The following takes place in the Senka system after the events in Jethro 2.
Roger spotted the cylinder tumbling end over end towards him. It was the light that caught his attention, a little blinking yellow light that came and went as the thing tumbled. He turned, instinctively locking onto the object.
His training told him it was salvage, a beacon. From the look of it, recent, it had riggers tape on one end and a miner's mark. He frowned then swore. He saw letters stenciled on it, but from the distance he was at, about a million clicks out, his zoom couldn't pick it up clear enough to read. He moved in cautiously.
The Senka star system was still picking up the pieces from its last battle. It was always like that, or so it seemed. The damn pirates plagued the sector, and for some reason they loved to kick and tear up the people in the lonely system.
There wasn't much worth taking left, they'd taken most of what mattered. People still lived here though, stubborn people who refused to just roll over and die. The hardy people in the system refused to leave and were again rebuilding slowly.
Roger frowned as he maneuvered closer. The lettering... It looked like an upside down number. One last puff of his maneuvering jets and he braked. A hand reached out, unfolding from its tucked in position to reach for the tumbling cylinder.
Carefully but with great experience the miner let the tube hit his grapple hand. Most of its momentum died in that instance of contact. It's tumble changed to a wobble. He reached, it took him several tries, but finally he caught the cylinder.
Carefully he maneuvered it in front of his view port. Roger was surprised when he flipped over the tube, it was from old forty niner. “Now, what the hell could have ruined that asshole's day?” he murmured to himself as he manipulated the arm to deposit the cylinder into his lock.
“What the hell could have killed the old stubborn bastard? Is he even dead? Nah, he's too ornery to die...” he reached for the radio to call it in and then thought twice. He'd better check the message first. He pulled his safety harness off and then headed to the lock. On a hunch he grabbed his ancient Geiger counter. They'd thought radiation from his pile drive would have killed him, but he was just too ornery to die so quietly. Maybe an air leak? Roger thought with a shiver. Or he ran out of fuel. He'd know in a minute.
Obviously he had to have the last laugh, or at least the last word in, the miner thought as he cycled the lock and stared at the cylinder. It drifted there, a little frosty, but still blinking. He put a suit glove on and grabbed the cylinder.
“Well, what do we have here,” he murmured. He checked the counter, no radiation. Good. He shut it off and stuck it to the velcro near the lock. The velcro tape on the counter kept it from drifting off.
“Well now, Forty Niner you old cur, what do you have to say for yourself,” he said, setting the cylinder down and then plugging in a USB cable.
He looked at his LCD and then tapped the play button. A familiar voice made him look up with a smile.
“This is Bob, you know me as Miner Forty Niner. Barbara the Barbarian's older brother. I'll spare you the story, no time. I'm dead, or I will be in a minute. Tell Barbara... tell her... oh hell. Never mind. Just tell her she's got my shit. That's apparently all she ever cared about anyway, she already cleaned out my bank account with Barry so whatever....” he coughed.
“I didn't care, don't tell her that. I... oh hell. Or so I thought. I don't know. Nothing matters anymore anyway, I'm going to take these Horathian bastards with me in just a minute,” he said gruffly. That raised an eyebrow with Roger. He hit pause and went to check the long range sensors. When he was sure nothing was in the area he warily went back and hit play once more.
Forty Niner's voice resumed. “Anyway, here is my story. Maybe you can learn something from it.”
He grunted. “My story started on a bitch of a day a couple weeks ago. Funny thing, my bitch of a sister started it. Right after my Forty Ninth birthday of all things...”
...*...*...*...*...
Two weeks ago:
Bob, Bob the blunderer, Bob the builder, Bob the bastard to his sister, Forty Niner to everyone else cussed as he worked.
It was hard work, tedious work. Hard because he had to be on his toes all the time, thinking acting, but patient, holding his own, not reacting too fast. He had to be steady as a rock, able to move with precision, to think in three dimensions quickly and accurately, time and fuel mattered if he wanted to not only survive but thrive.
He had a home of sorts, at least a home outside the tin can of a tug. Or he thought he did, now he wasn't so sure. He piloted his tug, a family tug, a bitch designed to move rocks from point A to point B and do little else.
Usually he shipped asteroids to the smelting station he called home, or base, or whatever the natives named it this week. He swore again. They could never make up their minds what the hell they wanted to call it lately. Damn Barry and his name the base game. He did it monthly, just to keep morale up, or so he said.
Bob, Forty niner shook his head. The smelting station was built into a rock, hidden from pirate eyes, or so they hoped. But camouflage was only so good, if you nattered on the radio you defeated the entire purpose of hiding in the first place! He sighed, reaching up to turn a knob to tune out the latest rant on the radio network.
The rock was a shattered part of the system's once beautiful planet. He could see the larger curve nearby. It was a piece of the planet, a piece of the once almost perfect orb. A slice, somehow it had remained intact after seven centuries of things bumping around the system like billiards.
There was a lot of dust in the inner system, the dust had been kicked up by the destruction of the planet, then sucked into a series of rings that moved ever closer to the star or one of the planets. The finer bits were closer, having little ability to resist the massive pull of the star's gravity well.
Some of that dust had clustered into pebbles, and there were a few miners who had tried a hand at netting the stuff. At one point a couple of bussard ram scoops had criss crossed the system sucking in material. Of course they were gone, jacked by the ruddy pirates.
He'd been lucky so far, every time a ship came through the system he'd been docked or had hid. One time he'd even undocked and moved off from a colony when he was certain it was going to be found. His sister hadn't been happy with him, when she'd refused to leave he'd used rigger tape to secure her to the bulkhead. She'd fumed at him for weeks, giving him the silent treatment, which had suited him just fine.
His asteroid miner was the only one in the system that wasn't fusion based, it was fission based. It used a fission pile to power the systems. His ancestors built it after Senka's planet was destroyed.
The ship was battered and slow, held together by prayer and rigger tape, but she still flew. Her electronics had been changed out several times over, but somehow, each time they patched in a new system, it still worked. Part of that might have been the careful maintenance each generation had performed... as well as cloning the storage in the ship's 'puters from one dying rig to another.
...*...*...*...*...
Little Mairi Jersey, now there had been a miner. That little gal had been some piece of work, a little bitch who could stand up to anyone. Rumor had it she'd had something to do with Dig's death. He'd seen Dig's cockpit, that rumor was probably true, not that anyone cared. And now that the little bitch and her whore of a mother were out of the system, it didn't matter at all. Not at all.
Sometimes he wished he'd joined them on that ship, what was it called? Mariah's Mischief. Yeah, that's what it was called. He didn't blame the Jersey's for leaving. Some did, he didn't. To each his own, or so he thought. Besides, with her gone there was one less miner, which meant they could run the prices up.
Now there were less than a dozen miners left in the system. He'd bought the location of Dig's wreck Mairi had left behind, but she'd skimmed off a lot of the good bits from the 'puter, life support, power core, and drive before shed skedaddled. She left probably sn
ickering about it too, he thought darkly. Little bitch.
Slowly he smiled. He had to admire the girl's balls. She definitely had a brass set on her to pull this one over on the likes of him. He'd fallen for it, fallen hook line and sinker. She'd shown him the video of the wreck as a teaser and he'd bought it.
He'd of course done the same, stripped her for usable parts then hauled her carcass in to D452C1 and then let some other sap buy her. Someone had, and they'd poured their heart and wallet into rebuilding her. Last he heard they were still at it. Or another guy was, the first had gone broke trying to fix her up.
The ship she had come in on had been a treat. She'd come in loaded with meat of all things. Protein, real steaks. People had paid a fortune for the meat. He'd bought some early, the girl had helped him make a trade for a quarter carcass. Instead of eating it he'd sat on it, wrapping the beef up in an old plastic tarp and then stashing it in the permanent shadow of an asteroid. She'd kept cold there a treat.
After the ship had left, and oh, about two months after the last of the meat had been eaten, he'd pulled her out and then sold pieces of her for triple what he'd paid for it. That had been a nice little chunk of change for him. He hadn't had to go out mining for nearly six months.
His second trip out since then, mainly because a lot of people had dropped hints about how thin the air was and how much they needed consumables had been two weeks ago. He was the only miner in the area who could get it they'd argued. He hadn't been moved. His sister had leaned on him to do it too. He'd argued, she didn't understand the risks involved. It had taken a week, and only when she threatened to take the tug out herself did he go. He wasn't going to let her show him up, or worse, break the tug and be lost in the void. Then where would he be?
He'd come back with just enough rock. A nice carbon chloride, about three point five tons, enough to pay for his air and water for a solid six months at the present rates. If he paid now ahead of time it locked the price in for him at that rate, something he loved to do.
But once he docked, then the wrangling had started. He'd found out just how far he could trust kin, which was not at all.
...*...*...*...*...
He picked up a lot of flak from people when he refused to help fund the new government on top of his air and water tax. People he'd known for years had turned with a haughty sniff when he'd bellied up to the bar.
Barry was the local barkeep, mayor, gambling house, restaurateur, farmer, and trader. If you needed it Barry had it. If he didn't or didn't know where to get it, you damn well could do without it. He was an all around good guy unless you owed him money.
Barry kept them in the know, communicating with the other rocks. Which was fine for some. Forty Niner could care less.
Hell, the miner mused, staring at his beer. He'd been the one to move the entire colony the last two times! Sure he'd gotten paid for it eventually, but damn it! He'd done his civic duty as Barry had said! Let someone else pay the freight! “You either pay me full price or I ship to someone else!” He'd threatened when Barry had tried to skim him.
That threat had worked at first, but now all the local rocks were in on this new government. There was no safe place to go. Which took most of the punch out of his threat. Fortunately it was voluntary. At least for now. No telling what tomorrow would bring.
Barry the barkeep sighed, shaking his head. “Fine! But look Forty niner...” he threw the bar rag over his shoulder. “You've got to understand, times are changing... people are looking to the future,” he said and held up a finger to Wally who wanted a refill.
“No you look. I ain't getting hustled by some crook in a cheap suit who hasn't worked a day in his life. You want the creds? Get your asses out there and earn em!”
“You're drunk Niner, go sleep it off,” Barry said waving him out.
Niner opened his mouth and then closed it. He knew better than to argue, when the barkeep said that it was time to totter on out. He grunted and got off the stool, feeling the eyes on him as he left with his back stiff.
He was crotchety and stubborn, he refused taxes on his gear and had a fight with his sister over it after she paid his taxes with part of his cut. He mined only enough to get by, not for profit, it didn't pay to risk one's neck too much. If you did some damn fool idget would raise the prices or something. Or he'd be like Mairi's mom and loose it all gambling. He felt sorry for the kid sometimes. At least she'd gotten her ass out of dodge, that was saying something. But she'd been fool enough to take her mom with her. There was no taste or sense in kin. He shook his head in disgust.
When he found out his sister had gone behind his back and paid the tax, cleaning out his bank account he had been livid. “Why?” he snarled.
“Because Bob, we've got to think of the future!”
“Future?? I was paid up! I did my bit!”
“Not just you! For once in your life will you think of someone other than yourself!”
He scowled. “I do!”
“I mean other than me! Where would you be without this colony? Adrift in space in that tin can of yours?”
“Yeah, now since you robbed me! I've got no choice!”
“Bob, we've got to have it. The system needs to get back on its feet, back to more than hand to mouth. We need to get the coasters like you off their asses and keep them producing! It's the only way to survive!”
“Sure, sit on your ass while I go out and risk my neck! Thanks a lot!” he snarled. “Now I gotta go get more!” he stomped off to get his suit. He had just enough credit in his account to pay for his air for a week. That wouldn't do.
“You're welcome!” Her shrill voice cut through his angst again.
“I never asked for your help! You or anyone else! Just leave me the hell alone!” he snarled, putting his boots on and then sealing them. Lucinda was his only family, her, and her kids now that his little brother was dead. He should be able to trust his kin, after all, who else could he trust here? Everyone would sell their own soul for a crust of bread, let alone a... he shook his head angrily. You should be able to count on kin. He felt betrayed. He stormed off, then turned back. She met him at her hatch door with his helmet. He took it with a jerk and left without another word.
“Come back in one piece Bob!” she called as he rounded a corner. “You ornery old bastard!” she added as he slowed. That got a snarl as he missed a step. He paused for a moment and then he kept going.
His sister was the only one to call him Bob. Barely anyone knew it was his birth name, most called him Miner Forty niner after his tug. Or Forty niner for short. It was ironic that he was turning forty nine this year, last week. His sister had said something in the bar and everyone had had a go at slapping his back. Of course none of the cheap bastards had offered to buy him a round. Typical. Not that'd he'd do it for them either.
“She's all set. Fully fueled and her atmo is stocked,” the Veraxin chief said, climbing into the cockpit with him. The alien pointed to his food. “I restocked your food, it expired a week ago. No charge. Oh, and your sister sent along some new e-books for you to read.”
“Thanks,” the miner said gruffly.
“Just come back safe. With rocks. Lots of rocks. Carbon Chloride's if you can arrange it. A nice ice one if you can find one would be perfect.”
“I'll see what I can do,” the miner muttered as the Veraxin climbed out and shut the hatch. He dogged it from the outside and then climbed down.
...*...*...*...*...
A week later he bypassed a pebble asteroid. He hated the damn thing, it was such a waste. No one could use it, you couldn't tow or push the damn thing, it would fall apart if you tried. He'd heard a few people had tried, even going so far as to make a pusher plate to move the rock... and of course once it was underway you couldn't maneuver it. That had turned into a disaster. Miners avoided the damn things. False positives, that's what they were. False hope, not worth the time or effort to screw around with.
His long range sensors were crap, he had lidar, but it
kicked something wicked so most of the time he left his sensors on passive. It sucked, not being able to see past your nose most of the time, but one of his ancestors had come up with a neat astrography program that used the cameras. The software picked apart still images from each of the cameras, and then triangulated where a rock was and put it on the map.
That with the map he and others had built up of the system, plus his innate navigational talents got him to one of his claims. Or normally did, as long as not to many markers were off course. He frowned, tapping at the passive sensor feed. There were two readings that shouldn't be there.
He tapped at the flat screen but the two readings stubbornly remained. He frowned, running a back course. It didn't make sense, they were traveling together. They could have been a rock that recently split in half, but that didn't seem likely.
En route with a ferrous asteroid, he discovered a pair of battered Horath Corvettes trying to sneak through the system. He went to call in a warning and heard some fool nattering on about this and that. He realized immediately that the pirates had caught the chatter signals, talk for the new government and were trying to localize the nearest base to no doubt raid.
“Serves em right,” he snarled. He computed the course and then snarled again. He pounded a hand on this arm rest, then ran a hand through his stubble of hair. His free hand clawed at the rigger tape covering the arm rest.
He realized they were planning to attack the station where his friends and family are on. Barry, Barbara, Neo, Ryan, Simone. “Damn,” he muttered, thinking hard and fast.
...*...*...*...*...
Captain Smith grinned a feral grin of anticipation... soon they would be getting their hands on helpless prey. They would pay them back for everything that went wrong in Antigua. The humiliation, the loss. The loss of their mission, loss of Admiral Cartwright... the probable doom of him and his crew. They'd have enough fuel and life support to get them to another system. He rubbed his hands in glee over the potential spoils. He had to have them, they needed them to get to the next system. And quite frankly, he really didn't care who died on the way. They were pirates after all, it was what they did. Might made right. Or at least it soon would soon do. That was how his universe worked anyway.
13 Degrees of Separation Page 71
