by Matt Novotny
“It is beautiful, is it not?” asked the Sirra’Kan. “You should enjoy the view; you may never see it again. For Humans, Hope’s End is the place where dreams come to die.”
Hope Station had once been an ore processing and refinery center from the days of Earth’s entry into the Galactic Union. Built contrary to every principle of mining in space, Hope had been designed to enter asteroid fields and haul in asteroids with grapples before cutting them into pieces, grinding them into rubble, and smelting the result. An early find of red diamonds in a backwater of the Tolo Arm had filled the owners with optimism and they had spared no expense in outfitting the station to the highest standards for safety and power.
The wheel-type station had rings that could rotate at different rates to simulate gravity and provide conditions ideal for varying projects, while maintaining a zero-G central hub where the cargo docks were located. A radical design, Hope was built so that sections could be broken down and moved through the gates by means of a thrust core, something that no doubt looked good in the design phase but was nearly impossible in practice.
The consortium that had developed the station had been wildly, disastrously optimistic. Failing to find anything else of note, they had soon gone bankrupt. In the years that had followed, Hope had been bought and sold a dozen times, and in various incarnations had been a brothel, a casino, a shipping hub, a storage facility, a wrecking yard, and a Pushtal pirate base. The last effort to revitalize Hope for its original purpose had failed practically before it had begun, and the station’s armored bulk now drifted forlorn and empty among rocks, hulks of mothballed spacecraft, and floating debris. Its many short careers were done, while the rest of the galaxy moved on. Hope was so far in the hinterlands of space that it wasn’t even worth selling for scrap; the station was abandoned and forgotten. In Hope’s final days, some wag had repainted the station’s name but had added “‘s END.”
In his time as an Enforcer, Kr’et’Socae had found old records to the place and bought it through a series of shell companies, both as a refuge and a monument to the stupidity of Humankind. Kr’et’Socae thought Hope’s End was perfect. Sin’Kura could only agree.
“Pretty,” said Bes. “Kinda gloomy, though; needs a woman’s touch. Too bad you don’t have any.”
Sin’Kura moved almost too fast for Bes to follow, her talons closing on her throat, then lightly brushing her face. “We haf you,” she said. “Perhaps we will employ your touch.”
The Sirra’Kan turned to Lakanto. “Take us in.”
“Don’t you worry none. The Cajuns are gonna take this place apart like a cheap watch,” Bes said as she squeezed Sabine’s hand.
The Gendrus moved into the station’s hub and settled into one of half a dozen berths. Far ahead in the display there were a series of doors that would allow the Gendrus to exit without having to maneuver inside the dock or split the bay to allow a smaller area to be pressurized. Another ship was docked in front of them. Once thrust was cut, Bes found herself beginning to drift and quickly activated the magnetic shoes Yeorgi had given them, making sure Sabine’s were also on.
‘Bastian wiggled his legs for Sabine to set him down. He attached to the floor with a slight click. “Look, Nana, ‘Bastian has shoes, too!” said Sabine.
He must have magnets in his limbs, thought Bes. What else did Remmy think of?
“Good,” Sin’Kura said. “We vould not want you to drift off once we are outside with nothing to catch you. Come with me. I haf the perfect quarters for you.”
Sin’Kura led them to the airlock. Surprisingly, both sets of doors were open, and the crew was already moving in and out on various tasks. Outside were a dozen Blevin, the humanoid lizards bowing as Sin’Kura entered the station. One held the remote for a small cargo pallet containing a single crate. “Tell them they may begin unloading our cargo,” she said to one of the Torvasi. Her bodyguard came back and nodded. “Mr. Romanov, make yourself useful and bring the crate.”
The Sirra’Kan pointed out various features as if she were a tour guide and not a terrorist. “We arrive on special day,” she said. “The docks are pressurized to allow our esteemed guests to stretch their wings.” She gestured past the ship. Several black dots were moving in the open dimness of the docking bay. Sabine looked up when she heard a deep drone, then screamed and tried to hide behind Bes as the sound resolved into a half-dozen medium-dog-sized house flies. They landed and approached the group.
“Do not be rude,” said Sin’Kura. “Athal are a talented species.”
“We greet you. We have been waiting,” said the lead Athal. “Do you have what we agreed upon?”
“Of course, Greesh’l,” said Sin’Kura. “Everything we do not need for the station is yours to sell. The Blevin are unloading it as we speak.”
The Athal buzzed back and forth with one another. “We approve,” it said.
“I also arrange for a delicacy for you. I regret there is not much, but it should be a new experience.” Sin’Kura took the remote from the Blevin and handed it to the Athal.
The Athal activated the remote, which opened the lid. The Humans were assaulted by an overpowering stench of rotting meat. Sabine turned to the side and heaved. The Athal looked from the crate to Bes, Sabine, and Yeorgi.
“Are these also?” it asked.
“Not yet, Greesh’l. Not yet,” said Sin’Kura.
The Athal closed the lid and moved toward their ship. The group could see more Blevin handing off cargo pods to other groups of Athal, these without wings. The insects took the pods and swarmed on their ship’s various openings.
“God, what a stench,” said Yeorgi, his eyes still watering. “What did you give him?”
“His name was Charles,” said Sin’Kura. “Waste not, want not.”
* * * * *
Chapter Sixteen
Hope Station
Kr’et’Socae sat in a large black chair made specifically for Equiri. He was absently swirling a dark liquid in a glass as he fixated on the events on the Tri-V in front of him. Sin’Kura squinted to make out who it was that had captivated Kr’et’Socae so firmly. A pair of Humans came in through a door. It appeared to be a security feed.
She stiffened in surprise. “Is that Jackson Rains? What is he doing there?” she asked.
Kr’et’Socae glanced at her in annoyance. “Just watch.” He turned back to the feed.
“Where is that?” Sin’Kura asked as she moved in for a better view.
“The Peacemaker data facility.”
She studied his profile. She had no idea why this was so important to him. She would have just gone in and pulled whatever she needed out of the workers.
The image shifted, showing Rains walking down a hallway and getting on a lift. The view changed to inside the lift. There was no sound, but it looked as if he was talking to himself. The lift opened, and this time Sin’Kura saw Kr’et’Socae touch something on his slate and the Tri-V flicked to a view outside the lift. Jackson was talking to someone, but she couldn’t make out who.
“Who is he talking with?” she asked.
Kr’et’Socae huffed. “Just watch.”
Rains suddenly looked up and took a startled step backward.
“What did he see?” Sin’Kura couldn’t help herself. Then she held up a hand to forestall any comments from Kr’et’Socae.
Rains headed toward the camera. The imaged shifted again to show him walking down the hall and holding his badge before entering a room. The door closed. Nothing happened.
Kr’et’Socae sat watching. The image didn’t change. She glanced around the room. Then back to the picture. Then looked pointedly at Kr’et’Socae. Almost as if he could hear her unanswered question he said, “There are no cameras in those rooms. They are for routine operations and have no connection to the important systems. He will come out soon enough.”
Sin’Kura was not a patient person. The room felt cramped and she needed to do something. She got up and began pacing. Back and forth, her fel
ine grace eating up the five meters between the walls.
“I honestly have no idea how you survived in prison so long,” Kr’et’Socae grumbled.
Sin’Kura smiled. “I had so many wonderful diversions. Especially after I met you.” She made sure her tone was sweet.
“Here he is,” Kr’et’Socae said, ignoring her comment.
The image flicked to follow Rains as he moved down more corridors, through rooms, and across a couple labs until he was finally outside the door to another room.
“What is beyond that?” Sin’Kura asked.
“That is the classified vault. That is where our little puppet will get us what we are looking for; Rsach’s schedule.” They watched as Rains held up a rectangle with strange decorations on it, opened the door, and went in. Sin’Kura expected another wait, but the image shifted to inside the room.
“The classified rooms are watched.” Kr’et’Socae drank. She could smell the putrid stench of the Human alcohol from where she was standing. It was another mystery, why any being would put that mess near their faces, let alone drink it. The vile beverage was called Crown Royal, but she was positive there was nothing royal about it.
The image showed Rains sitting at a terminal, holding the rectangle. They couldn’t see the screen, but they could see Rains and the keyboard. They watched as he inserted the chip. Rains paused and looked up at the ceiling. His lips were moving.
“Vat is he doing?” Sin’Kura asked.
Kr’et’Socae leaned forward. She could see the glee in his expression. “He is praying to his ancestors. This is it. He is going to do it.”
After a moment, Rains moved and hit a key on the keyboard. He grabbed the chip and exited the room.
“Yes!” Kr’et’Socae exulted. He slammed back the liquid, surged up out of his chair and, to Sin’Kura’s surprise, he actually danced like a Te’Warri showgirl around the room. Amazed, she glanced at the image on the screen now showing Rains walking down a corridor. Her eye flashed yellow. She decided she would arrange a celebration of her own for Jackson Rains.
* * *
Hope Station
Brothel
Bes wiped the sweat and grime from her face with an old towel, looking around in disgust at the rooms the Sirra’Kan had dumped them in. At least they could breathe now that the filters had been changed in the air scrubbers and the majority of the dust had been cleaned up.
After their encounter with the Athal on the docks, Sin’Kura had led them through a maze of mostly empty corridors with damaged, flickering lights, though some were still strewn with machinery or debris. Every so often they would pass a work party of Blevin or Zeewie, sometimes with Torvasi overseers, engaged in clean up or repair. Plainly, the interior of the station, already built with wide access to accommodate moving machinery around, had been modified repeatedly over time.
Once they had passed another group of Athal speaking with a huge, black Equiri, but no one spoke to them. The station smelled of dust and hot metal and old, overworked circuits. There was a film of grit and grease on most of the surfaces, and a general air of neglect nearly everywhere the group went after leaving the docks. But as they moved further into the station, the spin of the rings brought back gravity and they no longer had to rely on their magnetic shoes. ‘Bastian continued to click along at Sabine’s side, eyestalks swiveling as if the toy were fascinated. Once a tremendous clang ran through the corridor, causing a nearby group of Zeewie to look around nervously for a moment before returning to their task.
“Do not be concerned,” Sin’Kura said. “It was only one of the stones or a ship or debris from the belt. The armor of the station is more than sufficient.”
She then took them down a lift and through an open gallery filled with shuttered or looted shops and old restaurants. A gate covered with a metal arch was their destination. Sin’Kura did something with her slate and the gate lifted. “I haf given you access to the doorway and environmental controls, Mr. Romanov.”
They passed through a short hallway into a large room. As soon as they entered and the lights came up, Yeorgi began laughing. Bes turned on Sin’Kura.
“Out of the question! This is no place for a young lady! This place is filthy!”
The room, obviously a waiting area, had walls that were covered in what appeared to be deep red velvet curtains and a mirrored ceiling. Wide couches lined the perimeter of the room, and alcoves held what could only be called erotic statuary of different species. The place had the same smell of dust as the station, but on top of that was the scent of musk and old perfumes. In the room’s center, encircled by more seating, was an enormous, now-dry fountain of tarnished bronze depicting females of a half dozen races improbably engaged with a Goltar and a Wrogul.
“I see you do not like my little joke,” Sin’Kura said. “If you are not happy with your quarters then I suggest you employ your ‘touch.’ I will haf the Zeewie bring you rations and cleaning supplies.”
“Please,” Bes pleaded, swallowing her anger. “A brothel ain’t no place for a little girl.”
“I hope you will enjoy your stay, but if you have any further objection, let me know, and I will find you a place with the Athal,” Sin’Kura said. She turned to Yeorgi, pointing to a door behind him off the waiting room. “You stay in the security office. While you are here, they are your responsibility, Charles.”
Yeorgi nodded. “As long as I am paid, and my needs are met, I have no complaints.”
She gestured to the hallway at the far end of the room. “You two. Pick whatever rooms please you, there are many to choose from. I will return later.” Then she left.
The next three days passed in a numb blur of cleaning and fitful sleep.
At least the place is livable now, Bes thought.
A group of Zeewie had arrived, as promised, with a cart of cleaning supplies and a case of ration packs. Yeorgi had dumped one of the boxes on the floor, taking what he wanted from the rations, before dropping them into his box.
“Good,” he said to Bes, closing up the case with the remaining food. “You can clean my rooms, and after, perhaps I will let you eat. Yes?”
Bes thought about giving Yeorgi what for, but even if she was able to overpower him, they had nowhere to go. In the end, she had settled Sabine in the least dirty room she could find. The girl had curled up on the dusty bed and slept, exhausted. Bes left ‘Bastian standing guard over her and returned to the lobby while the sounds of BlueNabi came from behind the closed door.
“Thanks for bringing the supplies. What’s your name?” she asked the Zeewie.
The mouse-like alien nodded and looked sideways at Yeorgi. She used a remote to move the cart toward the room Yeorgi had indicated. “I’m Mix,” she said shyly. She pointed to another Zeewie with a white blaze in her fur. “That’s my sister, Boula. We can help. We’re not expected back for a while.”
Yeorgi had a suite with a bedroom alcove and an area that combined a living area and office. One wall had a bank of Tri-V monitors that showed every room in the complex.
Have to set up a screen or two for privacy, Bes thought.
Mix worked the controls on the side of the cart. A door opened and several small cleaning bots deployed and started picking up the dust and debris while Bes and Mix wiped down everything they could reach.
“Have you been here long?” asked Bes. They were taking a break after they had finished the worst of it.
“No,” Mix said. “Only a couple of months. It’s very exciting. My sisters and I all signed up. The work is hard, and the station is so different from Te’Warri, but the pay is good, and, of course, it’s an honor to serve the mistress’ house. Are you staying long?” Mix asked. “You are really nice for a Torvasi.”
“We don’t know how long we’ll be here, Mix. But we aren’t Torvasi, we’re Humans from Earth. We’re not here because we wan—”
“Are you done?” demanded Yeorgi, entering the room. “I want to have my meal in peace.”
“We are,” sai
d Mix. “Oh! We need to go! It was nice meeting you, Bes! Park the cart next to a wall with a blue dot to recharge it; it handles the bots by itself.” She grabbed some bags filled with trash from the cart. “I’ll set these out for the Blevin to pick up, and I’ll bring you more tomorrow!”
Bes hadn’t seen Mix or Boula since, but new supplies had showed up for the cleaning cart. She took blankets from the other rooms and put them over the statues. When Yeorgi kept pulling them off, Bes told Sabine not to go into the lobby unless Bes went first.
It turned out the dots indicated power induction plates, and that they worked for ‘Bastian, too, so at least Sabine stayed busy playing with her bot.
Now all she had to do was find a way to tell the family where they were. Things were looking up.
* * *
Peacemaker Regional Headquarters
Shuttle
Amos got back to the shuttle to find Race waiting for him. He thumped on the bulkhead twice, and Tia looked up from her preflight checks to give him a smile and a thumbs up. He slid into a seat opposite Race as the engines spooled up for the return flight to Sanctuary.
“Why’re you back here with the old coot when you could be up there with Tia?” Amos asked with a grin.
Race blushed and looked toward the cockpit. “I was banished from the cockpit for preflight. Tia’s no-nonsense when it comes to flying,” Race said.
“How was the tour?” Amos asked.
“Interesting. It’s bigger than I thought it would be, and they’ve set aside a lot more space than they’re using. Tia said that probably doesn’t mean much, but Dad always said wasted space is wasted money, so I think they’ll build out. Tia gave me a bunch of background on the Peacemakers. She knows everything about them.” He looked again in Tia’s direction. “She had no idea who Race Romero or Romeo Bravo is,” he said wistfully. “It was…nice. How did your meeting with the Selector go?”
