The docking chamber slid out of view and a series of panels and beams flashed by. The view of open space came as a shock as they dropped beneath the shield generator.
The planet looked massive, its graceful blue curve gradually filling the entire view as they dropped. Rick’s lunch joined the fun, trying to climb back up his throat.
Gravity in the capsule was a hot mess. As they reached the midpoint, there was none at all and an automated voice advised them to re-orient themselves, aligning their feet with the ceiling before they entered the planets gravity well. They’d left the outward bound gravity caused by centrifugal rotation and now they were about to feel the real thing.
He wondered why they didn’t use gravity compensators in the capsule – or were they simply broken?
That was a thought he wished he hadn’t experienced. He looked up at the ceiling. If the braking system failed, this would be a very unpleasant ride. He started in alarm as they dropped past the surface of the water, much to the amusement of a passenger who was, more or less, facing toward him. No doubt a regular. His orbital control uniform probably entitled him to ride to work for free.
Interior lights came on as they dropped below the oceans surface and they began to slow as they descended the sheilded shaft. The gravity of the capsule returned to normal and he craned his neck past his fellow passengers in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the city. At first, all he could see was a dim haze outside the windows but then he saw a line of glowing panels, which he took to be glazed roof panels, stretching off into the gloom.
He managed to contain his surprise as they dropped into the entry port, though he did hear a few gasps and exclamations from the other passengers. He looked back at the uniformed passenger and returned the grin he saw aimed at him.
With a final, soft bounce, they came to a full halt and then the capsule began to glide to the side. A synthesized voice, blaring from the ceiling in court Dheema, advised them to debark quickly or face a hefty fine.
The door slid out of the way and there was a momentary pause as those at the front gazed out uncertainly.
“C’mon, citizens,” the uniformed passenger called out in a bored tone. “I don’t want to pay a fine just because I’m stuck behind you.”
An alarm began blaring from the ceiling, pulsing slowly and in a low tone. It began to speed up and the tone jumped up a notch with each pulse. It had the desired effect and Rick was carried along with the general exodus. They passed out into a large entry hall.
It was split into two sides and, looking back over his shoulder, he could see a little of the departure side. There was a line of passengers waiting to board and they were watched by at least a dozen armed guards patrolling a catwalk above.
A pair of guards moved along the line, scanning each passenger’s hand before allowing them to move forward. Just as Rick began descending the debarkation ramp, the guards pulled a young girl from the boarding line.
He lost sight of the scene as he followed the other passengers. They flowed through a scanner and the press of his fellow passengers was relieved as they entered an open area.
There were a few reunions for passengers. Some, like the uniformed passengers, simply walked straight toward the main doors. Others, newcomers, were stopping to listen to recruiters. The company running this world seemed to have a constant need for new employees.
This seemed to be the point where those who had not managed to learn of the exit cost were made aware of the horrendous mistake they had just made.
Sharp comments betrayed the disbelief and anger of those who were learning how foolish they’d been to assume the exit cost would be similar to that of the entry. The only option for many would be to spend a few years earning the price of their freedom.
Some would never leave here.
Rick put a hand against the cargo pouch on the front of his EVA suit. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about being trapped here. He’d look around for a few days but then he’d be getting back on the elevator and moving on.
But first, he needed clothing.
Embers
Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
“Pull over here,” Graadt ordered. “Shove that cab out of the way if he doesn’t show some sense.”
The Stoner’s carrier nudged the back of a black and yellow, open-top cab. The driver turned to unleash an angry tirade but thought better of it when he saw Kaans’ grinning face through the driver’s window of the carrier.
The last thing the cabbie wanted was to lose a week’s earnings because of a broken leg and so he turned back to his controls and abandoned his hard-earned pick-up spot. The colorful, open-top vehicle lurched into motion, nearly getting hit by a runabout as the agitated driver made room for the Stoners.
Graadt jumped across the closing gap and stopped to get a better view of the commotion that had drawn his attention in the first place. His two companions joined him on the platform.
“It’s one of those urchins,” Kaans volunteered, nodding at the crowd in front of the training outlet. “Another ‘intellectual’ with no prospects.”
“And the magisters are roughing up her parents,” Nid growled. “Right in front of her. And they call us savages.”
“What do you expect from a race that clones their own kind?” Graadt asked in the soft tone that warned his comrades of the anger boiling just beneath the surface.
Unable to watch any longer, Graadt led his cronies through the crowd and crossed the empty space that surrounded the hapless little family and their four tormentors.
Graadt was eager to interrogate the parents of an elevated urchin. The nickname was spreading quickly – a play on both the education and the orbital elevator that nullified it. He was also more than willing to get rough, but there were some things you just didn’t do and humiliating a parent in front of their child was a line the Stoners wouldn’t cross.
He reached out, grabbing the back of a magister’s neck in his large hand and gave it a squeeze. The other three turned at the undignified squawk from their colleague, fear ghosting their features as they realized who the interlopers were.
The Republic tolerated Stoners because they were useful but they were also uncontrollable. They led a wild existence, compared to their Dactari cousins, and often seemed to have a reckless disregard for the consequences of their actions. More than a few planetary officials had died throughout the Republic at the hands of a Stoner.
It was clear these magisters understood their peril.
“Hello, little cousins.” Graadt gave another squeeze. “Has this man committed some crime?” He nodded at the father, who was doubled over from a blow to his stomach. His wife held their young daughter, both watching this new wrinkle play out with a mix of fear and anger.
“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” one of the magisters answered with a thin veneer of bravado. He had the sense to be frightened, just not enough to keep his hole shut.
“What evidence have you got?” Nid asked as he moved to stand behind the magister.
A nervous glance over his shoulder. “Well, where did he get the money to turn his daughter into a scientist?”
“That’s not evidence,” Graadt stated flatly. “It’s just a petulant question.” He held his grip on the first magister as he turned to the family, gazing at the father who’d managed to stand back up, though his breathing was still labored.
Graadt nodded to himself. “I see nothing here but parents who want the best for their child.” He turned back to the four tormentors. “Move along.”
Nid grabbed their spokesperson by the shoulders and gave him a shove toward the crowd. Graadt pushed his man’s neck in the same direction and the magister took a few stumbling paces before recovering.
This was the moment where it could go either way. The four magisters had been made to look foolish in front of hundreds of citizens. They were used to being treated with deference and the humiliation might just be too much to bear.
The one by Nid turned to l
ook back at his fellows. There was a pregnant moment as they waited for someone to make a decision and then the magister whose neck Graadt had held nodded curtly toward the pedway.
They began to move off, ignoring a scattering of catcalls from the crowd. Ordinarily, magisters would never tolerate any show of disrespect, but this situation was no longer in their control. There was no chance of dealing with the insults.
Graadt turned to the parents, directing a glance at their work clothing. “You must have met in the extractive metallurgy plant?”
A wary nod from the mother.
Graadt sighed, glancing around at the expectant crowd. “Good pay in EM,” he muttered, turning back to her. “Good enough, I suppose, to save up for an education if you took every shift that came along but not enough to afford both this,” he waved at the entrance to the training center, “and save up for an elevator ticket.”
“No,” the father admitted, exchanging a glance with his wife. “Someone gave us the credits for the training. We have to save for the ticket ourselves.”
“Who?”
A shrug. “Don’t know him,” the man said. “He sat next to me in a bar last night and started talking about his kid. Asked me if I had any… Next thing you know, he’s handing me a chip with the exact amount needed for an education.”
“Someone you don’t know handed you five year’s salary?” Graadt forced himself to sound incredulous but he had a pretty good idea what was going on here.
The father spread his hands. “I’d find it hard to believe myself, even with the rumors that’ve been circulating lately, but it’s true. I have no idea why folks are suddenly doing this but wouldn’t you jump at such a chance?”
Graadt had little choice but to believe him. He took another look around. The mood of the crowd had changed, largely due to his own actions. In driving off the magisters, he’d emboldened the crowd. Sullen obedience had been replaced with sullen restlessness and he was certain he wouldn’t be able to take this family away for questioning without sparking a riot.
He looked back at the father. “Where was this bar?”
Intersection
Square One
Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
Rick walked out of the clothing shop, his confusion plain on his face.
“Don’t let me catch you in here again, you yokel!” the owner yelled from the door. He walked back inside, shaking his head in disgust.
“Something wrong?”
Rick turned to find a young man smiling at him. He was shorter than the average Human and very pale – possibly an Ufangian. Rick wasn’t in a trusting mood but he was also very confused by the turn his luck had taken. “My money,” he declared in stunned disbelief, holding up the chip.
The young man frowned down at the proffered hand. “Your money?”
“I was trying to pay him and he threw me out. Doesn’t he take this kind of money chip?”
“Ahhh!” the young man exclaimed. He reached out and took the chip before Rick could protest. “There’s your problem,” he offered. “This isn’t a money chip – it’s a breath pack.”
To Rick’s horror, the Ufangian popped it in his mouth.
“Oh… Gods!” The man screwed his face up in disgust. He spat out a gooey mess. “You must have gotten this from a Dactari. Their species exists solely for the purpose of keeping the scarab-berry flavor on the market.”
He spat again. “Tastes like the south end of a north-bound cackler.”
Rick finally got a handle on the moment and he realised what had happened. “Motherless clone!” He looked uselessly upward. “Bastard stole my share of the salvage. When I get my hands on him…”
“Someone stole your salvage money?” The Ufangian seemed to have cleared out most of the offending breath pack. “Up on the station?”
An angry nod.
“How much?”
“Just over two million. Some motherless orbital controller.”
The Ufangian whistled. “Two million?” He shook his head. “You won’t be getting your hands on him, my friend. He probably already quit. He’ll buy a ticket on the next flight away from here and leave behind whatever possessions he had in the city.”
Helpless rage. The bastard wouldn’t be coming down here and Rick, fool that he was, didn’t have the money to ride back up. He’d been tricked with a damned breath mint.
“Sounds like you could use some help.” The Ufangian grinned. “You probably haven’t lined up a job yet, seeing as you thought you were rich.”
“True.”
“C’mon, I know a guy.” The Ufangian started off and Rick fell in behind him.
Now that the shock of being fooled so easily had worn off, Rick could understand how it had happened. The controller had paid for his elevator ride so he wouldn’t discover the scam until he was safely trapped down beneath the ocean. Because the ride was far beyond his fourteen-second pre-cog ability, there was no way for him to know what was coming.
Even if he had been more suspicious, he doubted he would have detected the trick. Unasked questions often helped to get past minor mental blocks but someone who was stealing enough money to retire on would have had his guard up. Rick wouldn’t have been able to discern the man’s motives.
And, thinking of motives – what was the reason for this Ufangian’s interest in a penniless newcomer?
Pre-cog probing was far more useful in a case like this. The Ufangian was at ease, thinking his new friend was sufficiently confused and biddable. Rick quickly learned he was dealing with one of the members of a radical group. Their interest in him was spicewood and they’d been following him from the moment he stepped off the elevator.
They passed a casino. Rick had seen enough old Earth movies to know what a casino was and he’d often daydreamed about walking into one of those old, opulent Vegas establishments and coming out rich.
If this planet was going to rip him off, he’d just have to return the favor. He subvocalized a warning to his guide, telling him that his own credit chip had just been stolen. He had to stop walking for a moment so he could watch the ghost Ufangian stop in alarm and reach into his sleeve. Rick walked through him to catch up with the real version.
“Hey wait!” He grabbed the man’s arm, turning him around. “Who exactly is this guy you know and what sort of work would I be doing for him?”
The Ufangian shook his arm free. “It’s nothing you need to get upset about,” he said, slightly annoyed. “He’ll just talk with you for a while and figure out where you might like to work. Might even help you find a place to sleep – not that easy, here in Tsekoh.”
“OK.” Rick took a step back. “Sorry. It’s just been a bad day is all…”
“Yeah, I hear you, brother.” A nod in their original direction. “Let’s hurry, yes? Before my friend finishes his dinner.”
Rick followed him for a few seconds more. It was child’s play to lose him in the crowd.
Jackpot
Tsekoh, Capital of Chaco Benthic
Callum looked down at his hand. The homey sounds of the rickety rail-diner faded away as he read the message glowing on his palm. It took less time to decode than the one from ten minutes ago. This time he had context before deciphering the message in the careful choice of words.
He’d sent one of his people to make contact with the survivor from the Foxlight II. After the trouble with the Stoners, he’d pulled his observers back and waited for the rumor mill to tell him when to move back in. When a ship arrives up at the counterweight, everyone in the down-below knows its story within hours.
For most citizens, it was just another freight crew killed by raiders but Callum knew G’Maj was the one behind the sudden influx of spice wood. He couldn’t talk to the captain, as originally planned, but he could at least talk to the one person who did manage to walk off the ship.
It may only be wood but the value it represented made its source a legitimate strategic target. With that in mind, Ghozen wasn’t the only operator he’d
sent to bring in the subject. Two others were hanging back, watching the young survivor.
He grinned in spite of the minor setback. Ghozen must have waited until he was absolutely certain he’d lost the subject before reporting in. That couldn’t have been easy for him, especially when it looked like their target had fleeced him in the process, taking his money before disappearing on him.
Callum held up a chip for the youngster behind the counter. When he got it back, he downed the last of his floater and hopped off the stool. He slid the chip into his pocket as he looked out over the diner’s guard rail into the busy atrium.
The diner hung from the pedway railing with its kitchen backing onto the rail itself, wafting delicious scents out into pedestrians’ faces. Customers ate their meals at a long counter, their backs to the open space of the atrium. He loved eating here: the food was good, the structure was reasonably stable and it had the best view he’d ever ignored.
He took a polymer toothpick from his pocket and strolled along behind the other patrons while teasing bits of seaweed from between his teeth. He passed the last stool and angled right to hop around the main railing where it ended at a cab stop.
He stepped into the nearest cab, asking to be taken to the gaming district before settling into the back of the open-top vehicle to assess what they knew so far.
The only person to walk off the Foxlight II hadn’t been aboard her when she’d left here a few months ago. The official rumor was raiders but Callum didn’t believe it. The survivor was supposedly from a passenger vessel and raiders usually preferred ships with cargo.
This guy came aboard on the same world where the wood was loaded. There were no shipping lanes crossing the path between Benthic and 3428 – Callum’s prime suspect – and the ship only carried enough reactant for 3428. The odds of two random courses intersecting in the vastness of space were miniscule. Still, Callum wanted all the information he could get before contacting Flemming.
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