by Joe Vasicek
“Looks like a fairly standard encryption,” the man muttered. “This should resolve it—here.”
The numbers flashed away, revealing the image of an ID card. The right column contained critical information, such as age, height, and nationality, while the left column contained writing in a language that Jalil couldn’t read. In the upper left corner of the screen, the picture of a surprisingly young woman smiled down at him.
Jalil drew in a sharp breath. The woman in the picture was his mother.
She looked almost nothing like he’d remembered. Her face was too round, her nose too wide, and her skin too blotchy. The only thing he felt he genuinely recognized was the expression. There was something in her eyes that looked vaguely like the mother he’d remembered, but just barely. Otherwise, she could have been a complete stranger.
“Is this the data you’re looking for?” the man asked.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Identification card for a missus—” he turned and squinted at the screen. “—a missus Dierdre Farland?”
Dierdre Farland, Jalil thought, his heart racing. That’s my mother’s name.
“Yes,” he said in a trembling voice. “That’s the one.”
The man pursed his lips and nodded “Hardy looking chip. You had it for a while?”
“All my life,” Jalil whispered.
“Long time to be carrying something like this, son. You say you want to know where it comes from?”
“Yes, please.”
“Let’s see,” said the man, yanking out the locket from the computer. Jalil winced as the screen went blank. “From the design, it probably came from one of the frontier worlds, out near the Good Hope Nebula. We don’t get these too often.”
“Can you read the rest of the data?”
“Certainly. Cracking the code was easy—the difficult part is always the hardware.”
“How much for a printed copy?”
“Of what you have here? Besides the missus’s picture, there’s not much else except her vital statistics and a short personal history. All told, looks like it comes to twenty-four pages.”
“How much will it cost?”
“Oh, let’s see—five credits base price, another two to get it in a bound copy.”
“I’ll get it bound, thanks,” said Jalil. He paused. “Can you tell me what planet she’s from?”
“What’s that?”
“Her homeworld. Planet of origin. What does it say?”
The man turned back to the computer and plugged in the locket. The monitor came back to life, displaying the information again.
“Karduna,” he said, evidently pleased with himself. “One of the frontier systems, just as I suspected. Looks like she’s from the third—no, wait, a mining colony near the third planet. Station K-3 L5b.”
K-3 L5b, Jalil thought. It sounded like some kind of vehicle specification, not a place where people lived.
“One more thing,” said Jalil, his heart racing. “You said there was a family history. Is there any information about children?”
The man frowned. “Children?”
“Yes.”
“Hold on a second, son,” the man said, turning back to the screen. “Let me see…” He scrolled down the data, moving painfully slow. Jalil tapped his foot impatiently on the floor.
“Yes,” he said after nearly a minute. “Looks like she was married to a mister Scott Farland, of the same system, with one child.”
“Yes, yes, I know. What is the boy’s name?”
The man made a funny face and turned back. “The name they’ve got for you is Gavin—Gavin Farland.”
Gavin Farland, Jalil thought, his heart pounding like a nuclear engine in his chest. That’s my name—Gavin Farland.
“Will that be all, son?”
“Yes,” said Jalil, coming back to the present. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have your print job done in a few minutes. Until then, feel free to shop around.”
Karduna, Jalil thought to himself as the man hobbled behind the counter. My name is Gavin Farland and I’m from the star known as Karduna. My family is from a place called Station K-3 L5b.
It didn’t sound at all like home.
Book II: Sand and Stars
Part IV
Chapter 11
“Headed for Karduna, eh?” said the gaunt, black-haired man seated on the bar stool next to Jalil. “You looking to sign up for the war effort?” He took another puff of his foul-smelling cigar, the smoke mingling with the haze of a dozen other cigarettes in the cramped spaceport cantina.
“What?” said Jalil. “No, I only want passage.”
“Oh, I hear you, lad, I hear you. Only a fool would sign up with the Gaian Imperial Marines at this point, eh? Those Hameji are a right nasty bunch—believe me, I know. You wouldn’t want to end up as cannon fodder for them, eh?” He gave Jalil a meaningful nod.
I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Jalil wanted to say. These “Hameji”—why was everyone talking about them? He sighed.
“All I’m looking for is passage to Karduna.”
“Of course,” said the man, folding his hands together on the bar top and glancing quickly to either side. “Then let me put it to you this way: I know a private military company that’s looking to take on a few extra soldiers. A young man such as yourself could do well with them.”
Jalil frowned. The man with the cigar reminded him too much of Gregor Luczak with his meaningful glances and smooth talking.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can help me.”
“Right, right—I understand,” said the man, fishing for something in his pocket as he rose from his seat. “But if you change your mind, here’s my card.” He handed Jalil a small datachip device. “The password is ‘starrider,’ with two r’s. I’ll be planetside here at GN-2 for another two weeks; you’ve got until then to change your mind.”
Jalil took the chip and nodded wordlessly. ‘GN-2,’ he’d learned, meant Gaia Nova II—the Imperial name for the planet on which he stood. The designation still sounded odd to him, but it seemed to get bantered around a lot in the cantinas around the spaceport.
Feeling a little disappointed, he turned his head to glance around the establishment. Aside from a few other patrons at the bar, the place was empty. A nearby cyborg returned his stare; his red eyes and expressionless, circuit-embedded face made Jalil cringe and shudder. He turned back around and leaned heavily across the bar top.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, polishing glasses with the end of his apron.
“I’ll have some more coffee,” said Jalil. “Black, with no sugar.”
“You sure you don’t want anything harder?” The bartender gestured to the colorful array of liquor behind him. A large fishtank was embedded in the wall, giving the illusion that the fish inside were swimming lazily from bottle to bottle.
“No,” said Jalil. He had been raised to never drink alcohol, and had no desire to start now.
The bartender shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He set down a ceramic mug on the table and filled it from a simple plastic thermos. Jalil picked it up and swirled it halfheartedly before drinking. The coffee here wasn’t of the best quality, but at least it was better than nothing. He took a quick sip before placing it back down on the table.
“I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything new in the last couple of days, have you?”
The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, mate. Not many merchanters headed out on the GN-K route these days.”
“Why is that?”
“Probably the wars out in the frontier worlds. Ever since the Hameji took Tajjur and Belarius, the Imperial Navy has been real skittish. There’s even been talk of a temporary alliance with Karduna until the fighting settles down.”
Jalil nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. Most of the astropolitics went over his head, but he pretended to know what the man was talking about—after all, he didn’t want to look like an id
iot.
“Of course, that’s probably just a political stunt,” the bartender continued. “The Hameji battle fleets are too far away to pose an immediate threat, but Gaian merchanters don’t want to leave the protection of the Gaian Imperial Navy while there’s still a war going on. ”
“You’re forgetting something, Bill,” came a man’s voice from the doorway. “A lot of loyal Kardunasian merchanters are willing to take the risk—and this time, there’s no embargo to stop us.”
Jalil turned and watched as a tall, well-built man strode into the cantina. He wore a light gray jumpsuit with a thick belt and a brown leather vest. His salt-and-pepper beard was short and trim, and his eyes were bright blue, the color of the sky in the open desert. With his silvery black hair, he seemed as old as Jalil’s father—and from the confident, self-assured way he carried himself, he looked to be a man of some authority.
“Ah, Mark,” said the bartender in a warm voice. “I heard you were planetside. Care for a drink?”
“The usual,” said the man, taking a seat at the bar next to Jalil. He glanced around the room before leaning forward on one arm. “Things seem a little quiet around here, don’t they?”
“That they are,” said the bartender, filling up a glass with a heady amber-colored drink from the tap. “Much too quiet. You just come in from another trade run?”
“Sure did,” said the man. “Sold my cargo for a tidy profit, too; the boys are topside unloading it right now. Thought I’d stop by while I was in the neighborhood.”
He seems friendly enough, Jalil thought, looking for a chance to introduce himself. He didn’t have to wait long.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before,” the man said, turning and looking Jalil in the eye. “Where do you hail from?”
“From the desert,” said Jalil without thinking. “That is, uh, most recently.”
“I see. The name’s Mark—Mark Stewart.” He extended his hand, and Jalil took it. “What’s your name?”
“Jalil Ibn—I mean, Gavin Farland.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed inquisitively. “Farland, huh? Where did you say you were from?”
“The boy’s looking for passage to Karduna,” said the bartender, interrupting before Jalil could answer. “You wouldn’t happen to be looking to take on crew, would you?”
“Not particularly,” said Mark, turning back to the bar to take another drink from his glass.
“I’m from Karduna, sir,” Jalil blurted. “At least, that’s where I’m from originally.”
“And how did you end up in the desert?”
“It’s actually kind of a long story. I was raised in the desert, but—”
“I can certainly see that,” said Mark, eying Jalil’s clothes. Jalil blushed; not only had his desert robes become ragged during his journey, but they made him stand out in the spaceport just like his fair skin and blond hair made him look out of place among the tribesmen.
“And why do you want go to Karduna?”
Jalil swallowed. “All I want is to go home, sir.”
Mark stared at Jalil for several moments, not saying anything. Jalil fidgeted a little in his seat, but he met the man’s gaze without flinching.
“I see. Well, if all you want is passage, why don’t you take one of the passenger liners?”
“Because I don’t have the money, sir,” said Jalil, deciding it would be best to be honest. “That’s why I’m trying to sign on and work. Are you a starship captain?”
Mark smiled. “Yes, you could say that. My ship is the Bridgette.”
Jalil nodded, his heart beating a little faster. “And I don’t suppose I could, well, sign on with you?”
“That depends. We usually limit our crews to family and close friends of family. That’s what you’ll find with most interstellar outfits on the frontier worlds.”
Jalil’s stomach fell.
“Still, another hand might be useful. Do you have any experience working on interstellar freighters?”
“No.”
“How about in-system carriers?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Do you have any piloting skills at all?”
Jalil drew in a sharp breath. “No, not really.”
“Navigation experience? Mechanical experience?”
“I used to work on caravaneers out in the desert,” Jalil said eagerly. “I’ve rebuilt whole vehicles from the ground up, including the micronuclear cores.”
Mark leaned back and stroked his beard. The expression on his face didn’t look very promising.
“You said you were one of the Farlands?”
“That’s right, sir.”
For a few moments, neither of them said anything. Outside, a transport took off, momentarily filling the room with its roar. Jalil shifted nervously where he sat.
“Well,” said Mark, “I can’t pay you much, but I can give you passage—if you’re willing to work hard enough to earn it.”
Jalil’s heart skipped a beat. He could hardly believe his luck.
“Well, what do you say?”
“Thank you, sir!”
Mark smiled. “Meet me at gate 23A this afternoon, sixteen hundred local. I’ll have your contract ready at the shuttle.”
* * * * *
Jalil arrived at gate 23A nearly half an hour early. The concourse was filled with people, all hurrying from place to place. Most of them wore gray or navy blue jumpsuits, marking them as starship pilots or crew members—not passengers. The walls, too, were a utilitarian gray, devoid of the flashy advertisements so prominent in other areas of the spaceport.
At first, he wondered if he’d come to the right place. The gate was little more than a simple, windowless door; if it weren’t for the giant blue 23A painted above it, he would have left. Instead, he stood awkwardly outside.
When the clock across the hall read “1548,” a young woman approached the door from the main hallway. She had short blond hair and wore a loose-fitting, short-sleeve jumpsuit with a utility belt strapped around her waist. As she came closer, Jalil saw that her clothes were covered in grease stains and dark smudges.
She saw him standing next to the door and stopped. “You lost?”
“This is gate 23A, right?” asked Jalil.
“Yeah,” said the girl.
“Then I guess not.”
She frowned and cocked her head. “What are you looking for?”
“A man by the name of Mark Stewart.”
The girl only looked more puzzled than ever. “That’s my father,” she said. “How do you know him?”
Jalil shifted nervously from foot to foot. “I met him in a cantina earlier. He said he wanted to hire me, and told me to meet him here.”
“Oh yeah? Huh, that’s interesting. What’s your name?”
“Gavin,” said Jalil. “Gavin Farland.”
The girl’s eyes lit up, and she brought a hand to her chin. “Farland? Where’re you from?”
How do you know that name?
“Karduna,” he said, “but I grew up in the desert. Is your father here?”
“Oh yeah,” said the girl. “Sorry.” She produced a card from her chest pocket and held it in front of the access panel; the door hissed open, revealing a narrow corridor.
“Come with me,” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder as she went on ahead. “Dad’ll be here soon. The name’s Michelle, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Jalil stiffened a bit as he followed her into the narrow space. Michelle was not much older than Mira, and he didn’t feel comfortable being alone with her.
“Sorry to be rude,” said Michelle, stopping in front of the second door. “It’s just that we don’t generally take on new crew in foreign ports. We’re mostly a family operation, you see.”
“That’s what your father told me.”
“Farland, though—are you related to the Farlands from Kardunash III, by any chance?”
Jalil’s heart leaped in his chest. “I don’t k
now. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” She gave him a funny look. “I thought you said you were from Karduna.”
“Yes,” he said, “but… it’s a long story.”
“We’ve got some time to kill. Care to tell me?”
She looked at him expectantly, hands in her back pockets. In spite of her baggy jumpsuit, she had a strikingly attractive figure. Jalil blushed.
“Maybe later?”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s probably better to wait ‘til we’re topside anyway.”
She reached up with one hand to a keypad on the wall next to the door. Her nimble fingers danced across the keys and the door hissed open, revealing a small, dimly lit room.
“Watch your head.”
Jalil ducked as he followed her into a narrow room barely larger than a closet. The door slid shut behind them, and for a second, Jalil felt a wave of claustrophobia wash over him. He turned around and banged his head.
“Ow!” he said, looking up to see what he’d hit. It was a metal handhold.
What the hell is a handhold doing on the ceiling?
“Sorry about that,” said Michelle as she opened yet another door. “The shuttle’s a bit cozy, but at least this way we don’t have to pay for the ferry.”
What ferry? Jalil nearly asked. Not wanting to sound like an idiot, though, he followed her inside without saying anything.
The first thing he noticed were the pipes and conduits running along the ceiling. Once again, he ducked his head, and this time nearly tripped over a false-leather chair embedded in the floor. It was one of eight; two in front, three in the middle, and three more in back. Various metal cabinets and compartments lined the walls, while a series of panels and displays formed a semicircle around the two seats in the front. The forward window was wide but narrow, and looked out over the flat horizon that marked the top of Terra 2 Dome. Outside, a starship passed noisily overhead; inside the cabin, however, it was remarkably quiet.
“You like it?” Michelle asked, wiping her hands on a rag.
“Sure,” he said, taking a seat. The fact that they were alone together made him nervous—it reminded him too much of that night with Mira.
