13 Degrees of Separation
A series of short stories in the Wandering Engineer universe
Chris “Jekyll” Hechtl
Copyright:
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are fictional. Some may be parodies. Some characters are with permission. Any resemblance of some characters and places to others are strictly in the mind of the reader. :)
Copyright Chris Hechtl 2013 All rights reserved.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book and or portions thereof in any form.
Cover art by Chris Hechtl 2013 All rights reserved.
The image was created with packages created from various vendors on ShareCG.com, Renderosity.com, and Daz3D.com.
Proof Read and Copy Edited by: Gord Archer, Jacob Larson, Brandon Bynum, Thomas Burrows, Jim Olson, Jory Gray, and Poon Yee
Dedication
Hmm.... a lot of people or organizations contributed to stroking my imagination over the years, and I borrowed a few here and in other books. I thank them for the inspiration.
And as always, thanks to my family and the volunteer Editors who have been helping me push these stories out for you the readers. :)
Note: No, it's not deliberate that this is my 13th book and it has 13 in the title. (Yes, I know, only 10 others have been published) Still, it's cool and all. :)
Table of Contents
The Last Round Up
From the logs of the Io 11
Salvage
A Matter of Breeding
Leonardo
Yard Dogs
The adventures of Nohar Private Investigator
Special Delivery
Eternia
Barkeep
Cali and the wolves
Hauling Freight
Message in a bottle
Author's afterward:
Dramatic Personnel:
Appendix:
Rough Timeline of Books and Stories:
Sneak Peek:
Author's note:
The following is a collection of stories, some of which I had intended to release prior to Jethro 2. Unfortunately, it didn't work out that way. Sorry about that.
At the start of each story I have a general time indicator as well as a list of characters. I had intended to leave it out, but this may help you keep track of who is who. ;)
Now, on with the stories!
The Last Round Up
Time Period: Fool's Gold
Dramatic personnel/vessel:
Cowgirl: Annie Oakley
Mariah's Mischief: medium freighter/transport
Captain: 'honest sort.' silvering hair on temple and sides
Executive officer: High elf bluish skin, silver hair, long ears
Knuyuk the Veraxin assistant cargo master/purser
Bridge officer: Warrick
John Darling: glasses, tall, assistant engineer to Peter brother to Michael and Wendy
Wendy Darling: assistant purser to Knuyuk Former flame of Peter. Married, daughter Jane
George Darling: father to Wendy, John, and Michael. Was purser. Had a fatal heart attack
Michael Darling: youngest sibling of Darlings.
Jane Darling: daughter to Wendy and Peter.
Roger: Husband to Wendy
Peter “Pan the man” Rogers Banning: Chief engineer: decent well trained fellow.
Lost boys: Peter's engineering staff
...*...*...*...*...
Annie Oakley, cowgirl of the space lanes pursed her lips, looking out over the windy hills of her homeworld of New Texas. Freeport the capital city was quiet, real quiet, which was to be expected right about now. She dusted herself off and then picked up her duffels with callused hands. Her tan cowgirl hat was her trademark, she adjusted it so it wouldn't blow off in the wind. It had a blue striped feather in the hat band. She wore a pair of brown jeans and cowgirl boots. A leather belt with a broad buckle was around her waist. That buckle was hard won, she'd gotten it when she had been eleven in the planetary rodeo contest. A duster was over her shoulder, her saddle was in the crate behind her. The crate was a rarity, it had an antigrav emitter in the bottom to keep it floating, and it would follow the little transmitter on her belt like a loyal dog. She thought of it as the perfect pet.
She'd planned to rent a horse when she'd gotten to the port, but none had been available. She'd thought about taking the coach, but it was only a three kilometer walk so she decided to save her credits and hoof it. Half way there she was regretting her hard ass image. She was getting to old for this horse shit she realized.
She had come in on Pelican, and good riddance to her. Pelican had been an agonizingly slow trip after being on Io 11. They'd been in the lowest bands of Alpha the entire trip, it had taken nearly eight months to get from Proxima back to New Texas.
Pelican wasn't set up to run animals so she was glad when they'd dropped her off, took on fuel and a few trinkets, and then moved on. Or they were about to move on, the ship would be in orbit another week before they finished taking on stores. Heaven help her if they changed their minds and took on animals, she flat out refused to go. She'd had enough of the shaggy faces, grubby hands, and hungry looks.
Despite her tough outlook on life, she shivered. She hadn't been raped, hadn't been touched really, which made it better, and worse in some ways. Since all the males knew she wasn't seeing anyone on the ship they had all taken a turn to hit on her every chance they could. She didn't mind the occasional roll in the hay, but only on her terms. Usually with someone who'd heard of a shower. She'd kept to her cabin as much as possible, but even a rowdy girl like her needed to eat and socialize. A few moments in the mess with the unshaven, stinky spacers had cured her of her interest in the opposite sex.
They'd supposedly picked up some speed on the trip, though she couldn't see it. She'd been spoiled by her time on Io 11, she had to admit, it had been quite the experience. She would always be comparing that ship to any other she flew on now. Pelican was a death trap despite what the admiral had done for it. She'd heard the grumbling, heard a few had regretted letting him return to Io 11. She wasn't sure how they could have held him, but in some way she had wished they had. He might have been able to have done something in engineering, the crew couldn't get out of its' own way to do so on their own.
She was used to the make do or do without mentality many spacers and colonists had. She'd had it all her life after all, you did what you could with what you had. But you didn't just give up either. You kept working at it if it didn't quite work the way you wanted it. Find a go around was a famous spacer saying in some circles, as was do without. She'd learned that as a cowgirl growing up.
An hour and a half after she'd set out, she'd almost surprised herself as she passed the city limits sign and entered the outskirts of town. She stalked through the town, nodding to folk in passing, but mainly keeping her head down as she headed to her favorite hotel. It was coincidentally the closest one to the port.
She'd gratefully dropped her gear on the wood floor inside, and nodded to the desk clerk. The old woman knew her. She tossed her a key. “Thank you kindly,” Annie said, and then coughed.
“Road dust. Get's you every time Annie, I don't see why you don't take the coach like everyone else,” Esmay teased, fluttering herself with a feathered fan.
Annie shrugged, rolling her shoulders. Esmay snorted. “I'll have Jake draw you a bath. Get along gal,” she said, waving a hand.
“I thank you kindly,” Annie said again, tipping her hat to the proprietress.
“I'll have Jake bring something up to cut the road dust too,” Esmay said with a small smile. “Welcome home Annie,” she said.
Annie nodded again and hea
ded to her room. She knew Jake would bring her bags and saddle to her later.
...*...*...*...*...
The next day Annie wandered around Freeport, hands in her pockets, checking things out. She wasn't a tourist, she had been born on New Texas. It hadn't changed in her forty plus years of playing space rancher, each time she left she expected something or other to change. Oh sure the faces changed, but the feel didn't. People came and went, they died, sometimes a fire would destroy part of the town, but it would be rebuilt, stubbornly like it had been before. Wooden buildings right out of some ancient western film. She hadn't understood the reference until she'd become a space wrangler. Her homeworld clung to its roots, stubborn seemed a part of life.
There was no work at this time since it was spring. She rested her foot on the bottom rail of the fencing around the empty stockyards. Hectares of fencing, a maze of sorting chutes all coming from the entrances at the edge of town, all but one with a final destination, the slaughter houses and processing plants. She turned her head and spat, feeling the spring wind ruffle her curly bangs. She closed her eyes, ignoring the scent of drying bull pucky. Kids were out there with wheel barrows, picking through the manure like connoisseurs.
Everything about the animals was used, little wasted. The manure was being gathered up, dried it was sold to the ranch hands for fuel for their fires out on the plains. Wet it was sold to the local farms for fertilizer. The hides went into the leather industry. Leather was a big thing here on New Texas, one of the Major exports too. The offal was used, some of the guts dried and used as guitar string.
The meat... some of it went to the barbeques, but a lot of it was dried into jerky. They had electricity, but no one had bothered to invest in such frills as refrigeration. If you wanted something kept cold you shipped it to the mountains or to the poles. Otherwise it was salted.
She'd worked briefly in the plants. That wasn't a job for her, you had to be young and stupid to take such a job and keep it. Belts whirling about, sharp knives. She suppressed a shiver as the memory of her time there washed over her. No, she'd seen a kid decapitated by a loose belt. She'd quit the next day and hadn't ever regretted it. Besides, the slaughter houses were dead anyway. Harvest time in the fall was where the work was. For now the spring culls would be handled in the field by the ranch. She could get a job out on the range, but didn't want to be sleeping on cold earth at her age.
She turned, resting her elbows on an upper rail, leaning into the fence. She was glad it wasn't electrified now. She heard the creak of a windmill near and turned to glance at it. It spun, gently turning in the light breeze. She could hear the distant strumming of a banjo down the way. She looked, an old gaffer was tuning it. Another pair were playing checkers with a barrel as the table. One looked her way, spat, then pulled out a long neck and took a long pull. She looked away then shaded her eyes to look at the sun, then checked her tablet for the time.
She'd gotten soft, she thought, using her hat to brush dust off her pants. She thought about going out, doing a job until another ship came in. But ranches didn't hire temporaries around this time either. They were wary of them, anyone not in the ranch was potential trouble. Eyes and ears of someone else interested in rustling.
No, she didn't need to prove nothin to anyone, least of all herself. She was getting soft, not stupid. And she wasn't stupid enough to work in the brothel or waste what she'd scrimped and saved in the bars waiting for something to come up. No, she'd damn well find something here, despite her pride. Sweeping floors or waiting tables if need be. She turned, set herself and then headed back into town.
...*...*...*...*...
When she was turned down by the storefronts, Annie put in for work with Wario and other ranch hand chiefs. Most of the ranchers snubbed her right off, slamming the door in her face. Those that had some manners told her nothing was available before the door was shut.
She'd expected as much, no one wanted to hire a temporary hand who was going to ride off when the next ship came in. She didn't hold any ill will towards them, though it was a bit annoying. She sighed, brushing dust off her legs before walking on.
...*...*...*...*...
Two weeks of fruitless searching and Annie was desperate for work. Her savings were getting down there. Which made for a fortuitous coincidence, a ship was said to be entering orbit. She heard about it in the local bar and practically dragged as much information out of the off duty port communications tech as she could. She'd had to bribe the bastard with a free beer in order to get his lips open to start talking. He'd joked about the talking being thirsty work.
“It's the Mariah's Mischief. She's a medium freighter. She's calling for animals and they've got the trade goods and reputation to back it up.”
“Mariah's Mischief?” Annie asked as Bert, the bartender poured her another shot.
“Rode on her before Annie?” Bert asked. She shook her head no.
“Word is they are headed North to Syntia's world. They had me put in calls to the nearest ranches to see who had what available,” her informant said.
“Really?” Annie asked, turning that idea over in her head. Someone was on the ball, that was good.
“What do they want? Spring buck?” Bert asked.
The tech took a pull of beer and then shook his head as he set the mug back down on the cork coaster. “No, bison.”
Annie frowned. The gene engineered bison were hardy, and the run was short, but it was spring, the animals had been through a long cold winter and this was the time they usually put on meat after a long lean winter. Sure, some of the nearest ranches were selling their young early, most went to the springtime barbeques and to refill the larders after the long winter. There was currently a glut on the market, too much hoof going around.
“Why are there so many culls?”
“I thought it was disease, but someone tried some new stuff that there admiral fellow recommended and now there are too many heads. Or so they said,” Bert said. Annie didn't see the sense in that, either they'd had a bad spring and the grass was bad, disease, inbreeding, or something else was up.
It could be that they were selling their culls, getting rid of the runts or the ones that wouldn't last long. Lame... she'd have to watch out for that. She frowned, realizing she was thinking that she'd already taken the job when she hadn't applied for it. She hadn't reconnoitered it to be sure it was worth having. She vowed to do that, first chance she got. Culls though... Bad.
Not that the cowgirl was going to tell the spacers that. Most ships took on animals in the fall, that was when they were harvested and the cows were re-bred. The ships in port at that time took whatever was offered, glad to get in and out with the animals since they fetched such a high price on the other end.
The best animals went to market on New Texas, some of the more shadier characters shipped out the dregs with the spacers who showed up around that time. The dregs survived better around that time, all fattened up. Even though they were the dregs the animals were in high demand. Their succulent meat was much prized in the sector. She paid her tab and then headed to the city pens.
...*...*...*...*...
She heard the familiar chink chink of approaching boots. She scented a familiar cologne and snorted. “You still putting that stink on?” she asked, not opening her eyes.
“Well, hello to you too Miss Annie,” a gruff voice laughed. She turned to see the old weathered face of Wario, the lead ranch hand on Jim Drake's property. “Been a while gal,” he said, tipping his hat to look at the small herd. He'd been on the ball, bringing the herd in right after getting the call about the ship, beating his competition here. Ships didn't make money sitting in orbit, they made it moving their goods. Wario had turned her down for the job only a few days ago, but apparently today was a new day.
“That it has,” she said, turning to look at them. She studied Wario out of the corner of her eye. He was putting on weight, which wasn't like him. He had suspenders now. He had a curly mustache, a fresh scar on his
throat, a bullet hickey from the look of it. “How's life treating you?” she asked.
“The same. Bout the same.”
“Ayeyup,” she drawled.
“Look Annie,” he sighed and turned to her. “I need a favor.”
“A favor? Well, la-dee-da. Wario, the head ranch hand of Drake wants something from li'l ole me,” Annie said, voice dripping sarcasm. She'd said about the same words to Wario the other day.
Wario didn't even wince. “Old is pushing it gal,” Wario snorted. “You being you, and I know you don't want to sit around much longer. You heard about this herd shipping out?”
“Ayeyup,” she said, noncommittal.
“Thinking about taking it on? It's up your alley,” he said.
Annie shook her head. Half way to the pens she'd picked up some people talking about the MM's call. Apparently they wanted a hand, but at rock bottom prices, or tied to a percentage of profit from the sale of the herd. She'd heard that crap before. “Price isn't right. And I'm not keen about the space. Too many animals, too little space.” She'd done some research on her tablet, pulling the ship's class up and taking a look. It was a medium all right, but fitting a hundred head in would be damn tight.
“Annie...” he said in appeal, hands apart.
Her eyes flashed. She hated being buttered up for something. “Don't Annie me,” she growled, glaring. “You know better than to butter up any gal other than Matilda. How's she doing by the way?”
“Darlin's doing well. Now don't you change the subject missy,” he said, shaking a thick finger at her. She snorted. “She give me the rough edge of her tongue for not having you by for dinner since you're in town.”
“Yeah well, not much going on,” Annie said hunching her shoulders. She hadn't wanted to stick around the ranch after getting rebuffed anyway.
He winced. “Okay, I forgot my New Texas hospitality. I'll make it up to you. Grease the wheels and get you in here.”
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