Tanager's Fledglings (The Tanager Book 1)

by Cedar Sanderson

  They didn’t bother with introductions. The man didn’t even look curiously at the customs men in the hold. He just put the pallet up on the hover jack and walked back out with a casual wave after fingerprinting for delivery on Jem’s tablet.

  Jem turned back to the others. “How long will loading of your cargo take? I want to be on my way.”

  “Have a look at the contract first,” Treigh offered his tablet.

  Jem took it. He took his time reading through it, making sure he had his face blanked to hide any reactions. This was not a simple business contract.

  “Are you sure about this?” He looked up and into Treigh’s eyes. “I would have thought you would want… someone better vetted.”

  “Military? One of our own men?” Moskvin answered. Jem was pretty sure he was not customs, and furthermore, that he outranked Treigh.

  “Yes.” Jem met his eyes squarely.

  “We have reasons for needing someone who isn’t connected to our government. And if this becomes a long-term contract, we will likely ask you to carry a courier, not just cargo pouches.” Moskvin didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t need to. This trip was a test.

  “I usually only come to Altressa every two Earth years.” Jem knew Treigh was aware of this, but he wanted to make it clear he wasn’t planning to alter his route for this contract, even if it was very good money.

  “We know. There are… You will be given cargo at other ports. And contacted to transfer your cargo as well.”

  “I won’t break the law anywhere else, either.” Jem was still prickly. He could feel his skin crawl as he contemplated the consequences of getting involved in… in government problems. He didn’t want to even think the spying word very loudly.

  “We aren’t asking you to.” Moskvin sounded like he was soothing a child. “We just want a trustworthy and unconnected transport. Which you are.”

  Jem shrugged. He caught Treigh’s eyes. “I trust you. So…” He pressed his thumb to the pad, then handed it back.

  “I know.” Treigh looked at Moskvin, who was reaching for the tablet. “It’s this clown you have to watch out for. His sense of humor is going to cause trouble.”

  Moskvin laughed. Reaching into his uniform jacket, he pulled a thin pouch out of an inner pocket.

  “Here you are, kid.”

  “And stop calling me a kid.” Jem took his cargo. It was very small, for the amount they were paying him. He felt his stomach tighten. This could be a very bad idea.

  “Right, sorry. Bad habit. Bonne chance, mon capitán.”

  Jem felt like he was still being laughed at. Treigh tapped at his tablet. “You’re cleared to go, kid, as soon as the hatch seals behind us. Launch window in… an hour. Okay?”

  Jem nodded, grateful for the expedite he hadn’t asked for but had wanted. Treigh smiled. “Safe flight.”

  He then turned and followed Moskvin, who had already walked away. Jem followed them to the hatch and sealed it behind them. Once it was shut he slumped against the bulkhead with a deep sigh of relief, but only for a second. Then he headed for the interior of the ship and his bridge. It was time to get outta Dodge. Wherever that had been. The antique vidreels hadn’t been clear on location or dates, but were fun to watch.

  Chapter 5: Tassie Station

  Docking at Tas was much more casual. Flight control pinged him while he was a day out, with an information data packet and three choices of docking slots for time and place. He considered where they were in relation to the marketplace and pulled a face. Tassie Station was a hub for three planets, and two of them habitable without domes. The third was a mining planet and R&R was done to the station. It must be in the middle of that cycle.

  Jem filed his arrival plan and sent it back. It would take a few hours, as far out as he was, but it was important to file early. Tas took defense seriously, even if they didn’t regulate as tightly as Altressa. Once on station he wouldn’t have to lock down the ship. But if he didn’t file plans… Walter had told him a story on their first time through here.

  It seemed that an old friend had been occupied with charter passengers, and neglected to respond in a timely fashion to the welcome packet. The next thing he knew – and he was very distracted, Walter had cackled, leaving Jem to fill in the blanks there – a boarding party was coming through his hatch. Walter’s friend and the party of tourists, all female and headed for the mining planet to make their fortunes with lonely miners, were rather surprised. They hadn’t noticed the destroyer’s approach and the communications board had been silenced.

  Jem had absorbed the information he needed from this. Tas was laid back, but not hands off. Also, carrying passengers could lead to trouble. Accordingly, he filed his flight plan and went back to chores. The woolies, he was sure, would be a commodity here. Of the three planets, Oz was verdant, and known halfway across the galaxy for their textiles. Tas itself was lightly-settled, most of the citizens preferring to spend their time wheeling and dealing on the station. Tiny, airless Flint was slowly being strip-mined to the core for minerals.

  Which had him contemplating the secondary market: miners with acute cases of boredom. They would party and live large while on the station, but back on Flint they needed something to keep their minds off the claustrophobic living conditions, and the stultifying boredom. One had explained it to him at length. Jem hadn’t been sure what to make of the man at first. It was Jem’s first exposure to Tas station, and the man had been maudlin drunk.

  “Y’see, kid…” He’d leaned closer, lowering his voice and stroking his beard with a wild glint in his eye. The effect, coming on a wave of beery breath, was less alarming and more revolting.

  “Onc’t y’nitiate the process, that’s it. Nuthin’doin, for a week. More, iffn y’hit a big vein.”

  Jem ran through this again in his head, translating it. “So you press the start button and then wait?”

  “Thass right.” The man nodded vociferously, almost falling off his stool. Walter had turned around and was watching. “Nuthin’ t’do.”

  “I’d read.” Jem had stated with the fervor of a new convert to that form of entertainment.

  The man shrugged, regaining his balance. “Read everything, a few times. Play the games until you lose in’trest. Watch the...”He glanced over Jem’s shoulder at Walter. “Er, vids. Until y’know ‘em by heart.”

  “So you’re looking for more books. What about lessons?” Jem had asked, curious.

  “Lessons?” The drunk looked confused, a small change from his previous expression.

  “Sure, in languages, or engineering. Something that might keep your mind sharp.”

  “Hey…” He leaned back, thoughtful. “Y’might be onto somethin’ kid.”

  Jem thought quickly. He had the one data gem that could be cloned, but it was huge. He didn’t want to part with it all at once.

  “I can’t sell you anything tonight… But tomorrow, meet me here.”

  Jem slid off his stool, having pressed a contact chip into the man’s hand, with a quick annotation about their conversation. He didn’t have hopes of the man remembering it clearly in the morning. Now, he needed to check with Walter… but a quick glance at the older man told him what he needed to know. Walter’s eyes were almost hidden in folds of suppressed mirth that were squinching his cheeks without showing in a smile. Jem, relieved, went back to his plans involving smaller data gems and cloning full lesson plans.

  That had been his first real deal. The language lessons couldn’t possibly have been of use to the miners, the engineering math was. They didn’t care. The man showed up, mostly sober, with three friends to buy schooling from ‘the kid’ who was declared sharp as a tack. Walter’s comment, later, was that it was a novelty, and to ride the wave while it lasted.

  That had been ten cycles back, and it was still going. Jem had learned to scour the junkers on every station and planet in search of any text, no matter how obscure, and anything he didn’t already have in his library of text and vid. He was, for c
ertain sure, in possession of a library that would rival most universities. Jem patted the bank of gems. It was taking up more space, but nothing like the library of actual paper books Walter had taken him to see. It was impressive, sure, but Jem’s library was bigger in terms of real content.

  He’d have a case of small gems. He’d scored an obscure dialect this time, and after some research, had paired the lessons in Gaelic with extensive fairy tale collections. They seemed to fit well together. Along with the woolies, they ought to sell well. Unless his wave had peaked.

  Jem left the planning and went to play with the puppy, who was growing visibly in the few weeks since he had been uncased. He was reliably ship-trained, as Jem had discarded the ancient term of house-broken in favor of the more suitable phrase. Not only did he void in the only place he was allowed, he knew not to chew on cords or stanchions. Jem had produced chew-toys from the replicator after some experimentation for the little dog to bring in his new teeth. The needle-sharp puppy teeth needed that exercise.

  Jem was teaching the fuzzy creature how to sit, lie down, and stay. If something happened, he needed the dog to be in one place, not underfoot. So his training included loud noises. He’d do decompression drills, in time.

  His training session was cut short when the control board chimes sounded. Jem snapped his fingers, and trotted to the bridge with the pup at his heels. Sitting at the board, he checked his programming. They would dock in an hour, everything was flowing smoothly. Tas flight control was good, he had to admit that.

  Jem looked down at the pup, who was flopped on the deck. “I think you need to go in your crate, lad, until we’re squared away.

  The pup lolled his tongue out. What his master said, went. Jem was going to try just the wire crate, without stasis. He felt bad, putting the puppy away like a toy when he wasn’t wanted. Tas didn’t need him to seal the ship, so he’d spend his nights here.

  The pup appreciated this, until Jem walked away. Behind the closed hatch, he could hear the tiny howls as they built in volume. Maybe stasis would have been a better choice, after all. But it was too late now. He needed to be at the control board in case anything went wrong.

  Nothing did. Nothing ever did go wrong, but Walter had hammered home the consequences that would face the master of a ship who had been derelict in his duty. Jem was now the master of the Tanager, a small fact that simultaneously filled him with pride and terrified him. He was in charge.

  He couldn’t let his concern show, though, as he met the inspector at the entry hatch with a firm grasp of forearms. The man would scan for invasives, and then Jem would be free to go about his business. This was something no station would relax on. A wild fungus on the loose would wreak unimaginable devastation. That, Jem had seen with his own eyes.

  “You have a hydroponics?” The man frowned at his tablet screen, waving the wand he held in his other hand. “And living things?”

  “Woolies, in this hold. Beeves, in another hold. And a dog. Everything else is in stasis.”

  The man grunted and walked toward the woolies, “Don’t need to see stasis boxes. Do need t’scan the live ‘uns.”

  “Sure thing.” Jem waited patiently while the other satisfied himself that the sheep simulacra were clean, then led him to the other hold. The puppy woke up when the hatch opened, and yipped.

  “Hey!” The man headed straight for it. “Y’got a funny looking dog!”

  “You know what a dog is?” Jem felt a little pang of disappointment. Peter had sold him on how rare dogs were, off Earth.

  The man squatted down and offered the puppy his fingertips to sniff. “Sure, down on Oz they have these critters to help keep the sheep in line. They don’t look like this one, though. Seems he’d trip over those ears running around after a flock.”

  Jem had to admit that was true enough. “He’s not a herding dog.”

  Shaking his now-wet fingertips to dry them, the man stood up and switched back to business mode. “Beeves, you said?”

  “Right this way.” Jem led the way out of the hold, the puppy beginning to howl behind them. The inspector stopped.

  “You can bring him along, he’s clean.”

  “Thanks,” Jem knew his relief must be visible, and he broke his own unspoken rule to never leave strangers alone on the Tanager when he ran back to let the puppy out. With the dog gamboling in their wake, they headed to the enclosure that held the beeves. Shortly after that, Jem was shaking the inspector’s hand, his ship having been certified clean. The inspector, smiling, looked down at the puppy.

  “You be good now, pup.”

  Jem laughed. The puppy just rolled on his back and waved his fat paws in the air. Once the other man was gone, Jem bent and ruffled the pup’s ears. “Time for me to do the shopping. I’m afraid you can’t come, though.”

  Jem still wasn’t sure how much the dog understood, but it was evident he didn’t understand this. Small wonder, with Jem’s infrequent absences. Ship routine meant the puppy mostly had the boy to himself.

  Leaving the pup securely crated, Jem headed to the market. He wasn’t planning on doing any dickering, just scoping it out. It was too late in the day to find buyers, they would be headed out to dinner and homes. But the vendors were still set up, and he’d get some fresh food that wasn’t out of his replicator for dinner.

  Jem wandered through the market with a taco in one hand and the ubiquitous meat-on-a-stick in the other. Every settled world he’d visited had their own style of this street food. Tassie’s tended to be garlicky and savory. The taco was classic Azteca flavors, richly smoky and offset with a squeeze of lime.

  One of the shops drew his eye. It was stuffed full, at first glance, with greenery. Disposing of his napkins and stick in a trash can, he headed in that direction. The sign hanging over the open entrance read simply ‘Greengrocer” in ornate scrollwork script, which meant nothing to Jem. Now that he was close enough he could smell the plants, though. Rich, moist, earthy… he inhaled deeply, catching a floral scent as well.

  The riot of green wasn’t quite as jungly close up as it had seemed from aisles away. Tassie’s station had a more permanent set-up for the market than Altressa did with its tent-like booths. The shop resolved into neatly laid-out paths as Jem stepped in, and then almost stepped back out. That wasn’t carpet on the flooring.

  A man appeared, wiping his hands on the long waist apron he wore. “Come on it, it won’t bite. That’s moss, that is.”

  Jem stepped on it gingerly. “I won’t hurt it?”

  “Nope. Bred for walkin’ on, ‘tis. Welcome to the Greengrocer.” The man dropped the apron and held his hand out to Jem, who shook it briefly.

  “I have two questions.” Jem took a few steps experimentally on the moss. It was pleasantly springy underfoot.”

  “Oh?” The man’s eyes twinkled.

  “What is this moss, and what is a greengrocer?” Jem asked with a smile. He loved to learn new things, and this man didn’t seem like he would scorn the request.

  “Aha!” He didn’t, he tipped his head back in a laugh. “Moss is a kind of plant, only not really, it’s a bryophyte. And a greengrocer, now there’s a good question. Care for tay?”

  Jem blinked and then realized he’d been offered tea. The man’s accent was intriguing, and faint, but on that word… “Please?”

  “Coom on, then.” He led the way into another room, this one with simple flooring, a rug laid on it, and on that, a table and chairs. Battered with evident years of hard use, it suited the room. The man raised his voice. “Misha! Tay!”

  “Have a seat, lad,” He gestured at a chair, taking one himself. “You wanted to know about the store, and as I’m about to close up, tea will be good for both of us.”

  Jem started to stand. “Oh, I don’t’ want to impose…”

  “Nonsense. Sit a bit. I liked t’looks of you, lad, or I’d not have asked you in.”

  Jem supposed that made sense and settled back. He was looking around, now, taking in his surrounding
s. The walls were a warm cream color, but nearly covered with plants and art. The art was worth looking at, but he was interrupted by the arrival of a girl.

  She came through a half-hidden door carrying a tray full of teapot and cups and a heap of cookies. Her face was smiling, but it was her eyes that made Jem stare. She had the brightest blue eyes… He tore his gaze away and caught a smirk on the other man’s face. “Misha, m’love. Care to explain greengrocer to the lad?”

  He turned to Jem. “Ah, my apologies. I’m Liam, and this is Michella. And you are?”

  Jem cleared his throat before he trusted himself to speak, “My name is Jem, off the Scarlet Tanager.”

  Liam nodded. “A trader. I thought as much.”

  Misha, having unloaded the tray with quick grace, smiled at Jem. “Pleased to meet you, then. Shall I pour, Da?”

  “Aye, and talk!” Liam leaned back in his chair with a laugh.

  “A greengrocer, once, was a kind of store that sold produce. You know, fruits and vegetables?” Misha tilted her head and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear. Jem wanted to touch it. He restrained himself, hoping his thoughts didn’t show much.

  Jem accepted a cup of the tea with a nod. She had added a spoonful of sticky creamy stuff to it with a quick stir, and now his nose told him that was a sweet milky tea. He liked it, he decided after a sip. She kept talking. “Da, well, his family, he’s not that old…”

  Liam laughed as she shot him a coy look through her lashes. “No, I’m not.”

  “Anyway, they left the old country and came into the stars with all the growing things they could carry and seeds for plenty more. Given time, they got even more things others had to trade. And now, the Greengrocer is a store, and a ship, that trades in plants. Some of our plants you can eat, or get fruit from, some are just for pretty. Out on a station, people long for green. So that’s what we offer. A bit o’the green and the old world.”

  Jem took two of the delicate cookies. “I think it’s a terrific idea.”

  Liam leaned forward. “The family had this tradition about gardens that they weren’t sure would work in space.”