13 Degrees of Separation

by Hechtl, Chris

  He was offering more for them, more than what the orbital and fuel prices were. since they were untested but incredibly rare he was betting the dickering would fill in the remaining 20 hours they had before they reached orbit. He was right about that.

  Ten hours later he got a response. An excited response as Governor Oman himself greeted the ship and offered to negotiate for both the orbital fees, fuel, landing, and food fees. If this worked out they'd be covered, hell, they might even come out a few credits in the black, the Captain thought with an amused flicker of a smile.

  “Do we have to?” Alice asked turning to the pilot.

  “Yes, we do, so stop asking Alice. We have no choice. Orders are orders,” the pilot said. He'd already heard enough grumbling from his cargo master and his assistant. Both were more than a bit put out over handling their precious cargo. Neither were happy about handing it over to the luddites for fuel either. Of course they weren't privy to all aspects of the plan.

  He checked the rear camera feed. The cargo master was just about finished buttoning the boat up. He was double checking the straps securing the precious stasis pods to the hover pallet. The pallet was off, they didn't need the damn thing's force emitters messing with the shuttle's emitters while in flight. His finger hit the intercom switch. “All set?” he asked.

  The chief looked up, turned and slapped the intercom switch on his end. “All set here, though I think it's a waste handing these babies over to groundies. You'd think we'd need them or something,” he grumbled.

  “All part of a higher plan,” the pilot responded. “Now strap in, it's going to be a bumpy flight,” he said.

  “No hot dogging,” Raff said from the copilot seat. “You heard what the exec said about the last time you did that,” he growled.

  “Everyone's got to take the fun out of life,” the pilot grumbled, hearing Alice clipping her safety harness on and then tapping at her controls. “Flight?”

  “Go,” Alice responded dutifully. “All lights green.”

  “Cargo?” he asked, looking up and flipping the power on start up sequence before he looked down to the center console. The engines were starting to power up. Good.

  “Green,” the cargo master replied.

  “Then folks, let's go make our delivery,” the pilot responded.

  Sprite watched the video feed of the shuttle landing. She was amused, the pilot was good for an organic, better than some she had heard about. He'd dropped the shuttle a little low, but corrected and landed neatly. The landing added an extra sense of drama to a normally routine matter from her time. Here it was something else.

  The boarding ramp dropped and the hatch opened. Apparently they didn't want to taxi the shuttle to the waiting customs station for processing. A person, human in a battered flight suit emerged from the shuttle and looked around. He spotted the circus of cameras and people and hesitantly waved to them.

  Another crew member brusquely passed the first and then said something that the far away microphones didn't pick up. The effect though was obvious, the other crew member stopped waving and went to work. They went to the cargo hatch and started undogging it.

  “Not even checking to see if they will get the fuel?” Sprite asked. “Remarkably trusting of them,” she said to Irons.

  “Maybe,” Irons replied. He was more interested in the shuttle. It wasn't military grade, it had to be a civilian knock off of a Highland class naval shuttle. It had two umbilical ports on either ventral side, one small one larger. The one the crew had exited from was the smaller port hatch. From the look of the shuttle it was in remarkably good condition. Whoever owned it, knew how to take care of her. That was rare in these times.

  “Anything from the ship?” Irons asked.

  “No, no communications to Phoenix at all, which is strange.”

  “Not very talkative with the competition?”

  “Everyone likes to talk, even if it's only to size the competition up and see what tidbits they could get out of them. Maybe see where they are going next. It's odd.”

  “Arrogant, smug?” Irons asked.

  “Quite so,” she replied.

  “Well, they are civilians, they have some right to privacy. Let me know if that changes,” he said as the cargo hatch opened and a hover pallet dropped out. He thought it had been sloppy securing of such precious cargo but two other workman were there pushing it out. Straps dangled from the side of the cargo pod. The pods were covered in a tight fitting tarp, the disappointment from some of the crowd was obvious from their groans.

  *****

  Raff tried hard not to glare at the fat guy in white coming up to them. A sheriff with a duster and black hat on was behind him, practically bouncing in glee. Others followed. “This it?” Hodges asked, waving to the stasis capsules.

  “Yes sir, all six accounted for.”

  “Well, there is a matter of your landing fees,” the fat man said with a hint of avarice in his voice, pudgy hands holding his jacket lapel. “Each time you land and all...”

  “Which is covered. We have a negotiated contract,” Raff replied with dignity. “All charges go to the Governor's office,” he said.

  “They do?” Hodges asked in dismay. Raff snorted as the fat man's face fell. He probably thought he'd scam them and didn't know he was the one getting played.

  “Yes sir. If you have any problems you can take it up with Governor Owan. He's monitoring the situation as we speak,” Raff replied, pointing to a camera remote nearby. Now he knew why the boss had told Alice to set the thing up.

  “They are?” Hodges asked, sounding further dismayed.

  “Yes sir,” Raff said as the sheriff poked the fat man.

  “Boss, is this going to mess up your plan? You know about saying how they never delivered?” he stage whispered. Raff scowled.

  “Eh! Rosco!” the fat man batted at the sheriff's finger and then scowled as the sheriff stepped back, hands up. “Go make sure the shipment's secure!” he snarled waving him on.

  “I apologize,” he said, turning to Raff. Alice came out, wiping her hands on a rag. “For such unseemly things. We'll get the fuel rolling in a moment,” he said, chuckling and cocking his head as he put his hands together piously.

  “Yes sir, we're supposed to refuel 6 times and also get a load of food and other materials,” Raff replied.

  “Six!” Hodges said, eyes wide in dismay. “No one said that many!”

  “It's all part of the contract,” Raff replied, smiling sweetly. “And it's 6 for the fuel. 8 all together,” he added, feeling the need to twist the fat man's tail a bit more.

  “Oooohhh...” The fat man groaned, looking like he was ready to eat his hat. Raff just smiled a bit more.

  *****

  Each time they landed for fuel the crew were more nervous, though they tried to hide it. “Why are we doing this?” Raff asked. Alice snorted. She was an old hand at this.

  “Because we're following orders. The Captain wants his due. If anything happens we'll pull out.”

  “But...”

  “It'll be fine. A director Richards has taken custody of the pods. They have been transported to Rubicon.”

  “They have?”

  “Where is that?” the copilot asked.

  “A hundred kilometers west of here so relax,” Alice replied with a slight smile. “Word is they may not even open them. There is still a lot of discussion going on.”

  “Where did you hear all this?” Raff asked.

  Alice frowned. “I'm not just a pretty face,” she replied. “I've been listening to the media. The politicians...” she smiled nastily. “Are fighting over who gets what share, and how they divvy it up, if they divvy it up. There is speculation that they may hang onto the pods to sell to someone else.”

  “Really,” Raff asked, now worried the plan might fail.

  “We'll see,” Alice replied with a shrug. “Out of our hands anyway.”

  *****

  “Did you hear about these latest intel reports Captai
n?” the exec asked, waving a tablet.

  The Captain looked up from his diner and frowned. He preferred to eat alone in his cabin, but he'd asked the exec to join him. Now he was wondering if he would regret that particular courtesy. “No, but I'm afraid you'll tell me,” he said, dabbing at his chin with his napkin.

  The exec frowned, blushing slightly at the rebuke. The Captain had a general rule, no talk of work during a meal. “Sorry sir,” he said, setting the tablet down by his table setting. “Were you waiting long sir?” he asked politely as the steward materialized to pour him a glass of wine.

  “No, just through the appetizer,” the Captain replied as the steward removed the now mostly empty plate. “What's on your mind number one,” he sighed, sitting back.

  “We should of gone to Antigua.”

  “Oh?”

  “And we've got a complication. The ship in orbit? The Phoenix?”

  “Yes?”

  “It's reportedly owned by Admiral Irons.”

  “Irons!” the Captain said, sitting up straight.

  The exec nodded. “Yes, apparently he came from Antigua. Where he recovered a space station. A factory city, Antigua Prime,” the exec said, turning the tablet so the Captain could see it and then hitting the image gallery key. Images of Irons report to the media were shown, including an image of the factory city.

  “Are these confirmed?”

  “We're getting it from several sources sir, but the primary one is Alice. She picked it up on their last drop. I asked her to get a copy of the paper. She said she'd check the library if they had time on their next drop.”

  “Good,” the Captain nodded.

  “But sir...”

  “We can't take it back number one. Which means we're committed here. But this...” he picked the tablet up, studying it. “I wonder why Irons left?”

  “He tried to put a positive spin on it sir, but it sounded like it's being run by hippies.”

  “Hippies?”

  “Peace nuts. Make love not war. They drove him out. Not quite like Pyrax but close enough,” the exec reported. “What are we going to do?”

  “We're going to finish here, then change our plans. I'll fill you in later. But this does open up all sorts of interesting possibilities. In the right hands this station... yes indeed. It definitely has possibilities. Yes, yes indeed...” the Captain murmured, smiling.

  *****

  The pilot looked up annoyed as the family of three approached them. He had enough on his plate running fuel and supplies up to the ship and then dropping back down. The Captain wanted it done yesterday, so he had barely enough time to unload before he had to turn around and drop again. He'd been tempted to let Raff take the stick a few times, the kid needed the flight time, but he had to live up to his reputation as a stick hog. Besides, he had two more flights before they were done. And then six months before he got to do it again. “Just what we need,” the cargo master sighed, shaking his head subtly.

  “Just be cool, you know the drill,” the pilot said as the family drew into range. “Something we can help you with folks?” he asked.

  “Yes,” the man said and then spat. He was nervous, but he was trying on a false bravado to cover it up. “Me 'n mine's lookin to vamoose from these here parts,” he said.

  The pilot looked the family up and down as the cargo master turned away to snicker. “Me 'n mines?” the cargo master muttered shaking his head. The pilot poked him. He turned back to the family. Each of the 3 were dressed in leather, each outfit exquisitely made. Too bad, since the parents weren't much to look at. The man had black leather pants on, a white linen shirt, and a brown vest. The vest and shirt were opened down to his navel showing his curly brown chest hair and fat beer belly. The woman might have been something a while back but she was pretty homely now. She didn't say anything, just stood behind her husband quietly, head down, hands clasped in front of her. They also stank a bit. The little blond girl though...

  “You are asking for a ride? An orbital hop or...”

  “To Gaston,” the man said. He grimaced and looked back at his wife. When she didn't look up he nudged her. “Well? Go on, say somethin!”

  The woman looked up. It was obvious she'd wasn't a looker now that they saw that homely face. “I, um... my uncle Lew owns a spread in Gaston,” she said softly. The pilot wanted to move upwind, the woman's breath was horrendous, rotten teeth and a diet of garlic and onions most likely. He had all he could do not to wave his hand in front of his face and pinch his nose. “He sent word back to come and he'd grubstake us,” she said and bit her lip. “Jarod could get work with Jerry the local blacksmith until he had enough to strike it out on his own if he wanted,” she added.

  “So you've been in touch with him recently?” the pilot asked, eyes narrowing.

  “Naw, like she said, he sent word in one of them papers.”

  “Letters,” the woman murmured. Her husband glared a bit at her.

  “Letters. Right. Hodges's done his level best to run us out of town, with all his taxes and fees and such. He used somethin called Eminent Domain to seize the farm last week. Something bout turnin it into 'Hodges's heavenly estates' another cemetery for rich folk,” he said in disgust.

  “That's not right,” Alice the flight engineer said, coming up behind the pilot. “Well! Hello! Who might you be?” She smiled down, leaning forward and down, hands on her knees as she greeted the girl. The little blond hid behind her mother shyly. “Well ain't you the cutest thing!” she said chuckling. The little girl peeked out at her and then back behind her mother's skirts, little hands gripping the red leather dress tightly.

  “What's her name?” Alice asked, looking up to the girl's mom.

  “Eh,” the man said, turning. “Emma Sue. Never mind her.” He grimaced and then decided introductions were in order. “Name's Jarod, Wife here's Loni. We're the Gronix family.”

  “And you are from here?”

  “These parts,” Jarod replied with a nod. “Been here four, five generations,” he said, tipping his hat back to scratch at his balding scalp. “I've been a tanner and a pig farmer my whole life,” he said. “Best buggy whip maker on the continent.”

  “So why not stay? Set up shop somewhere else?” Alice asked, straightening and making eye contact with Jarod.

  Jarod sighed and shrugged. “Cause of all the progress they call it. Vehicles, I think they said. No one's interested in a buggy these days, they are all into those mechanical contraptions. Foolish if you ask me, but...” he shrugged helplessly.

  “The most work we've had is from Snidely,” Loni said quietly. “And he doesn't even own a buggy.”

  Jarod turned a glare on the woman and then back to the off worlders. “So, can we go?”

  “Hold on now, we've got to run it past our Captain. But first off, can you pay for the ticket?”

  “We've got some credits and some silver,” Jarod admitted. “And I've got a couple cases of the best tipple around. Traded it from the Dukes a while back. White lightening, 150 proof so best cut it if you aren't from around here,” he said.

  “Still not enough,” the pilot said, cocking his head. He hadn't even heard how much silver or credits. He didn't care.

  Jarod turned to the woman. She sighed and pulled something out of her pocket. She held it up. “Will this do?” she asked.

  Alice and the other off worlders stared at the little black plastic box. “That depends, what is it?” the pilot asked cautiously.

  “It's one of those e-lectronic things,” Loni said. “That admiral guy was handing them out.”

  “A flash chip?”

  “Nah, some machine thing,” Jarod said wrinkling his bulbous nose. He scratched at a wart on the side of his jaw. His brow was heavy, he looked almost Neanderthal in appearance. “Supposed to be a com...” he turned to Loni.

  “Computer,” she offered softly. He nodded and grunted.

  “Yeah, one of dem things,” he said and spat again.

  “What's on it?” Alic
e asked, reaching for it.

  “Teachin material, pictures, words. Useless stuff to me,” Jarod said, working his jaw. “I'm an honest man, do things with my hands,” he said, lifting his battered stained hands up. They were covered in calluses and cuts. “Give me a piece of hide and I can turn it into whatever you need. Saddle, bridle, whip, or clothes. Even seats and such. Say you need seat covers in your flying thing?” he asked, pointing to the shuttle.

  The pilot looked over his shoulder to the shuttle and then back. He shook his head but chuckled. “No, but thanks for the offer.”

  “I dunno, mine's been getting lumpy,” Alice teased. She shut up when he glowered in her direction.

  “I think the credits, tipple, silver, and that computer will work. We'll have to clear it with the Captain though,” the pilot said with a nod. “Let me make a call,” he said turning back to the shuttle.

  “Yeah, don't go usin Hodges's stuff, he'll charge ya for everything n then some,” Jarod growled and then spat again.

  “Why don't you folks meet us back here in say an hour or two?” Alice asked. “It's going to take that long to get the fuel sorted out,” she said, indicating the fuel truck nearby. It was pumping water into rubber bladders in the cargo bay of the shuttle.

  “Sure, sure, just let us know,” Jarod said, spreading his hands to motion his family off.

  When they were out of ear shot the engineer looked at Alice. “What are you doing?” he asked, leaning close to her and speaking quietly so they wouldn't be overheard.

  She grimaced. Trust Serius not to figure out the obvious. “Did you see that minicomp?”

  “Yeah so?”

  “It's probably got a couple petabytes of useful information on there. Stuff we can use.”

  “So?”

  “So, think about it,” she said and walked off.

  *****

  “Gronix family?” the Captain asked over the link. “You think they are worth it?” he asked.