by Eric Vall
“How?” Rosek fired back. That was definitely interest in his small, beady eyes. I almost had him. Just had to sweeten the pot a little.
“By fixing the docks, like I suggested. With the docks repaired, Theron could handle heavier traffic again, like it did before the Odrine ran dry. And where would this extra traffic be coming from, you say? Well, I’m glad you asked. Do you mind if I send something to your screen?” I questioned, rapid-fire to throw him off his game, as I gestured to the huge monitor that hung on the wall on my left-hand side.
Rosek narrowed his eyes but gave a short, clipped nod of his head. I reached behind me and tapped at the comms that Akela had just installed to eject the small memory drive there. Most of the system ran wirelessly, but there was an external hard drive for memory storage purposes.
I walked up to Rosek’s desk and handed him the small drive. He took it with suspicion in his eyes but plugged it into his display nonetheless.
Instantly, the files that I had tasked Omni to send me while we walked here from the ship popped up on his screen. There were some reports, too jargon-filled to be of any use here, but I pointed to a summary sheet that had most of the important information compiled in one place.
“Here are some reports pulled from Terra-Nebula’s mainframe of the initial findings on Oevis,” I said as I pulled up the file.
Rosek’s brow furrowed as he scanned the monitor. “How did you get this information?” he questioned, suspicion still lacing his words.
“I managed to procure a T-N licensed AI during my time working as a cog in the Corporate machine,” I explained. “That was before I decided to go … freelance, let’s say. Anyway, the AI allowed me to easily access this station’s mainframe, as T-N doesn’t usually think to guard against itself.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Isaias raise an eyebrow, but I ignored him. I was an expert at weaving together fact with fiction, and typically the combination worked better than either one did apart.
“Clever,” Rosek muttered, and then he tore his eyes away from the monitor to meet mine. “But what does this all even mean?” he asked with a vague wave at the screen. “How can a dead and dry planet bring in more traffic? You can’t squeeze water from a stone. And I’m gettin’ impatient.”
I held up a finger with a grin and got to the crux of my plan. “But that’s just it. Oevis isn’t dry. Well, perhaps dry of Odrine, unless there exist some deeply buried reserves. However, I’m talking about Dynatine.”
“Di-na-what-now?” Rosek questioned.
“Dynatine. It’s a metallic ore that’s similar to Odrine in composition but slightly harder to process or refine, and the end product isn’t as sturdy as its Odrine counterpart. However, the ore is still plenty valuable,” I explained.
When I had tasked Omni to find this information, I knew there had to be something valuable on Oevis that T-N had overlooked. I didn’t think I would have been this lucky, however. Lady Luck indeed.
The gangster narrowed his beady eyes at me and leaned back in his chair. “Are ya tryin’ to cheat me here, Mr. Tower?” he accused. That suspicion was quickly turning to outright anger in his eyes. “Because despite what my son might say about me, I’m not stupid. If there was anything valuable on Oevis, why would T-N just leave it there?”
“Because they’re lazy, arrogant, and greedy,” I said, every word of that true. “Terra-Nebula, like all the other mega Corporations, saw the higher cost of production versus the lower price of profit and decided it was beneath them. However, that doesn’t mean nobody finds it valuable.”
Rosek snorted out a dry laugh that sounded like his son’s. “Ah. Seems like you’re finally winding up to a point.”
“Yes, sir, I am,” I affirmed. “As I was saying, even if T-N didn’t see the value in harvesting and refining the Dynatine, I know and have connections with plenty of smaller Corporations that would still be interested in mining the ore. Now, this is where you come in again. If you will invest the money to fix the docks, I can convince a few of these lesser Corporations to come in and mine on Oevis once again. And all those extra miners will, of course, need a place to come blow off steam, and what better place can the Palioxis System offer than your fine establishment here on Theron?” I finished grandly.
Rosek leaned forward in his chair and planted his elbows onto his desktop. He interlaced his fingers and glanced at the information on his screen again. He was obviously considering my offer but didn’t look to be quite sold. I decided to throw in my last two points as the cherries on top.
“Oh, I forgot to mention, I’ve already hired the best mechanic on the station,” I declared as I motioned to Akela behind me. The silver-haired woman froze as Rosek’s eyes slid to her, but I pressed on to bring his attention back to me. “And coupled with my AI, I believe the two of them can repair the majority of the damaged docks by scrapping the unsalvageable ones for parts. This way, material costs are drastically reduced. Additionally, if we can get the numbers, my AI can manage a fleet of drones to do the brunt of the repairs so that actual people don’t get hurt if something goes wrong, and so that you don’t have to pay a dozen or so more mechanics. Another reduction in price.
“And, on top of all this revenue from the miners,” I continued, “since Theron is still ‘technically’ a Terra-Nebula station, and Oevis too by extension, they still own the rights over both. However, I know, and you know, that T-N hasn’t thought of this outpost in decades. I doubt this station even receives transmissions from them. The ‘government’ of Theron might be Corporate in name, but I know most of the officials answer to you now, am I correct?”
Rosek considered me with his beady eyes. “You’re not wrong,” he replied with a shrug. “We’ve had to fend for ourselves out here. Somebody had to step up and become a leader.”
He sounded so falsely modest, like he was the hero of Theron instead of its oppressor, that a part of me wanted to punch him in his fat, square nose. I refrained, if only barely.
“And you’ve done a fine job,” I lied through my teeth. “But the important part here is that since Terra-Nebula’s name is still signed on the dotted line of Oevis’s contract, they still own the planet. Which means that the lesser Corporations that I will convince to mine here will have to pay a fee for the rights to work on and under the planet’s surface. That’s just additional money coming straight back to the station.”
I could practically see the credits piling up behind Rosek’s eyes, and I couldn’t help but add, “In terms of cost versus benefit, your investment will seem almost negligible in comparison to the number of credits that will soon flood this casino.”
Finally, Rosek held up a hand. “Okay, I’ve heard enough,” he said. His voice gave nothing away, but I was an expert at reading microexpressions for one thing, and for another, I knew how greedy bastards like Rosek operated. There was no way he could pass up an opportunity like this.
But he had to save face. He couldn’t seem too eager, which is why he leaned back in his chair again, folded his hands over his generous belly, and asked, “This all sounds like a mighty fine plan. You’ve obviously done your research, and you’re one persuasive son of a bitch, I’ll give you that. But I can’t help wonderin’ what’s in this for you?”
I knew I couldn’t admit the true, deeper reason for my urge to save this station. I couldn’t tell this heartless gangster about my struggles on Proto and how I starved and clawed and fought for my right to survive and hated the thought of that happening right here, right now, right below my very feet. I couldn’t say any of that, so I spoke in a language Rosek would understand.
I gave my best approximation of a smarmy, greedy grin and shrugged nonchalantly. “Freelance work doesn’t come with the same benefits as Corporate slavery did. I’m running a little low on funds and supplies.”
“So, what, you want a percentage of the profits?” Rosek guessed.
I shook my head. “I was thinking more of a smaller, one-time lump sum payout for both me and my
crew. Say one hundred thousand U-credits for labor, which would leave two hundred thousand left for materials for the repairs. Additionally, my mechanic here has familial ties to this station, and I would like to ensure they’re well taken care of.”
“Protection?” Rosek questioned, confused.
“No, more like … assurance. Fiscal security.”
Rosek narrowed his eyes. “Speak plainly, corpseman,” he grunted, annoyed. Oops. Too many big words.
“I mean that, if you agree to this arrangement, I’d make the stipulation that the mining fees paid to you by the lesser Corporations come straight back to the station. To its citizens. To continual upkeep of repairs. Instead of to your casinos,” I said firmly, an unwavering resolve in my voice.
“And who are you to tell me what to do with my money?” Rosek retorted, color slowly rising into his doughy cheeks. I’d struck a nerve, it seemed. Good. Didn’t want the gangster to think we were too buddy-buddy. I’d done my groveling. Now it was time for Rosek to see the other side of me.
“I think I’m the man with the connections, the AI, and the know-how to fix your station,” I replied coolly. “But if you’d like to continue to wallow in squalor, by all means …” I waved a hand dismissively, like I couldn’t care less either way.
And that’s what always got them in the end, the apathy. The thought that I had no vested interest in this contract either way and could withdraw it at a whim, ruining their lives.
I had given Rosek a glimpse of a bright and shiny, credit-rich future. No matter what it cost, he couldn’t go back to the way things were before. There was no way he could refuse me now.
“I’ll give you seventy-five thousand U-credits for the labor,” the gangster finally countered, once more trying to save face, but I could see the greedy glint in his eye, the saliva that was basically foaming at the corners of his mouth.
I had him.
“The full hundred thousand and you must meet my stipulation about the mining fees being used for station upkeep,” I returned adamantly. “Or I walk and find some other backwater hovel that’s in need of repair.”
Rosek scowled at me and seemed to be trying to come up with another counter, another argument, but I grinned at him saccharinely as I said, “Going once, going twice …”
“Fine,” Rosek snapped. “You’ll get your damn money, and I’ll agree to your condition. Happy?”
Not by a long shot. I knew this conniving weasel was lying through his teeth. He was either going to try to cheat me out of the money once the repairs were complete, or he’d try to finagle a way around my stipulation. Again, I knew how these greedy bastards worked, which also meant I knew Rosek wouldn’t try anything until the repairs were finished, and I had made my calls to the other Corporations. That gave me about a week or two to find a way to make Rosek go screw himself. Plenty of time.
I smiled at the gangster, a smile full of white teeth and dark promises Rosek was probably too stupid to recognize, and stuck out my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Rosek stood and grasped it, his palm clammy and damp against mine.
I couldn’t wait to figure out how to knock this dick down a few pegs.
“We have an accord, Mr. Rosek,” I said smugly.
Chapter 6
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves.
Be brave, I reminded myself. Have courage. I have faced more dangerous things than this … I think.
I winced, braced myself, and before I could chicken out, knocked on the doorframe of the cargo hold as I tentatively took my first few steps into a live minefield.
“So,” I said as I gently picked my way across the floor strewn with wires and circuits and the guts of hundreds upon hundreds of drones. “How goes it?”
Akela sat cross-legged in the center of the chaos, furiously hacking at something with a screwdriver? Hammer? I blanched as something gave with a metallic snap and the mechanic let out a dark peal of laughter.
I cleared my throat when I was a few meters away, but dared go no farther. The silver-haired woman snapped her head up, and I didn’t know what to flinch at first: the absolute inferno in her amethyst eyes or the matching dark purple half-moons under them.
“How goes it?” Akela echoed, her voice hoarse from exhaustion and possibly murderous intent. “How goes it!” Her voice steadily rose in volume and I tried to put my hands up to calm her down or backtrack or ward her off, but it was too late. I had awoken the beast.
The mechanic threw down her tool and whatever she had just mangled and struggled to her feet. More bolts and bits of metal tumbled out of her lap and fell out of the pockets of her overalls as she rose, and the sound was like bells chiming for my funeral. A moment later, the mechanic stood at her full height, which was still half a head shorter than me, and shoved a grease-stained and bandaged finger in my face.
“Do you know how many docking pads are on this station, Colby Tower?” she bit out.
I bit my tongue and considered my options. “A lot?” I finally hedged, even though I knew no answer would be the right one.
“Twenty-five! There are twenty-five docking pads,” she exclaimed. “And do you know how many docking ports for individual ships each pad contains?”
I paused, thinking it was maybe a rhetorical question, but the mechanic just stared up at me, pissed and impatient, until I guessed, “Ten?”
“Fifteen!” she shouted as she threw her hands above her head. “And when you signed us up for this whole shitfest, only five pads were working!” She shoved her hand back in my face, palm flat. “Count them, broker! Five! That means I’ve had to fix twenty pads! Three hundred individual ports! In two fucking weeks! Do you even understand how insane that is?”
She stood there panting, her silver hair streaked with grease and in wild disarray around her head. I darted a glance at her hands to make sure she had nothing sharp in them.
“Completely insane. Totally and utterly bonkers,” I agreed with a very empathetic nod.
But then, Akela grinned fiercely, and pride and a bit of madness gleamed in her eye. “But I did it,” she hissed. “Omni’s testing the pressure and seal of dock 7-C right now. That’s the last one.” Her eyes glazed over, and I truly feared that if the mechanic didn’t get some sleep soon, her mind would snap.
However, a question occurred to me, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Wait, if the docks are just about completed, what are you doing in here?” I gestured at the piece of metal she had been working on when I walked in.
The mechanic blinked at me and then at the tools at her feet. She then glanced around the whole room, but I didn’t know if the chaos and bedlam even registered with her.
“The drones,” she mumbled, her eyes hazy. “The drones need repair. The drones always need repair.” She swept her arm out in a wide arc, as if gesturing to someone, but we were alone in the cargo hold.
“Okay, yep,” I decided as I gently reached out and grasped Akela by the elbow. “It’s time for you to go to sleep.”
As I gently began to tug at her, the mechanic seemed to snap out of her haze. “What?” she muttered as her eyes started to clear. “Wait, no.” She tried to wrench her arm out of my grasp, but the attempt was drowsy and weak. “No, I have to … Omni’s almost …”
“Finished, you said. He can handle the final checks. And if some of the drones break, the others can fix them,” I told her firmly.
After we had left Rosek’s two weeks ago, Akela and Omni had set out on a station-wide search for any and every available drone that could be adapted to work on the repairs. They ended up finding and cobbling together a little over a hundred robots in the first half of the first week, all of various shapes, sizes, and skills. From there, my mechanic and AI had constructed a repair plan that basically boiled down to Omni simultaneously running all the drones while Akela gave him instructions if he ran into any mechanical problems.
Unfortunately, mechanical problems seemed to crop up every hour, because while the drone workforce was numerous
and run by the best AI around, most of the robots themselves were not made to withstand the strain of working in space or simply lacked the finer agility and dexterity. They had looked incredible when I took the Lacuna Noctis on a quick trip around Theron last week to check the progress from the outside. The hundreds of little drones looked like glimmering silver worker ants swarming along the hull of the station. However, Akela had constantly been in the cargo hold to repair the broken drones, usually refusing Omni’s help in the shape of other drones because she didn’t want to pull any from working on the station repairs. Her fingers were bandaged and singed, but every time I had offered my own assistance, she had kicked me out of the room.
“But,” Akela continued to try to argue. She pushed weakly at me and tried to dig in her heels, but when I tugged on her gently again, she teetered off balance and collapsed against my chest. My arms went around her automatically, and I could feel her pressed against the entire length of my body, her head tucked under my chin. The mechanic sighed, and I felt some of the tension leave her body.
“You were saying?” I chuckled.
The silver-haired woman grumbled against my neck. “Maybe I’ll just take a twenty-minute cat nap. Heh heh. Cat nap. Does Neka take cat-cat naps?” she laughed to herself drowsily. Her breath tickled my Adam’s apple, and goose bumps rose along my arms.
I swallowed tightly and stooped down to sweep Akela up into my arms. She didn’t even fight me this time, only reached up to wrap her arms around my neck and lay her head against my shoulders. The mechanic must have been seconds away from passing out.
“Come on,” I whispered to the already dosing woman. “Let’s get you into bed.”
Akela only muttered something unintelligible and settled more firmly against my chest. I couldn’t suppress a soft smile over how adorable she looked right now, even exhausted and covered in grease. The mechanic really was a triple threat. Beautiful, intelligent, and with a work ethic that could kick anyone’s ass.
