Jem cocked his head at him. “What do you want?” He still wasn’t going to say yes, but he had to admit he was curious about this. Why was Moskvin so eager to keep him on the payroll? And why was he going out of his way to flatter Jem?
“A ride.” Moskvin dropped his head and hunched his shoulders a little. Jem wondered how aware he was of his body language. “I need a ride out of here.”
“You obviously have access to faster ships than the Tanager,” Jem pointed out. Spend weeks with this joker? That wasn’t going to happen.
“My transport was a straight shot from Altressa to here.” Moskvin had dropped the hyperactive approach altogether. “You had another stop. And they were, ah, called away before I could make it back onboard.”
“I am not going back to Altressa,” Jem pointed out. “And I am certainly not going to alter my route for you.”
“I just need to get off Flinders. My boss is going to kill me if I’m late to my next meet, and she’s not kidding around when she says that.” Moskvin shrugged. “I know; I’ve given you a rough time.”
“Yeah.” Jem crossed his arms.
“I’ll pay you.”
“Of course you will.” Jem uncrossed his arms. “I’m not leaving right this moment.”
Moskvin straightened out of his hangdog pose. “You’ll take me?”
“No, I’m thinking about it. To be very frank, I’d intended to hand over the package and be done with you.” Jem didn’t care if Moskvin took offense. In fact, if he did, maybe he’d go away and pester someone else. “But I have work to do now, and I don’t actually need the money that badly.”
Which was true. Walter had been very careful with his planning for this transition time, and Jem liked to make a profit at every stop, but could take a modest loss and still not run into trouble. He was very aware that Walter had given him a great gift with that, and by teaching him to never take on debts. Jem had already been conditioned to abhor the idea of owing, given his background, but Walter’s reinforcements had given him viable options even if he was backed into a corner - which he was not. Moskvin could walk home, for all Jem cared.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” Jem started to walk to the exit hatch, dismissing Moskvin. Their conversation was over.
Chapter 9: In a Miner Key
Jem, safely out of the Tanager and away from Moskvin, headed for the first of several places he’d visit that day. Flinders required special set up. There was no set market place or time, and Jem never knew when he’d be landing, either. He’d go have a drink, let it be known he was around and ready to trade, and the miners would come. Tomorrow, the next day - the routine was no more than a week on Flinders, and Jem could only remember once they had stayed that long. There just wasn’t much here. Bars, restaurants of a sort, and rock. Lots of rock.
Jem didn’t want any of the rock. Mining was a fool’s game when you were a small operation. Sure, some of the miners would hit it big. But more wouldn’t. Jem had been fascinated to learn that on Old Earth, the people who made money weren’t miners. They were the people who supplied the miners. People like him. And that thought took him into the “Big Overeasy” with a bounce in his step.
Mags was behind the big bar, polishing it slowly with a buffer. The bar was a piece of art, just like the rest of the room. Carved from the rock, sealed, and inhabited, it could have looked rough and unwelcoming, but somehow Mags - or possibly Mag’s father, Jem had no idea how old the big man really was - had succeeded. Mags showed none of the polish that his bar did. His craggy face could only really be called ugly, until he gave one of his rare grins.
He shut off the buffer and broke into a smile. “Young Jem!”
Jem grinned back. “Mags, you still here?”
“T’ere ain’t no daisies on Flinders. C’aint die wit’out daisies to push up.” The big man pulled his face into a lugubrious mask and shook it slowly.
Jem started to laugh. “You’re too mean to die, Mags.”
“Reckon that’s so.” Mags came around the bar to thump Jem on the shoulder and look closely into his eyes. He dropped the thick accent, which was more a gimmick for customers. “Terrible sorry about your Pa, Jem.”
Jem didn’t correct him. Mags had given him a look, the first time he’d called Walter Jem’s father, and Jem had decided the better part of valor was accepting that in Mag’s viewpoint, the man who housed him, fed him, and gave him a smack upside the head when Jem misbehaved was, in fact, a father to him. That had been on the first season. Jem knew that part of the reason he liked Mags so much was that look.
“He was ready.” Jem shrugged. “Not saying I don’t miss him.”
Mags nodded in sympathy. “Set a bit, lad.”
Mags went behind the slab of polished rock and Jem sat at a stool across from him. The room wasn’t entirely empty, but he was the only one sitting at the bar. It was unusually quiet in the Overeasy. Jem looked around while Mags got his drink.
“Where is everybody?” He asked as the big man slid him a frosty glass. Jem picked it up and took a small sip. The he took another longer one. Mags raised an eyebrow. Jem took his cue. “It’s good, Mags. Tart without being bitter, and not too sweet. Very refreshing. How the heck did you get mendelmelon on Flinders?”
Mags nodded, almost smiling. This was something they’d done pretty much from Jem’s first appearance in his bar as a runty kid. Mags experimented on him with a drink, and Jem gave his opinion. There wasn’t alcohol in it - still wasn’t, for that matter, although Jem was old enough now - but Jem knew that some of the more successful attempts were served on the menu as mixed drinks.
Now, he answered Jem’s question. “Been quiet for a few days. Big split opened up over in 20 quadrant and everyone rushed out to see what’s new.”
Jem took another drink from his glass, thinking. This was bad timing for him, if his potential customers were all out digging up Flinder’s perpetually unstable crust. He shrugged, “So what’s the news?”
Mags pulled the buffer off the bar and tucked it underneath out of sight. It wasn’t very noisy, but enough to make conversation difficult. Jem had asked him once, years before, why he used a hand buffer and cloths instead of a robotic device. Mags had looked at him for a long moment before explaining that it kept his hands busy during slow times. Jem wasn’t quite sure that was the whole answer, but he’d accepted it then.
“We-ell,” Mags drew out his response. “Seems to me that I haven’t heard a whole lot, yet. Which doesn’t mean much. They hit a big lode, then they’ll be trying to keep their mouths shut until claim’s ‘re filed. Or it could be a big ol’ boondoggle.”
Jem nodded. It was too soon to know. He’d have to linger, and make do with who was in town. “I’ve got the usual, the Gaelic Mac asked me for, and some extras.”
“Got any fruit?” Mags took Jem’s empty glass.
“Strawberries comin’ on.” Jem got up. He couldn’t stay and talk, as much as he enjoyed it. “I’ll bring them tomorrow if you like.”
Mags nodded. Jem knew that they would freeze well if they didn’t sell fast and fresh. And once the miners knew Jem was on the Rock, they’d see Mags for the fresh goodies Jem and Walter always brought. “See ya.” Mags offered, reaching for his buffer again. As he walked out the door, Jem could hear the low hum of the machine start up again.
He looked up the corridor, which was broad and smooth through this stable nodule in the crust of Flinders. The community was based here, where a split to reveal the active ores wasn’t going to happen. But the shape of the irregular nodule dictated the size and layout of the miner’s colony. Off the broad main corridor there were many narrow and twisting ones. Jem knew better than to wander too far - he’d be lost in no time. So he’d stick to the establishments on the main street of town, as it were.
The stores were cheek-by-jowl along the way, plasglass windows showing displays of everything from the practical safety and exosuits the miners relied on to do their work, to the shop full of dusty junk tha
t made Jem wonder how it had gotten to Flinders. Stowage was limited and miners were usually too poor to pay overages. He sometimes went in, because there were always things he had no idea what they were. But today he walked past it, noting as he did that the lights were out. Closed on account of the lode rush, no doubt.
No one threw anything out on Flinders. The cost of bringing goods in was too high. And storage was relatively cheap, since most hardgoods could simply be exposed to vacuum. This was why Walter’s wares here were mostly garden goods. It’s not that the miners couldn’t have a garden of their own - Jem was sure some did, especially the few who’d brought families to this rough outpost - but most of them would rather spend their time looking for the next big split and the elusive lodes of ore.
Jem turned into the hardware store. It wasn’t, he knew, what someone from Old Earth would have recognized as that - he’d looked up photos. This was what you got if you put together a huge workshop, parts for everything you might need and then some, and men who were often bored and frequently worked in dangerous, even lethal, conditions. As a boy, Jem had loved this place. He still made a point of visiting it every time he was on Flinders. For one thing, it was a hub of local gossip as the miners were in here repairing equipment, dropping it off for the in-house techs, or just hanging out and gabbing.
The hardware store wasn’t as slow as the Overeasy. Various worktables were in use, and the men at them seemed to be focused and rushing. Working fast to get back out to the split, Jem guessed. The room was dusty - he’d just walked through a static curtain over the door to keep it in here and not out in the corridor, although some seeped through even that. Jem sneezed.
“Hey, kid!” Mac, the big Scot Jem had been looking for, waved from the far side of the room. Jem made his way over. Mac was a repair tech. He’d lost a foot long before Jem had gotten to know him, and although he wore a prosthetic, it had been the turning point in his career from miner to something that wasn’t trying to kill him every second, he’d explained.
Jem had been given a commission by him the last time he’d been through. The repair tech had gotten in touch with his roots, donned a kilt, and really wanted to learn Gaelic. Jem had found the lessons in an obscure shop, and he pulled the datagem out of his pocket now, to hand to Mac with a flourish.
“An’ here ye are.” He announced with a bad brogue.
Mac laughed. “I never doubted you, kid.” He stuffed the gem in his sporran, the pouch that hung at his waist, and held his hand out for Jem’s tablet to make payment. “Was it any trouble to find?”
Jem shrugged. “I have my sources. Found some other interesting languages same place I got that one, so it wasn’t a bit of trouble.”
“Och, aye.” Mac winked at him and handed the tablet back. He dropped out of the accent he’d picked up from old vids, “picked a bad time to shop up, though. Place is dry as a bone.”
“You look busy,” Jem pointed out, looking down at the bench Mac had been working on. A helmet was partially disassembled there.
“Sure, me. But the lads’ll have no time for amusements until this one has played out. And they’re living on survival rats and suit nutrients.”
Jem matched Mac’s grimace with one of his own. Rats and nutrients were a balanced diet, the scientists claimed. You wouldn’t starve or have a vitamin deficiency if you ate your recommended daily quota. The problem was in forcing yourself to consume that much of it. Now, when the fever died down, the miners would be desperate for good greens and fresh meat. Until then...
Jem shrugged, rolling his shoulders and feeling the stiffness of his last workout. “Happens. Flinders is chancy.”
“That it is, lad, that it is.” Mac sighed and looked at his work. “Meet you for supper, Jem? I have a rush on this one.”
“See you then.” Jem left him to his finicky work, and prowled round the room, talking to those who would take the time to chat. Most of the miners didn’t even look up at him, their fingers busy and their eyes locked onto dreams only they could see. Jem could see that they were cannibalizing old units to repair old suits. These were the guys who couldn’t afford to have new parts brought in - either up-front cost, or the time that would mean keeping them away from prospecting. Jem thought it was a bad way to do repair work, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.
Chapter 10: Difficult Decisions
As Jem walked down the corridor, he pondered the schedule of his stay. Even with only the two stops, he already had a feeling that this was going to be a loss. Leaving quickly wouldn’t reduce that, but it would keep it from getting larger. He’d reviewed the records before docking, and Flinders had been a smaller and smaller profit over the last three cycles. If he hadn’t made a promise, he would take it off the route. It wouldn’t make him happy, but visiting friends at this expense would not keep the Tanager flying and him fed. And the pup.
He headed for the ship to give the pup some attention. He’d keep his dinner appointment, but foot traffic - or lack of it - told him that no one was in the habitat. Jem wondered what the living quarters were like at the split. It wasn’t like camping on a planet - not that he’d done that, either. But he’d read about it. He made a mental note to look up remote asteroid mining or something. It might help with his final cargo to Flinders before his agreement was fulfilled and he had to take the stop off his list.
Between one step and the next, the corridor moved. Jem stumbled when his foot just kept going down, and wound up on one knee, both hands splayed flat on the rubberized floor coating. He was watching the unthinkable... the floor was undulating. For a brief second he stayed still, his mind coolly musing that it was like watching a worm moving, and then he was back on his feet, running. After a few crazy steps, the floor settled back down, and he became aware that sirens were blaring all over the habitat. Jem sprinted for the Overeasy, and Mags. He was closer than the Tanager.
The corridor was getting crowded as people popped out of shops and homes. Some were in suits, others were still scrambling into theirs. Jem winced as he dodged a flailing arm. His suit was on the ship. If the hab had cracked, he’d be sucking vacuum about now. But the Flinders habitat had been stable since it was built... He forced the thought from his mind. He couldn’t go back in time and fetch his suit, and if there were atmospheric leaks, they weren’t bad enough to kill him just yet.
With that thought, he slowed from a sprint to a jog, feeling his heart racing as he did so. He wasn’t the only one to head for the Overeasy, and Jem joined the flow of people entering the bar. Mags was standing on the bar itself, holding his hands up.
“Folks! Everyone, settle down a minute. The comm system is cracked - we can get some, but not the public overheads.” Mags’ shout got the crowd to stop talking for a minute.
Someone called “What do you know?”
Mags shook his head. “Not a lot more than you. We’ve had a quake. The habitat is intact - I don’t know about minor leaks. Those of you who have assigned damage control stations, be at them.”
“What about the rest of us?” That was a different voice. Jem regretted not being taller, not that he’d had a choice of when he stopped growing anyway.
“If you’ve got a full suit, and suit comms, fire hunting.” Mags looked grimmer. “With all the shaking, there’s bound to be loose wires and that causes fires. Get going.”
Jem stepped out of the doorway to let the surge of people get past him. Fire was a very bad thing in a limited air environment. It was one of his concerns on the Tanager, but the same was true of a station or habitat. Jem made his way to the front of the room as the people in it thinned out. Mags had gotten off the bar and was talking to a small group of men. He nodded at Jem.
“I’m more worried about the miners out of town,” Mags was saying, his voice low enough not to fill the whole room.
“Not a lot we can do until comms are back up.” the man speaking was holding a rigid helmet, and wearing the rest of a special suit Jem recognized as being a miner’s rig - arm
ored, so rockfalls wouldn’t kill him.
“What if the comms don’t come back up?” Jem recognized this voice, and startled. He wasn’t expecting to see Dilar Moskvin in Mags’ bar. No reason not, to... it just felt like an invasion of one of his favorite places. Moskvin’s voice was as grim as Mags’ had been, and his skin looked pale, almost greyish.
“Might not.” Mags sighed. “Not until we find the break and repair it. Satellites don’t work well for Flinders, the eccentric orbit means they burn reaction to keep up, and,” he shrugged, not needing to explain that was expensive, and no real government meant no funding for such frivolities.
“What about a repeater?” Jem spoke up, regretting it an instant later when they all looked at him. He swallowed. “It’s, um, just an idea.”
“You’re thinking of using your ship?” Mags asked. It was hard to tell on that craggy face what he was thinking, but the voice sounded thoughtful.
“If need be, yes.” Jem didn’t know if the comms they had could be used to relay over that distance, but he’d read about the technique. For that matter... “I also have a drone. Its purpose is long-range object detection, but it has a comm suite.”
Mags raised one bushy eyebrow. “Wonder where Walter came up with that.”
Jem shrugged. All he knew is that it would be expensive to replace. Using it here didn’t mean losing it, though, just emplacing and then picking it up later.
“Viable idea,” Moskvin broke in. “Can we reach the lode with only one repeater, though?”
“If not, we can place the ship and the drone for a two-step.” Mags pointed out.
Jem nodded. “Is there another ship docked right now?”
Mags shook his head. “Ore hauler went out about six hours ago. Next one’s due in a week.”
The miner in his suit had been listening silently. Now he looked at Jem. “Can your ship land?”
Jem nodded. “The Tanager was designed to enter atmosphere. Getting you to the lode would be simple.”
Tanager's Fledglings (The Tanager Book 1) Page 9
