by Mark Wandrey
“You can slap down a huge pile of money to the Cartography Guild, fight someone to gain control, or use the planet to extract a certain amount of resources for a certain period of time without anyone else doing the same thing.”
“Those are pretty vague situations,” she said.
“It can be,” Doc agreed. “Since this was an established mine at one point, the quantities are established; 20 million kilos of any ore within five years, then a 1 million credit fee. Or a 5 million credit fee up front. The Izlians are nothing if not cheap; they want to go for the mining, so the fee is paid for in profits.”
“You and your men came here to scout,” Terry said.
Doc nodded. “Yes, we did. We built a submersible and went down to recon the mining and habitat facilities for the Izlians. After we verified it’s all still there, they offered us the contract to prove the claim.”
“If the Selroth couldn’t live there, how are we going to?” Terry asked.
“The ocean’s chemistry is nearly identical to ours,” his mom explained. “This also means the cetaceans can live there.” Terry nodded in understanding. Now it all made sense. “We can, too, with some adaptations.”
“Like what?”
“We’re still working on it,” she said, glancing at Doc.
Terry looked at Doc and then his mom. Of course, adults loved keeping secrets from kids. A lot of times it was because they thought kids couldn’t handle the truth, which was completely wrong. Maybe little kids couldn’t. Twelve wasn’t a little kid. Terry had enough details, and the GalNet; he’d get his own answers. “We going down there now?”
“We’re going to the space station first,” Doc said.
“Where we’ll be parting company,” Captain Baker said.
“You aren’t taking us to the planet?”
“Can’t,” she said, and shrugged. “No way to refuel, so we couldn’t get back into space.”
“We’re going to hire local talent to get us down to the moon.”
“Does the moon have a name?” Terry asked.
“It did in the Selroth language,” Doc said. “Sounded like a hiccup underwater.” Terry laughed. “Tina came up with its new name: Hoarfrost.”
* * * * *
Chapter 15
Lupasha Independent Trading Station, Lupasha System, Coro Region, Tolo Arm
December 13th, 2037
Placed on an effectively free approach course to Lupasha’s space station, Teddy Roosevelt, Kavul Tesh, and Kavul Ato drifted silently through space. Captain Baker remarked that Second Octal had released them so efficiently, she wouldn’t have to use her engines to do anything except slow upon approach.
Only a single ship stopped in the Lupasha system with them, a tanker many times larger than the three ships from Earth. It was already firing its engines to slow down and park around the approaching station, which left the other three ships effectively alone on their approach.
Terry stopped off in the observation dome several times over the following day, enjoying the view of the approaching station. He’d found visiting stations in other systems was something to look forward to.
He’d seen Earth’s tiny orbiting stations many times on TV and Tri-V. Then the massive triple rings of Karma Station showed him what was possible. He was filled with excitement as they fell toward Lupasha 2 and its orbiting station.
The planet Lupasha 2 was visible almost immediately, a mottled white/brown dot which grew hourly. When the ring of a space station became visible, the planet was still quite small. Terry remembered the captain had described it as a dwarf planet, like Pluto. A dwarf planet was often smaller than many other planets’ moons. Of course, he wasn’t looking forward to seeing the planet. The station came into focus.
“Wow,” he said as he used a small telescope to examine the station. “Pathetic.”
The station visible in the telescope was a sad echo of the massive Karma Station. It was obviously meant to be a similar design, only it had never been completed. The stationary hub in the center sported four spokes radiating out to a single completed ring. The framework of two more rings were in place between the hub and the one completed ring, almost resembling ghosts of what might have been.
The three ships spun around and used their engines to gradually slow until they were only a kilometer away from the half-built station, and then stopped in relation to it. It was big compared to their ships, but nowhere near as big as Karma Station.
Terry met up with his mom, Doc, and the other six mercs of Last Call in one of Teddy Roosevelt’s shuttles for the short ride over to the grandiosely named Lupasha Independent Trading Station. It was a surprisingly quiet ride, for many reasons. The mercs looked intent and businesslike. His mom looked concerned. Terry realized this was the end of the line. Lupasha was his new home for the indefinite future.
The inside of the station proved to be as slapdash as the exterior. There were no glideways like on Karma Station; instead there was a cluster of six traditional lifts in each spoke of the hub. Everyone in their party fit in the lift for their five minute ride.
As gravity slowly climbed, they passed through what would have been stations on the two rings. Instead, they were merely long-enclosed sections with nothing to see. It was a little sad.
Arriving at the ring with its half gravity—also less than Karma Station—Terry saw ample room for untold businesses existed in the promenade, yet most were empty, having never been completed. They were merely holes in the walls with nothing inside. Some played host to what could only be homeless families. Seeing one of the biggest problems Humans seemed unable to eradicate among aliens thousands of light years from home was a shock to him.
“Are they homeless?” Terry asked.
“Well, they don’t have any way to leave,” Doc confirmed.
“We ran across them in a few places during contracts,” Tina told him. “Usually they’re refugees from fighting. These are financial casualties.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Left here after the Selroth bailed and the Izlians gave up,” Doc said.
“Isn’t there any way they can get help?” Terry wondered. A big family of elSha watched him dispassionately from their dilapidated surroundings. They were cooking food on an improvised electrical grill, which looked like it was made from a lighting fixture.
“The universe isn’t a fair place,” Doc said.
Terry frowned. He’d heard Doc utter those words before, and he hadn’t liked it then. The other Last Call mercs grunted in agreement, except Tina, who was watching Terry.
“It bothers you?” she asked. He nodded.
“Bothers me, too,” his mom agreed.
“Maybe if we do well on Hoarfrost, things will get better for them here,” she suggested.
“How?” Terry wondered.
“Prosperity has a way of spreading. Most of these aliens came here for work. If we do well, there will be more work.”
“How many of them are there?” he wondered.
“Here?” Tina asked. He nodded. “Probably a few thousand, at least. Beings in this situation in the galaxy? I wouldn’t be surprised if a million starve to death every day.”
“Maybe if the Union didn’t ignore them, less would starve,” his mom said. Terry found himself nodding in agreement.
“Sorry to say, it’s probably the opposite,” Doc said. “They spent hundreds of trillions on Earth in handouts, and poverty stayed exactly the same, or got even worse. Places where industry grew and businesses flourished, poverty decreased. Usually precipitously.”
“People still starve in places with lots of businesses,” she said mulishly.
“And they always will,” Doc replied. Terry could see his mom’s jaw muscles bunching and knew she was struggling with herself.
The group of Humans moved through the station based on directions Doc and his people had obtained on their previous visit. The destination was a leasing office that appeared almost as dingy as the station itself. A bor
ed-looking Buma was perched by a series of mounted slates, looking as worn out as the station. The office smelled like a birdcage in dire need of cleaning. The alien’s owl-like head turned to notice them as they stopped in the entrance.
The Buma chirped and clicked. “You looking for something?” came out of Terry’s translator.
“A ship,” Doc said. He’d set his own translator into active mode, so it replied in the Buma’s own language. It was a useful feature, as few aliens had English matrixes in their own translators.
“Oh!” the Buma chirped in surprise. It spent a minute shuffling computers and chips before looking back at Doc. “What are you in need of?”
Doc spent a minute detailing their requirements, which were considerable. Besides being able to temporarily house the 10 orca and 19 bottlenose dolphins, it had to have landing-capable small craft able to set down on a planet that couldn’t refuel them.
“Not asking for much, are you?” the Buma said. The translator managed to convey scorn.
“It’s what we need; can you do it?”
“How are you paying?” Doc flashed a pair of 100,000 credit chits. “Won’t be enough.”
“We have more.”
The Buma’s beak worked and huge eyes blinked. Terry guessed it was thinking about the possibilities. “How much more?”
The other six mercs moved into view of the Buma, who seemed surprised to notice them. None of them acted threatening in any way, yet they all carried weapons and wore armor.
“Enough,” Doc said. “Can you help us, or not?”
“It’s funny you ask,” the Buma said in an unfunny way. “I got a message some time back requesting similar capacity.”
“Interesting,” Doc said dryly. Of course, he’d probably inquired before returning to Karma and getting the ball rolling. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Terry was amazed he could be so cool about everything. If they couldn’t find a way to move down to the planet, they were in big trouble. He’d heard the ships already had jobs elsewhere and needed to leave within two weeks. Even if they could be convinced to take their passengers and cargo back to Karma, the warship might still be waiting. Worse, there could be more of them by then. Going back wasn’t an option.
“There’s a heavy lift transport available,” the Buma said. “Two orbital-class landers as well.”
“Wonderful,” Doc said, “we’d like to contract them.”
“The ship isn’t hyperspace capable,” the Buma explained.
“Noted.”
The Buma’s huge eyes regarded Doc, then went over everyone else, lingering curiously for a fraction of a second on Terry before returning to Doc. “How long do you need these assets?”
“Four weeks will be sufficient.”
Now the Buma’s curiosity was obviously piqued. Its big head tilted almost 90 degrees. It took everything Terry had not to laugh. “The only ship capable of carrying the transports left the system a day ago.”
“How about you leave the details up to us?” Doc said. “Will you arrange the lease, or not?” The Buma tapped at his slate idly for a moment, staring at Doc without saying anything. “Okay, let’s look elsewhere.”
“Nobody here on the station has the ships you want,” the Buma snapped, clicking its beak angrily.
Doc shrugged. “With enough credits or firepower, anything is possible.” His mercs stared the Buma down, and it ruffled its feathers and relented.
“Rate is 300,000 credits for one month,” it said. “A one million credit damage retainer is necessary.”
“Fine,” Doc said. The Buma blinked twice and watched in amazement as Doc began producing more 100,000 credit chits. Lots more. “I want the contract in hard copy, and I’m affixing my Mercenary Guild license to the contract.”
“You didn’t say this was for mercenary work!” the Buma howled in outrage.
“You didn’t ask.”
“Ten days is cutting it dangerously close,” Terry’s mom said as they walked back to the shuttle bay. “Captain Baker said his next job is nowhere near Earth. If this doesn’t work out...”
“What?” Doc asked. “We’ll be worse off than here?” He gestured at the dilapidated interior of the station’s promenade.
“He wouldn’t dare fail to provide those ships now,” Honcho said in a rare moment of speech.
“Why?” she demanded.
“When Doc put our merc registration on the contract, he upped the ante,” Honcho explained. “Ole’ hooter there doesn’t come through, we can go to the Merc Guild.”
“Better,” Tina said. “We can take it out of his hide.” Her grin was feral, as if she were hoping that situation would occur.
“Would beating him up get us down to the moon?” Terry’s mom asked.
Tina shrugged. “It wouldn’t, but it would be fun.”
“Do you want to look around some more?” Doc asked Terry.
“No,” he said. They were passing the elSha family, who were again watching the Humans go by. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Sure,” Doc said.
“Wait,” Terry suddenly said, and walked over to the family’s home. The two adult reptilians watched him warily with both their independent eye turrets. Terry stopped at the edge of their space. Two of the young were hanging from the faded and dingy ceiling, also watching him. Terry didn’t know much about the elSha, but he thought he knew hopelessness when he saw it.
He reached into his pocket and took a credit chit, sitting it on the floor just inside their door. One of the two adults—he couldn’t tell if it was male or female—came closer, one eye darting to the credit chit and then back to Terry.
“Go ahead,” he said, “I hope it helps.”
The alien stepped over and picked up the chit, which was 100 credits in denomination. It examined it for a moment, then placed it in a pouch. “I thank you,” the alien said, and bowed his head.
Terry nodded and rejoined the others. His mom put an arm around his shoulder and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
“Why did you bother?” Tina asked. “It probably won’t help them get out of here.”
“Maybe not,” Terry said, “but it was fun.” Doc glanced at him, and Terry winked at him. Tina cursed mildly, and they continued to the lift back down to the hub. Behind them, the elSha and its family watched them go in silence.
* * * * *
Chapter 16
Hoarfrost, Lupasha System, Coro Region, Tolo Arm
December 24th, 2037
Lander 1 rode its descent motors like blazing pillars of hydrogen fire into Hoarfrost’s atmosphere. The pilot, a huge snail-like creature with three eyes called a Bakulu, managed the craft via pinplants. When he’d come forward after checking on Pōkole, he’d marveled at the alien sitting glued to the pilot’s area; the only discernable movement was its eyes, looking at three different displays at the same time while controlling the ship with its mind alone.
“Is it difficult?” Terry asked the Bakulu.
“Not at all,” it replied. Terry’s translator spoke in English, but for the life of him, he couldn’t detect any sign the alien pilot had uttered a single word. “It takes only a tiny portion of my brain to operate the craft.” One of its eyes rose over the huge pearlescent shell to regard Terry. “My species prefers serving in space; we are naturals in this environment. Most of our race is born in space these days. This merely enhances our natural proclivity to this environment.”
“Living in space doesn’t cause any physiological difficulties?” Terry’s mom asked from behind them.
“No,” the Bakulu responded. “Why would it?”
The transport used a combination of atmospheric resistance and engines to slow its descent, breaking through scattered cloud cover and skimming over the endless expanse of icy mountains. The surface looked like the Swiss Alps, made entirely of ice. The shattered ramparts towered kilometers into the sky in places.
Without warning, the broken mountains gave way to a vast plain
extending for many kilometers below them. Terry looked out of the extra-large transport cockpit to try to get a feel for the plain. It didn’t look natural.
“This is weird,” he said, and pointed at the graceful curve of the plain.
“It looks the way it should,” Doc said from the rear of the seating area. “It was created with orbital laser cannons.”
“Holy cow,” Terry said, glancing back at Doc. “Lasers?”
“Yup,” he said. “Remember, the Izlians were in charge of this project.” He pointed up. Above them through the crystal-clear cockpit, Lupasha 1 arced from horizon to horizon in swirling yellow/orange splendor. A line cut across the view, the plane of the great gas giant’s ring, just below Hoarfrost’s orbit.
“Why did they do it?”
“The ice below is two kilometers thick,” Doc explained. “Ice of the sort you find on planets like this is more akin to rock, as I understand it. After the survey was complete, they parked a battlecruiser in orbit and set to work.”
“How long did it take?”
“I don’t know,” Doc admitted. “Depends on the ship, I guess. Lasers vary from 10 megawatt to a gigawatt on warships. It could have had a couple, or a dozen. To answer your question, anywhere from a couple hours to days, I guess.”
Terry tried to imagine a big alien spaceship in orbit, bristling with laser weapons, blazing away at the icy moon like in a sci-fi film. Attacking the surface of the world as if it were an enemy armada. Looking out over the nearly flat icefield, he had a hard time imagining why.
“So, why?” he eventually asked.
“Like I said, the ice was practically rock. When it gets that thick, the thermal transfer rates are tricky.”
“True,” Dr. Hernandez chimed in from the rear of the passenger area.
“They used the lasers to break up the super-hard ice and alter it to a more favorable form.”
“Favorable to what?”
“Getting through,” Doc said. He pointed out of the cockpit, and Terry could see the first artificial structures on the planet. They were perched on the edge of the first liquid water he’d seen.
