Space Trader (Galactic Axia Adventure)

by Laughter, Jim

  Although Urun was an independent planet, they followed standard approach procedures as established by the Axia. It made for better continuity and safety for all ships arriving and leaving. An odd planet would occasionally try something different. It usually only lasted for a while since either everyone complained, or worse yet, avoided that planet in protest.

  Ian remembered the last protest he had been around. The planet had elected a new council who decided to flex their new muscles and show the rest of the galaxy how powerful and important they were. Almost immediately after taking power, they imposed new import tariffs and revised the traffic control system for ships landing and taking off from the surface. Landings were only permitted at designated fields, and then were subject to extra fees for transshipment of goods elsewhere on the planet.

  Prior to that, ships had been allowed (in a controlled fashion, of course) to land directly at the delivery and shipping points on the planet. Any business dealing in off-planet trade had at least one standard landing bay so ships could come in directly to save time and credits. But those in the surface shipping business had seen a threat to their own political power and had worked hard to change the procedures. Through much pressure and misinformation, they managed to take voting control of the planetary council. The new tariffs, fees, and flight regulations were the result.

  At first ships and shippers tried to comply with the new system. People tend to be that way, Ian thought. They’ll try to get along to a point. But that point was soon reached as the new and complicated plans began to unravel.

  First, the change in flight rules made for confusion in approaching or leaving the planet. The new system tried to route all incoming ships through just two main ports. Obviously, whoever planned this did not have any idea of the huge amount of interplanetary commerce coming and going. Backlogs developed into impromptu orbital parking zones of ships waiting their turn to land.

  Problems also started to develop on the surface. The attempt to steer all surface transshipments through the businesses of the political power brokers almost instantly overwhelmed them. Not only was the infrastructure unable to handle the volume, but even the equipment was over-taxed. No one, it seemed, had figured on all the specialized cars and surface vans that would be needed for all the odd merchandise coming from space. To that add the problems of exports with ships waiting sometimes weeks for their loads, and soon the new fees finally gave birth to the unofficial protest.

  The ships in orbit were the first to organize expanding their parking patterns to circle the planet. Then the ships waiting for goods on the ground refused to unload or load any products that were affected by the newer fees, which in effect meant everything. These ships started to lift again into space a few at a time, but it soon spread. Within a few days, there was hardly a ship on the surface. All these ships formed a secondary orbital ring around the planet.

  That was about the time that Ian and the Cahill Express arrived. The sight of several hundred ships orbiting in two globe-circling rings on his detector screen was something to see. Before he could call the official approach frequency, someone from one of the rings contacted him and brought him up to speed about the situation. It left Ian with two choices. On one hand, he could just leave and take his goods elsewhere. No one would slight him for that as one had to stay in business. Many had done this. Most of the ships in the orbital rings had business to finish on the planet so they had a stake in staying.

  On the other hand, Ian could join the protest and thus be in on the initial wave of ships that hoped to land when and if the deadlock was broken. Since he preferred to deal with the businessmen on this planet versus going elsewhere, Ian decided to join the orbital parking lot. Besides, it would give him time to do some ship housekeeping. If it dragged on too long, he was free to go.

  As it turned out it didn’t take long. During the week that Ian waited, the planetary council tried different ways to break the protest. First, they tried levying fines against the ships that had lifted without paying the new fees or complying with the complicated and often contradictory regulations. Since the ships were already in space, this had no effect. Then the council tried threats, announcing a deadline after which they would fire upon the circling ships.

  Tensions rose as the deadline came but nothing happened. The general opinion of the traders had been that it was a hollow threat. Then again, one was always wary when a weapon was aimed at you. Had any weapon been fired from the planet, all the ships would have scattered and space over the planet would have remained empty as word of the hostile action spread across the galaxy. That would isolate the planet from the rest of the galactic community, and once established in galactic trade, few planets ever wanted to retreat from its benefits.

  Finally, the planetary council appealed to the Axia for help. Since they were an independent planet, the Axia was under no compunction to intervene. An Axia ship did arrive, then after conferring with a delegation of the circling captains, landed and met with the council. The meeting didn’t take long and the Axia representatives soon lifted and parked in orbit with the ring of ships. Before long, they broadcast a message saying that the Axia saw no reason to inject themselves into the dispute but hoped that it would be resolved soon.

  The protest/blockade lasted one more day after that. The citizens on the surface were not only now feeling the effects of lack of trade, but every night they could look up and see the two rings of ships circling their planet. The second day, the people had what Ian liked to think of as a ‘shoe leather referendum’.

  Showing up in mass at the planetary council facility, they physically removed the new members and reinstalled the previous administration. As soon as they had a quorum, the council rescinded all the new fees, regulations, and tariffs. In quick order, the planet approach control reverted to previous procedures and started to sort out the mess orbiting overhead. As anxious as they were, the traders patiently waited while the situation returned to normal. He noted that not only did the reseated council set up an office to deal with refunding the now rescinded fees but that another group was also organizing a new holiday around the event.

  “Cahill Express, Urun Control,” sounded a voice from the speaker. “Non-standard approach approved.”

  “Thank you, Urun Control,” Ian replied. “Nice doing business with you.”

  “Urun Control out.”

  Ian double-checked the coordinates for the region where the retired captain lived. At the same moment, vector settings arrived from Control so all Ian had to do was accept the command and the Cahill Express automatically swung around and settled on the approved course. Once again, Ian loved his automated systems. Flying the different vectors by hand would have taken a bit of effort and time. Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the scenery pass beneath him.

  Ian mentally reviewed what he had researched about the retired captain. Using the trader’s net, he had been able to track down a number of interesting bits of information about this man. He considered such background research an essential part of his business. Sure, he could go in cold and usually read the person correctly, but why trust his livelihood to chance when information was readily available?

  Captain Tyrone Carlton turned out to be a veteran of over forty years on the deck of a ship. Though not unusually long by Axia standards, it did speak of a certain dedication to be admired.

  Ian also traced some of the aspects of Captain Carlton’s career. He had commanded a variety of ships over time. That in itself was out of the ordinary. Usually upon earning a captain’s plate, a new captain would be assigned the type of ship best suited for his or her talents. If one was the adventurous type, then a scout or exploration class ship was considered suitable. A person more inclined to leadership and delegation might be assigned a larger ship with a crew. Frequently, such a ship assignment was for life or the duration of the captain’s term of service.

  In Captain Carlton’s case, he had started with a small patroller and quickly advanced from there. Initi
ally with the Mapping and Logistics Section, he soon did a lateral leap to combat, and then to deep exploration. In every case, the jumps were made carefully over long periods of time.

  Someone else looking at the pattern might see a man who wasn’t sure what he wanted out of life. To Ian’s trader’s eye, it looked entirely different. What Ian saw were signs of a man driven by a mission. Taking advantage of opportunity to advance his skills and position, Captain Carlton always seemed to be reaching out in search of something better.

  Ian knew enough about space flight to realize that each type of ship, although driven by the same type of drive, required different skills to both pilot and command. In each case of transfer, Captain Carlton had stretched himself and mastered each challenge in turn.

  Quite an accomplishment in any career, Carlton had done most of his advancements in his first fifteen years. But also noteworthy was that he had kept himself current on all the other ratings he had gained along the way. Usually someone climbing the command ladder let those skills fall by the wayside as his responsibilities and reputation grew. Clearly, this man liked to stay sharp. He’d make quite a trader if he ever chose to, thought an impressed Ian.

  Ian ran across references to different university degrees that Carlton had picked up along the way as well. Among the usual ones dealing with space and engineering were odd ones in archeology and linguistic dynamics.

  Rather unusual for a crusty old warrior, thought Ian. But if taken in context of an exploring mind, it made sense. This captain will certainly be an interesting one to talk to. Not just the usual collection of old war stories.

  A signal from his navigational console told Ian that he was fast approaching the local control zone near Captain Carton’s residence. He reached over and punched in the comm frequency he’d received for Captain Carlton.

  “Captain Carlton, this is the spacer Cahill Express. Do you copy?”

  “You’re five by five, Cahill Express,” came back the cryptic reply.

  “Requesting landing instructions.”

  “What are your requirements?”

  “Standard patroller cradle with a port side clearance of approximately fifty by one hundred and thirty feet,” Ian answered. “My cargo is strapped to the side and rather bulky.”

  His navigation console signaled his arrival over the Carlton coordinates. Looking down, Ian could see a large home on one level with plenty of room around it. To the rear, he noted several hangers and landing cradles. To his eye, it looked workable.

  “Stand by, Cahill Express. I’m coming up to survey your arrangement.”

  “Understood,” Ian replied as he established a static hover one thousand feet above Carlton’s home. While he watched, he saw a flitter lift from in front of one of the hangers and angle sharply up toward him. In seconds, it arrived and took up station in front of the windows of the Cahill Express. The flitter slowly circled the Express and its cargo while Ian waited patiently. No doubt Captain Carlton was not only examining whether the Cahill Express could land safely with the derelict Red-tail ship lashed to the side, but was also sizing up this prospective purchase. Such prudence matched the mental picture Ian had formed of this potential customer.

  “Proceed to the cradle,” Carlton announced over the comm as soon as the flitter returned to the front of the Cahill Express. “I’ll see you on the surface.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Ian responded as he adjusted his controls. He carefully followed the flitter down until they were both over the small private landing field. Then the flitter peeled off and headed to its landing pad in front of one of the hangers. Ian noted several other craft in the open hanger including what appeared to be a two-wing atmospheric aircraft of some type.

  Definitely an unusual item for anyone to have in this age of space travel, Ian thought.

  Ian brought the Cahill Express over the cradle slowly until the signaling beacon turned green, signifying alignment had been achieved. A glance to his left showed him that he had been expected and a set of portable cradles were even then being rolled up to receive the weight and mass of the derelict Red-tail ship. Whether these were automatic or run by a ground crew, Ian couldn’t tell. But it made life easier for him. That much was for sure.

  Out the front window, Ian saw a man signaling someone and then point at Ian with the standard docking hand signal. Ian replied accordingly and brought his ship and its odd cargo down carefully. He sensed rather than felt the Cahill Express settle onto the landing cradle. A few seconds later, he felt the shift in mass as the Red-tail ship settled onto its portable cradle as well. A quick glance told Ian that the Cahill Express was secure. With a flip of a switch, he powered down and the ship became quiet.

  Getting up, he went over to the main hatch and opened it. Standing outside was the much older gentleman whom he had seen earlier signaling him from the flitter. Ian stepped outside.

  “Ian Cahill?” the gentleman said with an extended right hand. He looked the pilot up and down, noting both his shoulder-strapped blaster and percussion pistol.

  “Captain Tyrone Carlton?” Ian asked back as he clasped the man’s hand. The grip was sure and strong. Ian knew that he was going to enjoy this visit.

  “Do you always present yourself armed to prospective customers?”

  “Always,” Ian answered. He’d thought about leaving his weapons on his ship but changed his mind. He believed he could trust this man but one never knew what to expect when dealing with people on alien planets.

  Carlton nodded. He too was wearing a concealed pistol in an inside-the-pants holster where he could get to it in a hurry. He saw no reason to mistrust a man trying to watch out for his own best interests.

  “I’ve got a fresh pot of tea up at the house.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Ian Cahill and Tyrone Carlton walked together to Tyrone’s stylish old house set atop a small knoll overlooking his expansive property. The yard was a collection of odd objects, a few of which Cahill recognized from his travels around the galaxy. The outer edges of the property was ringed with what appeared to be restored spacecraft from various times and cultures.

  “You planning to restore that Red-tail ship?” Cahill asked.

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how bad you sliced it up and on how much you try to slice out of me,” Tyrone said, a playful glint in his eyes.

  “As much as I can get with as little pain as possible,” Cahill answered. Both men laughed, but both knew they were in for an interesting time of negotiation.

  Carlton’s house was as eclectic as his yard. Memorabilia from civilizations scattered throughout the galaxy decorated every shelf and table. Ian saw books of every description lining the bookshelves in Tyrone’s simple study, rare books that were worth a fortune in the hands of the right trader.

  “I’m happy to finally meet the legendary Ian Cahill,” Tyrone said. “Won’t you sit down?”

  He motioned toward two leather chairs on either side of a window. Both men sat while a servant brought a tray with a teapot and two delicate china teacups. He poured the tea and then left quietly. Ian picked up his cup and took a sip. He couldn’t exactly identify the tea but it was rich and strong. Both men sat quietly for a couple of minutes enjoying their drinks.

  “Interesting tea,” Ian commented at the taste of the unusually brisk tea.

  “I picked it up on an interesting little closed planet called Sol-3 about twenty years ago,” Carlton admitted. “It’s called Earl Grey. I liked it so much, I brought back a ton of it.”

  “Perhaps I can talk you out of a pound or two of it before I leave,” Ian suggested. “A bonus for closing the deal on the Red-tail derelict.”

  “You never know. Anything is possible.”

  Ian glanced around the large den from the matching chair opposite his host. “This is quite a collection you have here.”

  Retired Captain Tyrone Carlton nodded and took a sip of his tea. Setting down his cup, he took the teapot and
topped it off before speaking.

  “I’m rather proud of it,” Tyrone agreed. “It brings back many memories. I have items from every mission I’ve ever been on.”

  “Quite an accomplishment,” Ian said. “Most captains are too footloose to keep such a volume of artifacts.”

  “I realized that early on so I kept only small items,” Carlton said. “It was fortunate that I was able to buy this place early in my career so I could start warehousing all of my little galactic treasures.”

  “What are your plans for it once you’re gone?”

  “If you’ll notice, I’ve arranged it so this place can be converted into a museum,” Tyrone answered. “There’s just too little interest taken in what is out there. I’ve seen too many people turn a blind eye to the known dangers that lurk just beyond their day-to-day awareness, not to mention the wonders of the universe.”

  “Amen to that,” Ian said, raising his own teacup in salute. Tyrone matched the salute. They both took a sip. Ian smiled. The tea was most agreeable.

  “So tell me, where has your trading taken you?” Tyrone asked after they had both finished their sips. “I’m always interested in what is out there.”

  “I’ve piddled around here and there in this sector,” Ian offered. “Nothing much to tell really.”

  “You’re much too modest,” Tyrone said. “Just as you checked me out, I took some time to research your travels after I learned of your acquiring that salvage out there.”

  “You would make a good trader,” Ian commented. “Do you always research people who come to call on you?”

  “To rephrase your remark to me when I asked you about your guns; always. It’s an old habit. Fewer unpleasant surprises happen that way.”

  “A man after my own heart.”

  “And a man who is good at steering a conversation, I see,” noted Tyrone. Ian nodded. The challenge of this meeting whetted his appetite.

  “You want more than that Red-tail wreck out there,” Ian pointed out. “And it’s not just information either.”