the captured Raider ships.
"They're just sitting there, anchored to the far wall, Commander."
"What are you proposing, Derrick?"
"That we bring them back to the airlocks for examination. Each should be thoroughly checked and certified. Space Command might want to use them, or sell them."
"Well, we do have forty kilometers of airlock piers with only two in use, so I don't have any objection to bringing them back over and putting them down at the far end. We don't want to put a lot of money and effort into repairing them though."
"We should pick one or two of the best and keep them for the station's use, Commander. You never know when we might need a ship for some special purpose, such as a rescue mission."
"I don't know if I'd trust any of them. Most have just two layers of titanium plating and no self-sealing membrane. One hit from a laser array and you're dead if you're in the damaged section without an EVA suit. And a couple of torpedo strikes can blow the ship to pieces, as evidenced by the fate of Space Witch and Space Titan."
"Some of them are built better than others. You destroyed all the ships that had stern torpedoes, but most of these at least have bow torpedoes."
"I suppose it won't hurt to look them over and prepare a fitness report on each, if you have time. You'll have to assign some people to pack up and store personal possessions of the former crews."
"Aye, Commander. Everything on the station is running fine, and it will give my people something to keep them busy until the Quartermaster Corps can deliver the building materials we requested for the shopping concourse. We'll start this week."
"Okay, Derrick. Thank you. Dismissed."
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
~ February 10th, 2274 ~
The Scorpion entered orbit around Scruscotto a few weeks after leaving Stewart. With no coordinated planetary approach or departure control on the planet, each ship was on its own until it started to descend to the surface. It wasn't uncommon to find planets without such control operations, but the traffic into and out of orbit at this one was considerably heavier than most uncontrolled planets. Even the final descent was dangerous, as ground control exercised no real control. It simply tried to keep other ships informed about ships landing or taking off during an announced ascent or descent. It was early morning on the part of the planet where they were headed, so Trader Vyx moved the small ship into position to land and waited until a ground controller suggested that it 'might possibly be safe now to begin their entry into atmo'. The controller wished them luck before signing off.
With Vyx flying left seat, and Nelligen in the right, Byers was forced to use the one jump seat on the tiny bridge of the ship as it followed an approach lane down to Weislik Space Port. After safely landing the craft on its assigned pad, Vyx shut down the Scorpion's engines and sat back in his seat to take a deep breath and relax for a few minutes.
"I'm going to pay our landing fees and see what information I can pick up around the port office," Vyx said finally. "Someone has to restock our food supplies, and someone has to get us checked into the hotel. You guys decide who does which."
"I'll take care of the hotel rooms," Byers said.
"Okay, I'll restock the food," Nelligen said smiling. "That way I get to pick what I like."
"Just take it real easy on the hot and spicy," Byers said. "My delicate stomach can't take any more of those flamethrower dishes that you like."
"I'll pick up some senior citizen meal packs for you. You know, the ones with lots of bland oatmeal and custard."
"Some regular dinner packs will be sufficient, thank you. But speaking of custard, get some snack packs also."
"Why don't you both order up the supplies?" Vyx suggested as he stood up. "That way I won't have to listen to the same argument before every meal." He walked from the bridge, and headed for the airlock, stopping to pull his oxygen support equipment out of a storage locker on the way. A half century of terra-forming effort had created a marginal planetary atmosphere. It's thin, and just barely qualifies as 'breathable', so he slung the small unit over his shoulder. Contained in a soft bag about the size of new born infant, the unit pulls oxygen from the atmosphere and supplements what your body is able to draw on its own. A thin tube clips onto your nose and releases oxygen as your body needs it. Unless you overexert yourself, the release is minimal.
The planet's vast mineral resources justified the enormous expense of the terra-forming operations that were slowly creating the atmosphere, but it would be many more decades be
fore the oxygen levels compared favorably even to the grossly polluted atmosphere in Earth's major cities during the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Each mine contributed a percentage of its gross to support the operations because a breathable atmosphere made it easier to get good workers, and keep them. An entire daily shift in full facemask breathing equipment wasn't fun, but an entire daily shift in a full E.V.A. suit was nothing less than complete misery, not to mention being far less productive.
Vyx cycled through the ship's airlock and walked down the ramp, feeling the slightly lighter gravity of the planet once he was outside the ship. He found himself taking longer strides than normal as he moved to the terminal building, despite the thinner air. The terminal was a sealed building, and after entering through an airlock, Vyx found normal Terran gravity and oxygen levels inside. He followed the signs to the port administration section.
As with most port-of-entry offices, there was a large waiting area filled with dozens of sleazy characters looking for an opportunity to turn a profit, or just pickup some useful information. The attention of everyone in the room shifted to Vyx as he entered the office and stepped up to the counter. Every ear in the room was attuned to his voice as he explained who he was, and paid his landing fee plus pad rent for a full week. After receiving his receipt, Vyx turned back towards the waiting room. The room's occupants immediately returned to whatever they had been doing before he entered, pretending that they hadn't been straining to hear every word that passed between himself and the clerk at the counter.
Vyx took time now to appraise each individual in the room as he walked to a vacant chair. About half the room's occupants were Terrans, but there were also Cheblooks, Nordakians, Wolkerrons, Alyysians, Tsgardis, Arrosians, and even a single Pledgian. It was unusual to see a Pledgian, as they rarely left their home world. The short, furry creatures came from a society that wasn't technologically advanced, and so were totally dependent on transportation from the advanced species. Vyx always thought that they looked like a large, fur-covered ball. Their limbs only extended when they needed to move, so at rest they were completely round, with two eyestalks sticking up if it was awake. If Space Command suddenly began enforcing the ban on trading with planets having no space travel capability, sightings of Pledgians would quickly become even rare than they were currently. This one must have paid a trader or freighter captain to bring him here, and Vyx wryly wondered where it stored its credits and documents since it wore no clothing and carried no bags.
Finding a vacant seat, he eased his almost six-foot frame into the chair, hanging his portable breathing bag on the side. You could tell fairly easily whom the long time residents were in the room because most scoffed at the use of portable units. Their bodies had become accustomed to the thin atmosphere on this planet and they were quite comfortable without any supplemental oxygen. But miners, even long-time resident miners, often carried full re-breather backpacks because their level of exertion required much higher levels of oxygen than the breathing bags could possibly provide.
Picking up a newspaper lying on the seat next to his as he settled in, he saw that it was in Amer, and only a week old, so he passed the next several hours watching the coming and goings as he read up on the news of the colony. Like the others in the room, he noted the arrival and departure of every ship by watching the monitors mounted around the room. He didn't really expect to find a lead to Rivemwilth here, but you never know.
As the afternoon hours passed, Vyx's stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast, so he stood up, stretched, and strode out. Every pair of eyes in the room watched the departure of the dangerous looking stranger that moved with the easy grace of a wild animal.
Returning to his ship, Vyx found Byers and Nelligen putting the food stores away in the galley.
"We stored the rest in the hold," Byers explained.
"Do we have rooms?" Vyx asked.
"Yes, three rooms at the Weislik Grand Hotel."
"What say we head over and get settled, then find a good place to eat? I'm tired of food packs and synthesized food."
"Sounds fine to me," Byers said, "Nels was planning on having some hot dish with cheese, onions, and peppers. My stomach was bothering me just thinking about it."
"I guess that I can wait for another day to have that," Nelligen said grinning. "Let's go."
An hour later, they were sitting in a restaurant that advertised itself as having the best steaks on the planet. Most of the steaks were cuts of Cheblookan Daitwa, a sort of a horse-like creature, but if you had enough credits, you could get real Terran beef. They had moved into their rooms in the hotel, and cleaned up a bit before going in search of a restaurant, deciding upon this establishment after seeing the image of a Terran steer on the menu posted out front.
As the waitress cleared the dinner dishes and brought fresh tankards of the local ale, a tall Wolkerron stepped up to the table.
"Welcome to Scruscotto, gentlemen," the thin, Hominidae-like creature with a long yellow face and enormous, jet-black eyes said.
"Are you the planet's official welcoming committee, Wolkerron?" Vyx asked warily.
The Wolkerron offered what passed as his specie's equivalent of a grin. It looked menacing to the uninitiated. "I'm but a humble tradesman, sir."
"And what are you selling tonight?"
"Employment, gentlemen, employment. Might you be looking for jobs?"
"I'm Trader Vyx. I'm always looking for a deal or a trade, but never a job."
"Perhaps I can put you together with a buyer or seller then. Filling mining jobs is not my only occupation. I also function as a trade broker. In fact, I'm the main broker in this city. Might I be invited to join you?"
Vyx looked at Byers and Nelligen, then nodded his head towards the bar. The two men understood the movement and stood up to move to the bar.
"Sit down, Wolkerron."
"Call me Ker. I'm Ker Blasperra."
"Very well, Ker."
"And what sort of deal or trade are you looking for, Trader?"
"With a few exceptions, almost anything that will yield a profit, Ker."
"If one is— flexible, there are always deals to be made. What sort of merchandise have you been handling lately?"
"My last deal involved purchasing arms from Shev Rivemwilth and selling them to a party that shall naturally remain nameless."
"Shev Rivemwilth? That's quite a recommendation. I trust that your deal with the Shev went well?"
"He was satisfied. He approached me again when he was moving his operation from Gollasko, but I wasn't in a position to take on anything at that time. I needed to move my own operation out of the territory."
"Yes, Space Command's expansion has proved most unsettling for a number of honest traders, but it has provided me with a small bonanza of opportunities. Have you ever considered working for the Raiders? If your references check out, I can place you with them almost immediately."
"I don't work for others."
"This would be strictly on a contractual basis. They've lost so many people to the Galactic Alliance in recent years that they're desperate for good, dependable people."
"What's the job?"
"Spotter. You take your ship where they tell you and observe ship movements. You spend five months on station and then get one month off before they assign you elsewhere."
"Sounds boring. It's not for me."
"It pays very well, very well indeed."
"Nope, not for me. The way Space Command is knocking off Raiders, I don't want any involvement that might make the Spaccs think I'm one of them. Is that all you have?"
"A wise and all too familiar sentiment lately," Ker Blasperra said as he reached into a pocket and brought out a notebook. As he flipped through several pages, he said, "A lot of these jobs are too big for your small ship."
"What do you know about my ship?"
"Trader, please, it's my business to know such things. I can tell you what pad the Scorpion is on, precisely wh
at time you landed, and approximately how much cargo space you have available."
"And if I had a larger ship?"
"Well, I have a party looking to transport a cargo of slaves, and another looking to send a shipment of Melwen powder to Crisce-six."
"No slaves; you can't jettison your cargo if Space Command takes an interest in boarding you. How much Melwen powder?"
"Two thousand tons."
"Two thousand tons? Of a powder that explodes if the temperature varies too quickly? You can't even jettison it unless you've kept it frozen."
"That's why regular freighters won't transport it, but it pays very well. It might as well be two-thousand tons as one ton."
"I don't mind risking my neck, but I'm not suicidal."
"Your ship is too small anyway."
"I can get a larger ship if I need it. But only for the right deal."
"How big a ship?"
"Oh, say about eight-hundred-fifty meters."
"Well, that's a different matter entirely! Why didn't you say so before? The ship that you came down in is just your shuttle then?"
"No, it's my personal ship. But I could get the larger ship if I needed it."
"You mean steal one?"
"Yes, but none that will be missed. I might be persuaded to take the risk if the price were right."
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