“I’m afraid that we have a few scores to settle with him,” Mikal said. “He has leashed a few people that we want back.”
“I heard that he had been boasting about how the wares he sells can’t be traced by their families,” the Old Man said. “Sounded like damn nonsense to me.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not quite as nonsensical as we wish it were,” Mikal sighed. “Which is part of the problem.”
“You’d be better off trading in amber salt crystals, if you’re thinking of baiting a trap,” Darla said. “Or lace crystal. Before I married Old Man’s son, Jens, I was a Free Trader, partnered with a man who transported both kinds of crystal from the Wilderness into the Fringes, and even the Federation. He knew a planet where you could buy both for a fair price, and, of course, we received much more for them here in the Fringes. Only, the serious criminals found out about our small business, and wanted in, which Zeke was not going to allow. He died protecting the co-ordinates of the source world, and I was lucky that those syndicate idiots were misogynists, figured that a woman couldn’t possibly know anything, and let me live.
“I’ve had a good life with Jens and our kids for a dozen years now, but I still do have a bone to pick with the career criminals. So, if you’re interested in trying to follow a twisted path to treasure, I’ll slip information about a route to the planet with the crystals, into this ship’s computer while we’re supplying her. If the need arises, feel free to follow the trail, but take care, the pirates did catch us, only once, but that’s all it took. I’m certain, however, that no one has been buying the crystals at that world, since Zeke and my last trip, so you should be able to profit enough to keep your operation afloat while you tangle with your opponents.”
Mikal and Kati thanked Darla before repairing with the Old Man to the Yard Office to handle the financial side of the transaction. The Old Man was as good as his word, and gave them a fair deal on the ship. Even after the purchasers had added the cost of the ship supplies (including a few judicious luxuries), Kati felt no need to exercise the haggling skills that she had learned on Makros III.
“Jens and Darla will take the ship to the port, first thing in the morning. They’ll be available to give you last minute instructions and tips, if you’re planning to shake the dust of this Station tomorrow,” the Old Man added. “They like to be hands on, and it helps that Darla has experience with ships. They’re good for the family business, those two. I’m pleased that Jens had the sense to snag Darla when the opportunity arose; I had thought that he was a little too drawn to a pretty face in his youth, and had the tendency to ignore the good, solid women who make fine partners.”
Perhaps Darla was not what Jens might have considered a “pretty face” in his youth, Kati mused, but the woman was hardly unattractive. She had a liveliness about her that brightened up her somewhat bony features, and Kati had liked her the moment she had seen her, even better than the younger daughter-in-law, who was pretty, if plump, and pleasantly gregarious.
*****
“Make sure that you take all your things when you leave in the morning,” Tieri said when Mikal stopped after supper to settle the bill for their suite. “Once you’ve left the Inn for the last time, there’s no coming back.”
“Everyone heard that, right?” he said to his waiting crew. “Make sure to pack and take all your stuff when we leave.”
They had spent most of the day acquiring personal items that they would need while enroute—to wherever they were headed. They had not decided yet on the first stop for the ship which they had begun calling “The Spacebird” in a slightly silly imitation of The Seabird on which Kati and Mikal had sailed on The Drowned Planet. Lank had come up with it, after listening to some of Mikal and Kati’s tales of their adventures on Makros III, and since Xoraya seemed to find it an interesting and amusing addition to her human lore, Kati and Mikal had acquiesced with good grace. No-one was painting the name on the vessel, in any case; it had its registration number, which Old Man Makally had recorded with the Space Station Port, along with the transaction which had made Kati and Mikal its official owners.
“It’s better if my name is out of it,” Xoraya had stated when the question of the ship registration had come up. “The fewer humans that realize that an Xeonsaur woman is criss-crossing the galaxy, the better my people will like it. That’s why I don’t mind pretending to be a human teenager, even if a slightly odd-looking one.”
“Humans come in all sorts of shapes and sizes,” Mikal had commented with a chuckle. “You really don’t look much out of place, Xoraya, except for those ancient eyes of yours; some people find them quite disconcerting, seems to me.”
“So long as she keeps her hood on,” Lank had added. “That horny crest sort of gives the game away, if it’s visible; once people see it, they start looking at the skin, and see the scales.”
“Yep, Lank, you tell an ancient student of humanity how to blend in among us,” Kati had laughed, giving Lank a friendly slap on the back.
“You think that I should stick to space ship engineering, and music?” he had asked her, grinning. “But if she’s supposed to be my adopted sister, or whatever, I think that I ought to razz her a little, every now and then.”
“I hope you’re not telling people that you and Xoraya are Mikal and my kids,” Kati had protested. “I did become a mother at an early age, but not that early!”
That had had both Lank and Xoraya chuckling, while Mikal reached to squeeze Kati’s hand gently. She had allowed a feeling of gratitude for that small gesture to well over her; Mikal knew that the ache for her lost son, Jake, was still close to the surface. She had dealt with it some, during her short stint on Lamania, but had also learned, during the counselling, that the scars of such a wound never completely go away. But, she had been lucky enough to have found a partner who had the sensitivity to understand the enormity of the rip in her life’s fabric, and did not begrudge the time healing was taking.
*****
They were up and packed early the next morning, and wended their way to the Space Port where The Spacebird waited to welcome them. Jens and Darla had arrived just before them, with the last of the ship’s supplies on a mag-lev sled. Jens was stowing the goods into the storage compartments and the galley cupboards, while Darla had settled herself at the computer banks on the bridge. She immediately hailed the arrivals, requesting that they look at what she had done before checking out Jens’ work.
“I’ll show you where I stowed the data for the Crystal Planet, as Zeke and I used to call it,” she said right away. “You’re all able to pilot this baby, at least in a pinch?”
“I’m probably the best pilot—technically at least—believe it or not,” Xoraya answered, “and Mikal certainly has the skills, if not tons of experience. Lank, with a little bit of practise, will be the ace among us—there seems to be little that he can’t do. Kati, I’m not sure about you; I don’t think that you, personally, have any experience, but....”
“But old Granda can tear this girl across the galaxy, if I just give him permission,” Kati laughed. “And I mean tear. So, I think that I’ll have to join Lank in practise sessions, since I don’t necessarily want to cede control to The Monk, except under the direst circumstances.”
Darla gave her a curious glance while The Monk snarled at her internally.
“You woman of little faith,” he subvocalized.
“Wonder why,” she subvocalized back, thinking of all the close calls the Granda had precipitated.
“Well,” Darla added, “what I’m going to also do is show you people a little defensive trick which at least some Free Traders are aware of, and keep in reserve for difficult situations. As you know from the demonstrations at the Yard, this type of a ship does not have much in the way of defensive weapons. A couple of puny laser guns, that’s it. Properly used, they can be used to cripple an attacker, always assuming that a couple of puny laser guns are all the attacker has to work with, too. But you’re going after a major pl
ayer when it comes to nastiness. I’m assuming that you have no intention of getting into a ship fight with him or any of his ilk; finesse is what the Federation Peace Officers are all about, and I’m guessing that you are at least affiliated with them.”
She raised her brows, and smiled at Mikal as she spoke the last sentence; he grinned back at her, and said nothing. Having determined that he would not take the bait, Darla continued:
“Like all space ships, this one is equipped with a field which repels and/or destroys space debris that can damage a vessel travelling at high speeds through regular space. On most ships its operation is automatic, outside the pilot’s control. A ship this small, however, has a field that can be turned on and off at slow speeds, and concentrated and directed to take out larger objects, should that be necessary. If you throw this switch here,”—she demonstrated—“these red keys can be used to do that.
“Now, under attack, a desperate pilot can slow the vessel to a crawl, lure the attacking ship within range, and direct a powerful, destructive beam at its engine, or at some other vulnerable part. It only works on unshielded ships so don’t even dream of using it on a Torrones, or any other kind of a warship. And you only get one shot, so it really is a last resort. But, I have heard the stories—sometimes the final, desperate manoeuvre is what saves your neck. Keep it in reserve, in case you need it; if you want to be good at it, it is possible to simulate the process with the computer, and practise until you can do the finger work half asleep.”
“She’s right,” The Monk subvocalized excitedly. “In my existences on the other side of the ethics line, my hosts were sometimes regaled with tales of some little pipsqueak of a Free Trader crippling a lot bigger ship, by taking out the engine, or the core of the life-support system. I always assumed that they must have had phenomenal luck targeting with those puny laser guns, but this explanation makes much more sense. I want you to practise this manoeuvre, girl, and I’ll make sure that you’re a whiz at it.”
Kati refrained from commenting, merely gritted her teeth. Mikal saw her expression, guessed at the problem—correctly—and thanked Darla for the information, before taking Kati to check on the supplies that Jens was unpacking. He did, however, nod to Lank surreptitiously, thereby encouraging him to get Darla to show him the simulation.
Jens, the eldest of Makally’s sons was a solid family man: hard working, capable, and somewhat plodding, in Kati’s estimation. If, at one time, he had had a head easily turned by a pretty girl, that was the past. In his late thirties, apparently, he seemed to take no offence at having been left to stack goods while his wife performed more glamorous duties, like introducing the ship’s computer systems to the new owners. He happily showed Kati and Mikal where he was stowing the necessities, and the handful of luxuries that they had authorized.
“We got some fresh food at the Station Greenhouses,” he said to them, displaying a well-stocked cold storage in the galley, “but they won’t stay good for long so I suggest that you eat them up quickly and make a point of getting more wherever you stop. A ship this size doesn’t have room for an onboard garden like some of the large cargo ships and all the liners do. So, if you don’t make frequent stops, you’re stuck cooking with the frozen, canned, or dried stuff; there’s plenty of those on board, but they can get monotonous after a while. Although Darla tells me that Free Traders get used to that sort of monotony; she claims that it’s why all of them are such skinny bone-racks. Eating becomes a chore, instead of a pleasure.
“It’s okay by me,” he added with a grin, “since she’s learned to like her little luxuries, like fresh salad, so I can keep her from pining for the travelling life by fixing her a bowl of greenery at supper.”
“I’ve heard that the roaming can get into the blood,” Mikal said. “Many Free Traders will keep on going as long as they can keep a ship space worthy. Rather impressive of you to have persuaded a woman who lived that life to settle down on a Space Station.”
“She was a little raw at the edges when we met,” Jens replied with a head-shake. “It hadn’t been that long since she had barely escaped with her life, after seeing her partner killed in a particularly nasty fashion. She needed something to do, and there was plenty of that at the Yard. It became clear pretty quickly that she was one smart woman, and though my father will tell you that he nagged me to get serious about her, that was hardly necessary. I could see quality as well as anyone, but I will admit that I pushed her to have kids as soon as we were married; kids will root a woman to a place better than anything else. That advice I got from my mother, by the way.
“If you need it, feel free to use it,” he added to Mikal with a wink, and a meaningful glance at Kati who was eyeing the galley stores with the coming days’ meals in mind.
“That Jens gives me a pain in the butt,” subvocalized The Monk. “He’s a self-satisfied prick. How Darla puts up with him is beyond me! Let’s hope your boyfriend isn’t catching any attitudes from him!”
“Don’t worry about Jens, kiddo,” Kati subvocalized back. “He’s not coming with us, and we’re pretty close to lifting off from this back-of-beyond Space Station.”
“If you think this is back-of-beyond, wait till we get to Wilderness Space! Most of the planets there haven’t even heard of the Star Federation!”
“And you should know!” Kati mentally snapped back. “Having spent a few lawless existences there!”
*****
“Can we go and have a last meal at one of the restaurants before we leave?” Lank asked Kati and Mikal as Darla and Jens were leaving The Spacebird.
Kati shrugged.
“I’m game, if everyone else is,” she said. “It will conserve some of our fresh supplies for later. But let’s go somewhere other than Anastasia’s Home Cooking.”
Jens, at the hatch, guffawed.
“Did you try Anastasia’s?” he asked. “That’s a mistake which many newcomers make. One that keeps Anastasia’s in business, I believe.”
“False advertising for sure,” Mikal said. “Bad food, and worse company, as it happened.”
“Go to Lou’s Bistro, if you’re having lunch,” Darla piped up, from where she was standing, behind Jens. “It’s sort of out of the way, in an alley that crosses the Main Walkway at the seamier end of the Hotel Strip. Most travellers don’t even know that it exists, but it’s a favourite with the locals. Really good food at reasonable prices; it’ll be the best restaurant meal that you’ll have on this Station.”
“Lou’s was the first place I took Darla when I decided to try to impress her,” Jens laughed. “It’s not much to look at, so I think she was wondering about me until our food came and she tasted it. I still remember how her eyes lighted up with that first bite.”
“We still go there all the time,” Darla added, grabbing hold of Jens’ hand. “Now it’s with our kids.”
The foursome left for their last foray on the Station shortly after Darla and Jens had gone.
“The walk to this Lou’s Bistro will take us by the Fiddler’s Green Inn,” Lank said. “Which is a good thing because it’ll give me a chance to stop by and pick up the reed pipes I forgot in my room. Maybe Tieri will have them at the front counter, or she can call the housekeeping to bring them there. Unless Tieri will let me go back to the suite to grab them.”
Mikal gave him an odd look.
“I believe that Tieri told us to make sure that we took everything with us, when we left,” he said mildly.
“Yeah, sure, I remember,” Lank agreed. “Only, I forgot that I’d taken these pipes out of my bag, and had put them in a drawer. I realized that I didn’t have them when I unpacked my bag in the cabin on The Spacebird. Not that they’re expensive or anything, just pipes that I made at the Underground Base on Vultaire to show the Klensers how we did that sort of thing on Tarangay. But they work, and they are a memento of our time on Vultaire.”
“A little reminder of a place that you’ve been?” Xoraya asked.
“Just so,” said Lank. “
Really, of no value to anyone except me. But playing them makes me think of Zass and the other Klensers we got to know at the Underground Base.”
They left the Port area, taking the Main Walkway, first through the region of shops that catered to travellers coming from, or going to the Space Port. The Hotel, or Accommodation, Strip was next; this time they approached it from its more posh end. Here, the lodgings had pretentions: ornate building fronts with wide, awning-covered doors, fancy signage, and, at some of the entrances, liveried doormen, ready to help customers with their baggage.
“I’m glad that we didn’t come here,” Kati muttered as they walked by one particularly baroque-looking hotel. “Little too ostentatious for my tastes.”
“Good thing you feel that way,” laughed Mikal, “since we’re on our way to a hole-in-the-wall Bistro that’s supposed to have excellent food!”
“I kind of liked Darla and Jens,” Xoraya said. “Solid people. I’m sure that their restaurant recommendation will turn out to be very good.”
“Agreed,” said Kati. “Makally’s Used Ship Yards are going to be in good hands for a long time to come.”
“A fact which will please the Borhquans and the Paradisans, and, no doubt, a lot of other worlds struggling to gain space-going capacity,” commented Mikal.
“Hey!” Lank was looking about him with a frown on his face.
They were walking through the mid-section of the Accommodation Strip.
“Where’s our Inn?” he asked. “Shouldn’t it be around hereabouts? How come I’m not seeing it? It should be in front of my face, shouldn’t it, or am I losing my mind?”
Kati and Mikal looked at one another, and around at the buildings on both sides of the Walkway. They were all of very similar appearances, tan or greyish coloured facades with recessed doors and no windows. Signs were unimpressive or non-existent. There was no green building with white-trimmed windows anywhere in sight.
Showdown on the Planet of the Slavers Page 5
