Windjammer: The Tradership Saga Book 1

by M J Gauntlet

  To ensure that no one family or group of individuals could hold a monopoly of choice land, it was made illegal for family members (down to the second cousin) to own land within 160 acres of each other. If two citizens were to marry and it was determined that their titles were within this restrictive area, then one of them would have to renounce their deed back into the LAG and participate in the next allotment. ‘Land swapping’ was forbidden. It was also illegal for either planetary or interplanetary corporations to own land on Bright. Any lands that corporations needed could only be leased directly from a citizen of Bright.

  With this system there was no ‘inherited’ land to be passed down through generations. It also made it extremely difficult to accumulate and monopolize choice plots or tracts of property. The lottery allotment was randomized, so that each citizen was supposed to have an equal chance of obtaining a useful plot of land or in some cases, obtain a ‘prime’ section of land. Prime land was any land that had accessible water and/or useful mineral or farmable acreage, or was situated on along major waterways, ports or dams or, any plots that contained valuable resources such as farmable timber or mineral ores. Such acreage as well as those that contained governmental buildings and complexes were deemed ‘planetary assets. They were the ‘golden tickets’ of the Land Acquisition Grant. The spaceports and high- rise offices fell under the same classification. Even the Unity Imperial military bases and Imperial governmental offices and off-world Embassies were part of Bright’s LAG. Anyone drawing such a plot was given a generous land evaluation subsidy, which could financially set up a citizen for life.

  Of course, certain ‘safeguards’ were instigated to mitigate foul play. If a title holder died of natural causes, the property was entered to the following year’s land lottery but if the citizen unexpectedly died, either through accidental or criminal means, then the land was re-entered into the land pool after a two-year hiatus and its occupants, if any, were given a year to vacate the premises.

  The planetary government still retained the right of ‘eminent domain’ but even land that was slated for governmental usage, such as highways or contragrav rail systems, was still placed in the LAG.

  Since it was supposedly impossible to either predict or influence which plot of land a citizen would be awarded out of the millions of hectares of land available, it was not uncommon for a person to be granted a deed to a parcel that was thousands of kilometers away (sometimes on a different continent) from where they lived. Because of this, land co-ops had sprung up almost immediately. These cooperatives (usually owned by Firsters) would arrange financing for the development of ‘linked’ properties, i.e. owners of adjacent properties that would agree to develop their land in mutually beneficial configurations such as high-rise office structures, manufacturing complexes or shopping malls.

  To be eligible for the Land Acquisition Grant, a person had to be deemed a planetary citizen which was both the easiest for some, and highly complicated for others to attain. Citizenship was granted to the first or second born of parents who were legally bound and who were themselves also both planetary citizens. Proof of Bright citizenship was displayed by a tattoo. All residents of Bright were either tattooed at birth on their right palms to show that they were born citizens, or if they were ‘third born’ or waiting to become naturalized citizens, the tattoo was placed on the back of their right hand. After an individual gained full citizenship and qualified for the LAG, the tattoo morphed by changing its shape and coloring to reflect their eligibility.

  Becoming a naturalized citizen of Bright was an extremely difficult procedure, which often took years to achieve. Those immigrants who had skills and/or professions that were in high demand, such as hyper drive engineers or nano technicians, were usually fast tracked for citizenship and upon obtaining citizenship they would receive a fully developed ‘back handed’ tattoo. Those unfortunates who did not fall into this category such as, unskilled off-world immigrants or the ‘third born’ (which composed ninety-nine percent of the remaining candidates for citizenship), had to sometimes wait for decades before their application was considered, and even then, the request could be sent back for ‘further evaluation’. There was an elaborate system of under the table bribes, kickbacks and ‘processing fees’ that if not met, could delay an applicant’s approval almost indefinitely.

  There was one other way that a person could be granted citizenship to Bright… by Imperial Edict. While seldom evoked, the I.E. was available to any subject of the Empire. The I.E. would allow them to gain instant citizenship on any inhabited planet within the realm. To be eligible for Imperial Edict, it was required that the person perform an act or acts that were considered extraordinary, exemplary and above and beyond the requirements of service to the Empire. Zaxxion’s father, Ezekiel Grayson, was one who had performed such a service. Not only was he responsible for the discovery and mapping of over a dozen transitional space routes that have cut hundreds of parsecs off travel in this arm of the galaxy, but he had single handedly, without the aid of an A.I. because it was so severely damaged that it had to be abandoned, made his way back to Imperial space in a damaged escape boat with news of an undiscovered planetary star system. Miraculously, not only was he able to secure the data from the failing ship’s A.I. but he was able to guide his escape pod through an uncharted, unstable, interstellar rift, allowing him to return to known space. Grayson was awarded both the Unity Cross of Valor, and the Imperial Star for Distinguished Service to the Crown for his actions. This made him and his spouse eligible for immediate citizenship to any colony world of his choice by Imperial Edict. Many ‘natural born’ citizens of Bright, like foreman Slater Lagasse, strongly resented any new settlers that achieved citizenship. It didn’t matter to ‘Large Ass’ how many ‘awards’ an immigrant had earned, he was still considered a ‘Laster’. To those who claimed ‘Firster’ heritage, it didn’t matter what Ezekiel Grayson had done, the idea that because his ancestors did not date back to one of the original settlers who had colonized Bright, meant that he was just an ‘off world’ land grabber who was ‘stealing’ land from Bright’s rightful citizens. He was a latecomer, someone who had obtained citizenship by last resort…a Laster.

  Officially, Zaxxion was listed as an E3, an ‘exterior engine exhaust technician’, colloquially known as a ‘tube jockey’. While the large interstellar transports and liners relied on their hyper generators and contragrav units to transport them from system to system, it was the hydrogen fueled Bassard ramjets that boosted them off planet and the nuclear-powered ion engines that powered them to the outer edge of a star’s gravity well, to where they were be able to use their transitional jump engines. Activation of a Hymes transitional drive too far into a system’s gravity well would reduce a ship into a rapidly expanding ball of gas and debris. The Bassard field generators extended a thousand-kilometer-wide strong electromagnet field ahead of a ship, providing both a particle shield and a hydrogen scoop to provide fuel for the fusion powered ion thrusters.

  The larger the ship, the larger the generated magnetic field. The larger the magnetic field, the larger the transfer coils and exhaust cones, resulting in a greater buildup of surface contaminates on the exposed exhaust surfaces. Contamination of the hydrogen ion exhaust cones and its injectors eventually leads to loss of thrust and the wasting of energy, and that meant a loss of revenue. If left unchecked for too long, it could lead to even more serious consequences like tube failure and/or a complete exhaust system shut down. In rare cases, catastrophic tube failure could cause a systematic injector cascade failure, which would in turn create an energy feedback that could rupture the fusion containment pods and destroy a ship.

  Usually, ship captains followed a routine maintenance schedule for tube scrubbing at least twice every thirty-T day cycle, but ships that were operating with narrower profit margins such as traderships, tended to stretch out the time between tube maintenance. Zax had noticed that it was not uncommon for the independent traderships to ignore a regimented m
aintenance routine and follow a more liberal maintenance schedule. It was because of this reputation of skipping scheduled maintenance, sometimes for months, the spaceport safety inspectors were known to inspect traderships more thoroughly than normal.

  Zax looked at the work tablet and saw that currently there were three ships docked at dry dock slips forty-five through forty-seven that were scheduled for scrubbing: one passenger midliner and two traders. Tapping the pad’s screen, he remotely programed and ordered a squad of four repair bots to scrub the accessible areas in and around each of the midliner’s gigantic tubes. Usually, four bots were enough to handle three ships simultaneously. The mid-liner presented no significant problem. Because the large commercial passenger liners tended to strictly follow regular maintenance schedules, any particle buildup was usually minor and could easily be handled by the bots. The traderships were another matter altogether.

  While the captain of the Seagram seemed to have kept up with the ship’s tube maintenance so that it had only a slightly above average accumulation of contaminants, the captain of the Brooklyn Queen fell into the category of those who went long stretches without proper overhaul. It was obvious from even a cursory inspection, that his ion tubes had not seen a decent scrub for at least two months! It was possible that both traderships might have gone longer without proper care, but an eagle-eyed port inspector had noticed the condition of the neglected drives of the Brooklyn Queen and decided to place a ‘cease commerce’ order on both ships until the appropriate maintenance was done.

  The scaling and pitting on and around the Brooklyn Queen exhaust areas was considerable. The contragrav drone confirmed what Zax had suspected: the only way to tackle that job was with a hands-on approach. Bots could only do so much with corruption like this, it required someone to use a contragrav disc into the cone and then climb all the way up into the tube, to manually repair then reseal the affected area. Zax sadly shook his head, because he knew that whatever the captain of that ship thought he had gained by skipping maintenance on his ion tubes, he just lost in dry dock. This procedure not only took more time, (which translated into lost eunits to traders) but also incurred a much higher cost.

  As he rode the contragrav pallet up into the gigantic bell-shaped cone, Zax grimaced sardonically. One look at the accumulation inside the unit told him all he had to know: it was obvious that under the table eunits had furtively passed hands between the ship’s engineer and ‘good old boy’ Lagasse. The only way the Brooklyn Queen could be cleared by the port inspector in the time stipulated by the work order, is if the visible crud had been cleared away and the shop foreman signed off, on the word of the workshop’s E3 technician; a one Zaxxion Grayson. The problem was that if the inspector just happened to be a stickler for protocol and gave a thorough examination, it would be Zax’s ass on the line not Lagasse’s. There was no way Zax was going to put his job on the line for anyone, let alone an asshole like Slater Lagasse, which meant that he had no alternative… he had to do the job right. He was in for a long night. Just then, his earbud crackled with the grating voice of the detested shop foreman. “GRAYSON!” it squawked loudly in his ear, “ain’t you done yet with the ship in slip forty- six? C’mon you lazy Laster, get er done!”

  “This is going to be at least a six or seven-hour job here Slater…oh pardon me…Mister Lagasse, are you sanctioning me to wrap it up ‘as is’ by your own authority?”

  There was a long pause and Zax could visualize Slater grinding his teeth in frustration. The foreman knew that everything said over the shop’s com unit was recorded back at the central station. Zax could visualize the man’s face turning red as his piggy eyes squeezed shut so tight that they were just lines in his fat face. Zax didn’t know what he had promised the Brooklyn Queen’s engineer as to how quickly the job would be done, but he figured that Slater was about to give back a sizable amount of the bribe he had taken.

  “I’m not authorizing shit! I’m expecting you to have that job done in two hours, if you can’t do it in the allotted time, then I don’t give a shit it takes you all night! But understand this: if it does take all night the extra time will be on you and not charged to the spaceport. You got that, shit-head? Now get your goldbricking ass to work, or I’ll have your job!”

  Across the tarmac of the dry dock, a lean figure peered out of the shadows cast by the warehouse buildings, adjacent to the spaceport yard, servicing the dry dock berths. Bringing an image magnifier up to his face, he observed the work taking place through the yard’s huge open hanger doors. Even though he was back out of the light cast by the street’s glow lamp and well hidden in the darkness, he kept his blend suit activated. He was not one to take anything for granted. With a dejected scowl, he removed the earbud from his left ear. After eavesdropping into the com frequency of the drydocks workshop, he was slightly perturbed to overhear the conversation between the foreman and his target.

  Having observed the day to day habits of Zaxxion Grayson over the past few days, he was aware of the boy’s haphazard schedule, so this hiccup in his plans did not come as a total surprise, but it was troublesome, nonetheless. Watching his breath as it condensed in the cool night air, the man slowly shook his head at the inefficiency he found on so many of the Imperial worlds out on the rim. By all accounts, his target should have been well on his way home by now, but if anything, the man was pragmatic and understood that very few stratagems proceed exactly as planned. In fact, this unexpected hitch in his strategy might just work out in his favor. Stepping deeper into the shadows, he activated his far more sophisticated (and much more secure) com unit and spoke softly into it.

  “There will be an indeterminate delay in acquiring the boy. Proceed with interrogation of the parent. I will follow up with the boy when, and if, it is necessary…out.” There was a momentary pause, then came the reply… ’understood, out’. As the man stepped forward to get a better view of his target, a small rodent like creature called a nip-nip scuttled out of the shadows and tried to take a bite out of the man’s boot. Without so much as a downward glace, his foot shot out and crushed the swift scavenger in one fluid motion. The creature never even had time to squeal. The man continued to observe his assignment through the magnifier.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The contragrav skimmer glided silently through the sparse cover provided by the croup of scrub, pseudo, oak trees that delineated the property boundary of the makeshift hut, sitting at its center. Coming to a noiseless halt just at the edge of the clearing, four men silently disembarked the hovering flitter. Their dual shadows, cast by Bright’s two moons, slanted towards the dwelling as the quartet slowly advanced onto the footfall silencing, moss-covered ground. Of the four figures, two were clothed in nondescript standard military issue gray and black mottled camouflage jackets and pants. The other two wore, state of the art vision, blurring, blend suits that reflected little or no light, as they automatically adjusted to match whatever background the wearer was standing in front of. The two men in camouflage where marked as natives of Bright by their squat bulky frames. But the other pair, were of such an average build and height, that anyone passing them on the street would not have noticed anything out of the ordinary.

  The larger of the two Bright natives named Kass Oaton, turned and spoke in a soft whisper to his mate, “I never heard of a Laster setting up a house way out here alone in the brush. Why ain’t they at the settlement compound closer to the spaceport?”

  Oaton’s partner, Horas Lahrs grunted a reply as he began to lick his lips in anticipation of the night’s planned mayhem: “I heard that this Laster is special. He’s supposed to be some kinda of ex-Unity soldier or scout or sumpt’in like that and that he actually owns the land that hovel sits upon. You know that Implies he can opt for automatic citizenship on any world they chose.”

  “Ain’t that a bitch!” his long-time partner in crime Kass replied, as he cautiously looked around the clearing. “You’d think that he would’a done something better with his plot than that shac
k over there.”

  “Yeah, but it being so far out here only makes our job easier… no witnesses,” he paused, about to add something else when one of the cloaked figures to his right swiveled to face the two men. An eerie pair of glowing eyes that were suspended in the darkness of the blend suit’s cowl, were now fixed on the pair. Lahrs’ next words died in his throat. Taking no notice of the sudden silence of his partner, Kass continued with his complaint.

  “I don’t see why it would take the four of us to take out an ol geezer of a Blitzo addict and a snot nosed kid.”

  “Shaddup, Kass! Stop grousing and keep an eye out for anyone who might come along!” Lahr’s said, in an urgent harsh whisper.

  “All I’m saying is…” Kass started to continue, when a lightning fast downward slash of the cloaked man’s right- hand trust out and lightly struck the loquacious hireling in his throat ending the man’s lament.

  “Silence fool!” a dry raspy voice, that sounded like crackling leaves, hissed from beneath the hood of the taller blend suited figure.

  Kass’ eyes bulged, as he found that his throat was now paralyzed. He could taste blood in his mouth where he had bit the inner lining of his mouth. Slowly, rubbing his temporarily stunned throat, the chastened man fell back in step. The speed and force behind that sudden slashing hand could have just as easily snapped his neck.

  Horace Lahrs swallowed hard as he took furtive glances at the two men who had just stopped ahead of him. The somewhat shorter of the two had not spoken a word since they had met, but it was obvious that the two were cut from the same cloth. Lahrs shuddered inwardly, as he remembered the half-whispered tales, he had heard about them. He never believed he would ever see one, let alone be in the employ of, Cree Assassins.