Howard extended his arm. “Look—are those Ildirans?”
Shareen saw the figures waving. Two of them jumped from the kelp island and rode floaterboards toward Shareen and Howard. Ildiran swimmer kith had sleek brownish skin, streamlined faces, and large eyes with double lids so they could see better under the water. The young swimmers seemed overjoyed as they splashed up silty brown roostertails and slid their floaterboards to a halt in the slurry near Shareen and Howard. The swimmer kithmen wore shells as ornaments and short breeches woven from kelp fiber.
Shareen whispered to Howard, “Do you think they speak trade standard?”
“Of course we do,” said one of the swimmers. “We were instructed to learn it so that we could work with your facility.” He flicked water from a webbed hand. “My name is Tora’m. We brought a delivery for you.”
The swimmers opened fibrous satchels at their hips to reveal packed masses of magenta kelp flowers. When Shareen sniffed one, her eyes stung from the sour garlicky scent.
“Special bloom, this phase, very rare,” said Tora’m. “We reserve most of them for Tamo’l at her sanctuary domes. They make good medicines and treatments for the misbreeds.”
“I read about the Ildiran medical facility,” Howard said. “It’s nearby?”
Balanced on their floaterboards, the swimmers gestured off, but distances were deceptive in the tidal flats. Shareen thought she could see part of a dome protruding from the water, near the horizon. “Is that where you live?”
The otterlike creatures blinked their eyes. Tora’m said, “No, we live on the kelp rafts. But we always bring in our harvest.”
The swimmers handed over two satchels of the rare kelp flowers to Shareen, who asked, “Do we need to pay you for this?”
Tora’m didn’t seem concerned. “Maybe. Not today. Talk to someone else.”
They activated their floaterboards and accelerated away. The playful swimmers circled, intentionally spraying mud all over Shareen and Howard. She wiped at the plankton slime on Howard’s cheek, but only smeared it into a pattern of war paint. He returned the favor, which required a response from her, and soon they were both a complete mess.
When they returned to the distillery decks, Del Kellum chuckled at the two of them spattered with mud, but when Toff came in from an afternoon of mudskimming, he was so coated with muck that the distillery workers had to hose him off.
Shareen delivered the rare kelp flowers to her grandfather. He sniffed the special blooms, wrinkled his nose. “Potent. We’ll run an analysis to see what they’re good for—maybe to flavor one of the really sour batches.”
“The swimmers said these particular kelp flowers have important medicinal uses,” Howard pointed out.
Shareen said, “Do you think we could visit the Ildiran sanctuary domes?”
Del frowned. “It’s a sanctuary and a colony. Tamo’l is very dedicated, but the misfits . . .” He shook his head and patted Shareen on the shoulder. “Don’t be in a hurry, my sweet. You’re not ready for that yet.”
SEVENTY
XANDER BRINDLE
Though Xander and Terry preferred to check new places off their planetary list, Ulio was one of their favorite stopping points. Ulio was also the place where the two had met, which made it worth visiting again for their own reasons.
OK piloted the Verne across open space, but as soon as they reached the active hub, Xander took the controls. The different types of ships and traders, both human and Ildiran, always made the Ulio transfer station, trading hub, and repair yard vibrant and hectic.
Xander guided them in, keeping his eyes open. Sometimes it was a strategy game just to find a place to dock in the haphazard structures. Officially, the rule was first come, first served—which sounded fair and polite, but in reality, it turned Ulio into a spaceship free-for-all.
The transfer hub had no formal administrator, political affiliations, or security enforcement. It was simply a gathering point in space for travelers who wanted something, or wanted to get rid of something. An example of organized anarchy that somehow worked.
Over the past two decades Ulio had become a place where ships could refuel or make repairs, where traders could exchange cargo, where passengers could secure transportation with no questions asked. The conglomeration of ships was like a flea market, a swap meet, a jamboree, and a trade show located in a small, unimportant system in the blurred boundaries between the Confederation and the Ildiran Empire.
Ulio had begun as an unincorporated, unregulated, and untaxed scrapyard. Entrepreneur Maria Ulio had lost everything on Boone’s Crossing when the hydrogues destroyed that colony, but she cobbled together enough money to buy some wrecked Ildiran warliners and EDF battleships after the end of the war. She got many of the wrecks for free, on the condition that she haul them away from habitable planets where they were a navigational hazard. Salvage or scrap, no one else saw much value in them.
As a first step, Maria Ulio had patched and repaired two of the hulks so they could support inhabitants, then she looked for refugees whose homes had been destroyed by the hydrogues, the faeros, or the Klikiss. Plenty of people fit the bill. She offered them a place to live, so long as they helped her repair other salvaged ships she brought there.
Even the Roamers were impressed with Maria’s operations, and so they brought other ships in need of repair. Some were fixed up and converted into space habitats; intact engine components were stripped out and used in other vessels.
Traders began to stop at Maria Ulio’s hub. A few ships simply parked there and stayed, finding it easier to sell and exchange wares at a central point, rather than flying back and forth across the Spiral Arm. Roamers brought their business as well, and word began to spread.
The Solar Navy sent damaged warliners and teams of Ildiran mechanics to work alongside the renowned Ulio engineers to observe and learn. After a while, Ildiran traders began to stop at Ulio as their giant ships did business with the Confederation.
Then, when she was fabulously wealthy, Maria Ulio simply packed up her old ship. She tasked the engineers to recheck her stardrives—which had not been operated for fifteen years—dusted off her vessel, bade everyone farewell, and simply flew off. No one had heard from Maria since, but her legacy remained. In the five years of her absence, Ulio ran itself and grew even larger.
Terry had spent most of his teenage years at Ulio. He’d met Maria several times, and the old woman took him under her wing when he arrived as a twelve-year-old, asking to help with the repairs. She gave Terry a pep talk when he asked if his handicap would be an insurmountable problem. Maria had just laughed. “Most of those ships don’t have gravity turned on anyway. You won’t need to use your legs except to fill out your pants.”
“Why would I need to fill out my pants?” he asked.
“Because it makes the pockets easier to reach. Better access to your tools. You’ll figure it out.”
She had assigned Terry to a team that needed an extra hand, and he drifted around inside stardrive engines, skinny enough to fit in tight crawlspaces; he often suited up and went outside to help patch hulls. It took his coworkers the better part of a week to notice that Terry couldn’t use his legs. . . .
Now, the Verne arrived at Ulio’s main hub, a pair of cobbled-together Ildiran warliner hulls that looked as if the two ships had collided and fused. By now, Xander knew which of the permanent facilities maintained artificial gravity “for the convenience of patrons” and which ones maintained au naturel microgravity. Out of consideration for Terry, Xander exclusively patronized the weightless units.
By sheer luck, a spacecraft was detaching from a docking unit just as they arrived, and Xander accelerated the Verne to capture the spot. Another ship raced in, and a stream of curses ricocheted through the comm system when Xander reached the dock first. “Have a nice day,” Xander said and clicked off the comm.
OK transmitted their cargo manifest: fully charged power blocks of various sizes and capacities fresh from Fireheart Sta
tion. The information went into the bidding board, which all traders could access. Many ships simply hung around Ulio and watched the board like vultures waiting to pounce on unusual items. Vagabond travelers could also put up requests for passage to particular worlds, offering to work aboard ship to avoid the standard fee, but they often waited at Ulio for a long time. There wasn’t much work to be done on a routine passage, and most captains had a compy or two to handle the more unpleasant tasks.
Led by OK, Xander and Terry floated into the main hub. Terry was at ease propelling himself along, and Xander followed, while the compy preferred to use the magnetic traction of his synthetic feet.
By habit, they went to the observation lounge and star balcony where they had met. The two found themselves a good seat next to the wall of interlocked crystal, where they could watch the ships come and go. After clipping themselves to the table, they ordered drinks from the server compy.
OK was proud to announce, “Multiple bids have come in. Every one of our power blocks has been claimed for the asking price. Two bidders were so enthusiastic about our highest capacity units that they drove up the price. Our profits will be five percent higher than anticipated.”
“Excellent,” Xander said. “Let’s celebrate and spend that profit on a vacation.”
Terry gave him a skeptical look, then turned to accept their drinks as the server compy returned. “We’ll never take a vacation. You won’t let me.”
“Our work is a vacation. But I could treat you to a place we’ve never seen before.” Xander called up their list on the datapad he always brought with him. “Checking off places one at a time. It’s good to have a big, long-term project you can sink your teeth into.”
Terry leaned over to look at the list, scrolling through the names of planets and star systems. “Since we’ve got more than we can possibly visit in a dozen lifetimes, why don’t we pick someplace pleasant?”
“If you insist.” They debated the merits of various worlds and whether they could convince Xander’s parents that a trade expedition would be worthwhile to Kett Shipping. They finished their first round of drinks and sent OK to fetch a second while they watched the graceful ballet of space traffic.
An unfamiliar woman accompanied the compy back to their table. She was in her midthirties with short brown hair with gold highlights. “I paid for your round of drinks,” she said. “Can I have a word with you?”
“Anybody who pays for drinks can have a whole sentence,” Xander said.
She pulled herself up to the table and attached a stabilizing clip. “We’ve met briefly before. My name is Elisa Enturi. I work for Iswander Industries.”
Now Xander placed her, but the name wasn’t right. “Elisa . . . Reeves, wasn’t it?”
“Enturi. I know who you are, and I know Kett Shipping. I’m looking for distribution. It’ll be a long-term contract and very lucrative.”
“We like the lucrative part,” Terry said. “Hauling what?”
“Ekti. As much as you can haul, and as fast as you can take it.”
Xander was surprised. “So Iswander is back in business? After Sheol?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Where’s he getting the ekti from?” Terry asked.
“From his own production facilities. It’s pretty simple. I’ll deliver ekti to you, and you’ll distribute it to open markets.”
“Any markets in particular?” Xander instinctively glanced at the list on the datapad.
Elisa didn’t seem to care. “Everyone needs stardrive fuel. We’re the suppliers, you’re distributors. So long as Iswander Industries gets paid, you can sell it wherever you like.”
“That’s the kind of deal I enjoy,” Xander said.
“A requirement of the contract would be that our operations remain confidential. Is that acceptable?”
Xander and Terry exchanged a glance; neither wanted to look too eager to agree. Terry said, “Rlinda Kett runs the company. We have to check this out with her first.”
Elisa narrowed her eyes. “Do you? This is Ulio, and I could find twenty other interested pilots in an hour. I checked your records, and I asked you first, but . . .” She shrugged.
Xander hurried to accept. “The Verne is at your service.”
SEVENTY-ONE
KING PETER
After the Sheol catastrophe, the Roamer industrialist Lee Iswander had dropped out of sight, shutting down his businesses, keeping a low profile. Therefore, King Peter was surprised when Iswander arrived at Theroc and cheerfully requested an audience with him.
As the King, Peter had known the influential businessman for years. In the early days of the Confederation, Peter encouraged cooperation among former Hansa planets, independent worlds, and Roamer clans. The new government was supposed to enable a cross-pollination of interests. Iswander exemplified that—a man who wrapped Roamer ingenuity in efficient Hansa business practices, the best of both worlds. Although the man seemed a little too focused on his bottom line, Peter was confident they could work together, especially when it appeared that Iswander might someday be elected clan Speaker.
The lava-processing tragedy had left more than fifteen hundred dead—an accident that could have been prevented if Iswander had heeded warnings and planned better for the unthinkable. Under other circumstances, victims might have unleashed an avalanche of lawsuits and recriminations, but Roamers had a way of drawing together after disasters. They lived in rugged environments on hostile planets, and when the clans built their facilities on the edge, sometimes they fell off. The universe was not invested in their safety.
Even so, the Roamers suspected Lee Iswander was to blame for at least the magnitude of the catastrophe. He had wisely gone into hiding for the last several months. Until now . . .
The Roamer industrialist arrived unannounced on Theroc, guiding a large ekti tanker that wore a fresh Iswander Industries logo like a badge of honor. Iswander transmitted an exuberant message, as if he expected fanfare for his visit. “I have excellent news, and I’d like to meet with King Peter and Queen Estarra, please. Iswander Industries is back online, and I have a new trade agreement to propose with the Confederation.”
Life seemed to be getting back to normal after an appropriate mourning period for Father Idriss, and Estarra sat at Peter’s side again. Celli and Solimar had gone back to Fireheart Station; Sarein, awkward and uncomfortable among people, had returned to her isolated existence in the Wild.
Now, receiving Iswander’s request, Peter looked at Estarra. “He’s a bold man, I’ll give him that.”
Estarra was less kind. “And full of himself.”
“We should meet with him, anyway,” Peter said. “He’s an important Roamer industrialist.”
“Was an important industrialist. I’m not surprised that he managed to get back on his feet—I just didn’t think he could do it so quickly.”
Peter agreed. “His reputation will take longer to recover.”
“If ever,” Estarra said.
Leaving the ekti tanker in orbit, Iswander piloted his own shuttle down to the main fungus-reef complex, where he greeted Confederation trade representatives, met men and women whom he called “old friends,” shaking hands and smiling, despite the occasional cool reaction he received. The industrialist entered the throne room wearing business attire instead of a traditional Roamer jumpsuit; he entered with the demeanor of a conquering hero, despite all those who had died on Sheol. Did he think everyone had forgotten?
Iswander made a perfunctory bow. “King Peter, Queen Estarra, whenever Roamers suffer a tragic setback, we pick up the pieces and make a new start. I’m here to celebrate the miracle of second chances.”
“We’ve all mourned those who died on Sheol,” Estarra said. “We only hope you can make reparations to the poor family members.”
Iswander didn’t look at all stung by her comment. “Indeed I intend to. I thought I was ruined after the accident, but I managed to pick up the pieces. My new business venture is doing extremely well.
”
Estarra regarded him with plain skepticism. “What business venture?”
He gestured upward to some vague place far overhead. “Your Majesties, I brought you a gift—a tanker of a new and highly concentrated stardrive fuel that will change commerce and space travel as we know it. I call it ekti-X.”
“When did you get into the ekti-harvesting business?” Peter asked. “And who funded your skymine?”
“Cloud harvesting is an enormous and expensive operation that would require a large crew and years of full-scale production before turning a profit. Under my current circumstances, I couldn’t wait that long.” He smiled. “Instead, I’ve discovered an entirely different and more efficient method of ekti extraction.”
Peter and Estarra were both surprised. “Some new technique that wasn’t developed during the Elemental War?” After hydrogue attacks put an abrupt end to traditional ekti production on gas giants, the human race had scrounged for any means to produce vital stardrive fuel.
“My ekti operations are safer, cheaper, and far more productive than anything the Roamers have done before. My lava-processing operation wasn’t the only dangerous work Roamers have done. Think of all those who perished on skymines, generation after generation. I understand there’s been a terrible debacle on Golgen?”
Peter gave only a curt nod. “The Kellum skymine was destroyed, yes. The hydrogues surfaced again, although they don’t appear to be responsible for the disaster.”
The words seemed to skate across Iswander without leaving a mark. “Well, soon enough, Iswander Industries will supply so much ekti that other Roamer clans won’t need to take such unnecessary risks.”
Estarra said coldly, “Perhaps we should send inspection teams to make sure there are no lapses in safety—like on Sheol.”
The Dark Between the Stars Page 36
