Windjammer: The Tradership Saga Book 1

by M J Gauntlet

“C’mon, Zax. You don’t want to stay here! The place is probably crawling with Draconian bed mites. Them things are the size of your thumb! Come back with me to Momma Pearl’s, she will have a nice, soft warm bed for you, and afterwards I will take you anywhere you want. Hell, you’ve tipped me enough to last a month of taxi rides.”

  But Zax was unyielding. He was going to stay at the Robohostel, but he promised to keep Rodger’s taxi call card and promised to call him if he needed to. With that promise Rodger relented, and waved goodbye as the skycab rose into the airstream. After looking at his new accommodations, Zax was tempted to call Rodger back. Then concern for his new friend steeled his resolve. Zax liked Rodger and Mrs. Ava Pearl a great deal, but the words ‘Typhoid Mary’ kept echoing in his brain. He would be damned of any more people he cherished came to harm. With a final sigh, he entered the foyer of the Robohostel.

  Robohostels could be found throughout the myriad planets belonging to the Empire. They were a totally automated combination hotel and hostel. Each one was a self-contained housing complex that provided the traveler with clean (supposedly) and comfortable accommodations at a moderate price. Or so the adverts said. They were the galaxy’s equivalent to what used to be called in pre-space days ‘cheap motels’, geared towards clandestine meetings and forbidden trysts. Every robohostel was identical, in both look and operations.

  The concept was simple. Find a plot of land, usually near a busy spaceport or entertainment center, contragrav lift the entire prefabbed structure in place, and it was open for business. Each unit was completely self-sufficient and self-contained. Power was provided by a mini fusion plant and the water was recycled in a self- contained plant on site, as was the waste. All functions were automated, including room allocation and cleaning services. Their greatest feature was their ability to take a multitude of payment options. Not only did they take Imperial units, but also, Nubian drachmas, Marcosians shekels, Krillian c’kyr, and just about any other method of payment, both human and alien. This feature made them perfect for travelers. Their second greatest attribute was their privacy. There were no live attendants, and best of all, imagers were only activated if there were an emergency or in cases of vandalism. Every function from check-in to room service was completely automated. Even the repairs were done by preprogramed robots.

  Zaxxion looked at the dull exterior of the robohostel and sighed deeply. This was no ‘Mamma Pearl’s’ boarding house. Pulling out his chit dispenser, Zax placed a fifty- unit chit into the front panel. The chit disappeared with a dull clunk, then the door slid sideways, revealing a small vestibule that could possibly hold four humans or two Krillians. Against the wall, a screen lit up with a blank surface and a voice began speaking in a series of languages in concert with their matching text. Zax stared at the screen until the words “Imperial Standard Languages” were displayed next to a blinking icon. Pressing the on-screen button, the cacophony of voices ceased to be replaced by Imperial Anglash.

  “Welcome to the Tallas Corporation Robohostel #17 in Plex, on the planet Bright. Please make your selection from the menu of room accommodations and enjoy your stay,” said the image of a perky, human female.

  I’m willing to bet, Zax mused, that a corresponding image is projected that is germane for any species.

  The salutation was followed by a species selection menu. Zax selected ‘human male’ and the image switched to a room assortment menu that slowly scrolled down the screen. The selections were categorized by type: single utility rooms, double utility suites, business suites, and ‘pleasure’ rooms. Out of curiosity, Zax pressed the ‘pleasure room’ icon. The screen blinked then began to display a series of very provocatively designed suites, some of which could be described as down-right kinky, maybe even harmful. Pressing the ‘back’ button, he finally settled on a single utility suite arrangement, at which time the young woman’s image returned.

  “The nightly rate for this accommodation is one hundred seventy-five eunits. Please deposit one hundred twenty-five additional planetary eunits, or its equivalent in alternative currency.”

  Fishing out the extra eunit chits, Zax deposited them in the slot next to the screen. There was another much longer pause, then eventually, a panel to his left slid aside revealing a hallway that seemed to stretch far into the distance. A pulsing bead of light traveled down the corridor, leading him to an unmarked portal. When he reached the room’s entrance, he could hear the apartment still being configured behind the door.

  What made robohostels unique was that there were no preformatted rooms or suites. The interiors of each building were held together by generated fields of force. When a room was ‘ordered’ contragrav was used to shift the necessary panels, toiletries, furniture, and lighting to be configured into the specified requirement. Once assembled, the room was made available for the specified time of occupancy, then its components were sanitized and disassembled for the next order. There was no real set ‘maximum capacity’ for a robohostel. A robohostel was considered ‘full’ when there were no configurations left.

  After a few minutes, the door slid aside revealing a sparsely decorated single room suite. There was a single one-man contragrav suspended bed, a small fold away table and in the corner a standard fresher unit, which served as both a shower and a toilet. A small cabinet marked ‘laundry’ was on the wall next to the fresher. Opening it, Zax found a couple of coarse feeling, plasticine fabric towels, a skinny bar of soap and a plasticine cup. Next to the cabinet was a button marked ‘cleaning service’, which when pressed would close the cabinet doors, remove any used towels and toiletries, and then reopen once they had been replaced and recycled. There was a sign in large print above the cabinet that read:

  “Only for use with robohostel provided toiletries, “DO NOT PLACE ANY FORGIEN OBJECT IN CABNET, PATRONS WILL BE CHARGED FOR ALL DAMAGES.”

  Yep, this is a huge come down from Mrs. Pearl’s boarding house. Zax thought wearily.

  Just thinking about the boarding house made him hungry for, what did she call them? Ahh…yes…scones. Zax consoled himself with the thought that his stay was only for one night. Dropping his rucksack next to the floating bed, and after setting his wristcom alarm, he climbed in and tried to get some rest. Tomorrow was a do or die day he thought, as he dozed off into a fitful sleep.

  Zax was floating…no…flying through the void of space. He was an insignificant speck, but nonetheless a most powerful speck. He was not alone. There were others like him, proud, sleek and powerful. The makers were with him…no…inside him and he was pleased…

  **…systems search commencing…intellects identified…contact…intelligences insufficient… expanding search parameters…contact…interface restricted by biological safeguards…end search…**

  Who would have thought it would be so hard to find a golden haired, dark skinned youth on the planet Bright? M’Lak mused fretfully. Because of the dual suns and the planet’s axial tilt most of its citizens were dark skinned, but how many would have golden hair? Unfortunately, M’Lak had not kept up with the latest fashion trends or he would have known that ‘the Nubian look’ was the latest galaxy wide fashion statement among the youth. Looking at the images streaming across his com screen, it seemed like every third young person (and a disturbing number of mature ones) were sporting golden hair.

  Time was running short; he could feel it. The ISB were now in the hunt for Zaxxion Grayson and M’Lak feared that they had a good idea of what it was the boy had in his possession. Damn the luck! Violently shaking his head, M’Lak knew that he was one of the best agents of the Marcosian Restoration Worlds, he would not just sit here cursing his luck. It was time to start using his brain and the skills he had developed over years of being out in the field. Rocking back and forth in his gravchair, M’Lak steepled his fingers in front of his face and began to meditate deeply on the situation. There must be something that would separate my quarry from the rest of these golden-haired impostors. Narrowing the program’s search parameters by height a
nd build was not enough. There were literally thousands of individuals that fit that description. Raising out of the chair, he began to pace across the room as he tried to reason out what to try next…So, what else was there… eye color…? No, it was too easy to temporary change that through surgery or even tinted lenses... What about clothing…? No, most definitely not. It was far too easy to…WAIT!... No…NOT clothes but…

  M’Lak almost leaped back to the console and sat heavily in the chair, causing its self-adjusting servos to whine in protest. He quickly had the computer scan though previous images of Zaxxion…could it really be as simple as that? Going through the scans again he searched and…yes…there it was! With an uncharacteristic ‘whoop’ of joy, M’Lak keyed in a new set of parameters. For sure, it wasn’t in every image, but it was in enough of them to be able to run a selective search. All he could do now was to wait. And maybe pray to the Goddess for a little more luck.

  Five hours later, the computer signaled M’Lak that it had found a match. Jumping out of his suspended bed, he rushed over to the projected screen to see the results. Eyes wide, he cursed and checked the time. If he hurried, he just might have enough time to intercept Zaxxion before he left the planet. Although it meant that he would have to become directly involved, there was no avoiding the situation. But before he faced his quarry, there was one thing he was honor bound to do. Reaching over to a device sitting on the table, M’Lak grasped the two-pronged instrument and jabbed it into his upper left arm. Within seconds his skin began to change. Its surface began to wither and pulsate until the entire epidermis was now covered in tattoos of all sizes and description. But this ink, stirred and flowed. The images were in constant motion. Some depicted what looked like religious themes, while others depicted scenes of battle. There were several images that some cultures would have considered lude or vulgar. Minute or large, each tattoo changed and seemed to move over his skin. Finally, M’Lak thought, I can shed the dishonor of a blank skin and meet Zaxxion Grayson as a true Marcosian, Goddess be praised! Reaching for his coat, he keyed his com unit and grimaced. Once again, he had to do something he dreaded doing. Hopefully, this would be the last time. Time was against him and there was no getting around taking the next potentially dangerous step.

  Imperial Special Branch Agent Hymes, read through the communique once more and swore. Because of the last communique, he had been forced to change his approach for locating and apprehending Zaxxion Grayson. Now, headquarters had put further restrictions on his actions. He was now, only to observe Grayson and keep track of his whereabouts. A second agent was now enroute to Bright, via a fast courier, and would take over the case. The message went on to say: This is in no way to be considered as a negative reflection to how you have handled the situation, but since the subject has already met you and has, in all likely hood identified you as an Imperial agent, it had been decided that a new approach is necessary. Upon agent Pickard’s arrival make sure that all files, faxes, images, and data concerning Zaxxion Grayson are to be handed over to said agent, who is now in charge of the case. He is to be given a free hand, total cooperation by the local authorities, as well as total access to all planetary assets and data.

  Reading the line “…was in no way to be considered a negative reflection…” Hymes smirked. Sure, he lamented, and if for some reason this whole thing goes South, guess who will get the short end of the stick!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Zax arrived at the Plex spaceport field an hour and a half before the tradership Windjammer was due to lift off. Looking up at the arrival and departure board hanging in the center of the causeway, he found that the terminal for traderships was located, of course, at Terminal ‘F’ at the very far end of the spaceport. Picking up his rucksack, Zax stepped onto the contragrav walkway and headed in that direction. As he moved through the terminal hub, two figures detached themselves from the side lanes and began to keep pace with his movement.

  When Zax finally arrived at Terminal F, he found that he had to traverse the last one hundred meters on foot, for the contragrav walkway ended at the last passenger liner terminal. Finally reaching the loading kiosk for the terminal, Zax noticed that there were no boarding attendees. Being a lowly tradership terminal it didn’t warrant, nor did traderships want, the expense of a bright-eyed human or an costly robotic steward. Instead, there was a single stall with the word ‘tickets’ flashing overhead. Fishing out his prepaid card, Zax thumbed the card’s icon for a balance. Seeing the resulting total, he groaned.

  By using the entire amount left on the card, (after it was exchanged into Imperial eunits at a horrendous spaceport exchange rate) and then adding to it the eunits he obtained from Cray, he would have just enough to cover his journey to Plato, with a little bit extra. But, if by chance he missed his connection to Captain Murphy Ito’s ship The Rapture, then he would either be stranded on Plato or be forced to use his Imperial Banking disc, which was linked to his trust account. Which he was sure, would lead the ISB right to him. Taking a deep breath, he deposited the full amount into the booth. A single thin transparent plasticine sheet was ejected, that’s all. No docking slip, no baggage tags, just a gate designation was indicated on the ticket. Traders figured that if you bought the ticket, then you should have sense enough to know where the ship was docked. There were only five gates at this terminal, so Zax decided to stand in the center of the semi-darkened area to wait.

  After a minute or two, Zax could hear voices down the tunnel, coming his way. Two men had entered the terminal with exaggerated swaggers.

  “Hey Alfie, get a load of the Laster in the fancy clothes and the ‘Nubian look’,” the man just to Zax’s left said to his companion. This comment was from the taller of the two, who was rail thin, wearing a skullcap with a death head splat that reflected the overhead lights, giving it a ghostly glow. His face almost mimicked that of his cap. It looked thin and emaciated with hollowed out eye sockets caused by the black eye makeup he wore to enhance the look. He also had blood red lipstick that stretched up his cheek, beyond the curve of his mouth, making him look like the old Terrian Tri-D classic character “The Joker”.

  His buddy Alfie was the anthesis of the other. He was quite well dressed in the latest planetary fashion. There was a bright pink tie around his neck, which splayed out into a wide base. He looked like he just stepped out of a salon, with smooth pecan colored skin and wavy hair that was trimmed so that it fell just at his eyebrows, with a long ponytail trailing down his back. Looking like he spent hours in a gravity gym, his arms bulged out of his too tight shirtsleeves and ended in toughened, gnarled hands that matched the rest of his physique.

  Alfie slowly looked Zax up and down, then sneered. Zax felt his stomach muscles tense, then forced them to relax. Now was not the time to get into any altercation that would bring the notice of the police or the port authorities.

  With a wicked smile, Alfie said, “Yeah, Stan, where do you suppose he stole a suit like that, huh?”

  “Hey! It looks like real cloth too! Imagine that! Do you know what a suit like that could cost honest citizens like ourselves?”

  “Come on Stan, are you blind? Can’t you see his tat? Why this here is a bona fide citizen! Just like us,” Alfie answered, with a voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “No fucking way, pal! You can smell the difference! This one here still smells of the disinfectant and lice repellent from the settlements. What’s the matter Laster? Don’t tell me you can’t smell yourself.” This last was directed a Zax, from the gap tooth grinning Stan.

  It had been a long time since Zax had been harassed in this fashion, which if he were not so distracted by the events of the last few days, should have made him suspicious. When he was younger, most of the mindless Firster bullies, such as these two, played this ‘game’ on a regular basis until Zax’s father had beat the hell out of him in their homemade, impromptu, training ground and taught him to fend for himself. At a glance, Zax could see that the three of them were totally alone. Looking aroun
d at the walls and ceiling, he could see no imaging cameras, nor did he expect to see any in this part of the terminal. Obviously, the two Firsters knew this also.

  “No use looking around for cameras or help. We are

  all alone,” said the one called Stan.

  “Hey Laster,” Alfie said, continuing the game. “Didn’t you hear what Pete asked you? Answer him! Can’t you speak when your betters are talking to you?”

  Both were now warming up to their little game.

  “Naw, Alfie don’t sweat it. Obviously, he thinks that him being a new citizen and all, he figures that he doesn’t have to speak to the likes of us. Well…no matter Laster, you see we are kinda what you would call ‘semi-official’ tax collectors for the government, get me?” Alfie started to snicker as Stan went on, “And it has come to our attention that you are somewhat behind in your taxes. Sooo…we are here to collect them back taxes, got me?”

  “Now don’t you sweat it new citizen,” gaped tooth Alfie chimed in, “we don’t want your fancy new duds or nothing like that…”

  “Yea, right! As though we would wear ‘em after you put your stench all over them,” interjected Stan.

  “Er…whatever,” Alfie snarled, plainly annoyed by his friend’s interruption of his ‘clever’ dialog. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we don’t want your clothes, just that nice little contragrav rucksack over there,” he said, pointing to the bag laying at Zax’s feet. “What ja say, humm citizen?”

  All through the discourse, Zax had not uttered a sound. On perhaps on another day, at another time he would have tried to defuse the situation. Zax desperately wanted to avoid any attention cast his way, but these two thugs had touched a nerve. Unfortunately for them, for the past several days Zax could feel the frustration, grief and anger building up inside him.

  Zax tried never to intentionally go out of his way to harm anyone, yet trash like these two were walking the planet without a care in the world! Because of him (or rather what he was carrying), people he knew and cared about were either dying around him or he was forced to leave them, to keep them out of harm’s way and enough had just become too much! Feeling the rage building up, he began taking slow deep breaths, as he readied himself for the fight to come. While the two were speaking, they had been covertly (so they thought) moving, so that they were in flanking positions on either side of him.