---
Ten leaned forward, resting his
head in his hands with a sigh. Dull, unfamiliar music filled the silence in the
otherwise sleepy rest-stop bar. Telling time off planet was an exercise in
personal accountability- night and day were relative terms, for the most part,
and places like this had no peak hours. The black void of space outside the
windows, coupled with the dim, flickering lights gave the effect of a perpetual
too-early-in-the-morning. The atmosphere was almost relaxing. Luckily, the wobbly
wooden chairs huddled around the cheap plastic tables were just uncomfortable enough to keep any unfortunate soul sitting in them from
nodding off.
The swish of the bar’s door sliding
open caught Ten’s attention for a moment, but it was just another tired looking
stranger slumping through the doorway- just like the last twenty or so. Ten
tapped lazily at the tablet resting between his elbows- he pursed his lips,
seeing that another hour had passed from the last time he’d checked the time.
He leaned back in frustration, and the chair groaned a creaky complaint. This is stupid, he thought. He’s always late, but this is a new goddamn
record. Ten kicked the bag at his feet in frustration. The best part is, when he does get here, he’ll just tell me this thing
is more garbage, as usual.
Ten glanced out the window beside
his table, looking out at the handful of ships hanging motionless from the
docking-arm. The arm looked short, from the tight perspective, but it stretched
out for half a kilometer away from the station, making the sphere shaped ships
look like marbles, and the angular little shuttles like matchboxes.
Except, as Ten looked closer, one
of the ships wasn’t motionless. Looking
like a ratty ball of tinfoil, the skipper-ship drifted slowly to one side. It
was ugly to look at, with a gaudy metallic green paint-job. As the skipper
drifted, it almost grazed the docking armature of the freighter beside it, but it
seemed like a small emergency thruster kicked on at the last second, pushing it
jarringly back in the other direction. Looking closer, the skipper wasn’t actually
docked, despite the docking boom for its parking space being fully extended.
Huh,
he thought, is it trying to dock? The
idiot pilot must be steering it manually. Maybe the gyro is busted. Ten’s
own ship was docked out of sight, at the far end of the docking-arm. There were
several closer spaces open now, but the rest stop had been unusually packed
when he’d pulled in. Three fucking hours
ago. Ten gritted his teeth, feeling like he could almost hear the straining
clasps engaging as the skipper finally managed to dock itself, the several
inches of misalignment between ship and boom forcing the safety clasps to twist
the rigid causeway into position. Moron.
That’s a great way to ruin the seal on your docking port. Enjoy sucking vacuum
when it tears free.
Several minutes passed after the
skipper managed to dock, and Ten found his thoughts wandering as he looked out
the window. The little station was in orbit around a cold ball of ice, itself
orbiting a star far enough away to make it hard to distinguish from the other
stars in the background. The faint silhouette of the little planetoid was
beginning to crawl into view.
Ten was startled out of his
star-gazing by the abrupt sound of the chair opposite his scooting across the
plate-metal floor. He glanced up to see an aged, portly man heaving himself into
the seat- the chair creaked a very angry objection, but managed not to give out.
“Staring off into space, are you?” Ten
grimaced at the pun. The other man’s flushed face twisted into an odd grin.
“Was just watching your shitty
parking job. That was you, right? In the Christmas-ornament with thrusters
soldered on?”
The man shrugged. “You take what
you can get. S’hard times, these days. Maybe a bit more compact than my old
ship, but I get where I need to go on time.”
Stupid
Porthos, Ten thought as he watched the old man crane himself around in the
chair to flag down the bar’s waitress. The man’s disheveled clothing and greasy
hair were, unfortunately, a familiar sight to Ten. Always just scraping by. By his own design.
Ten leaned forward again and tapped
his tablet “You have a really weird definition of ‘on-time’, asshole. You said
we’d meet at tenhour. Does your clock need synching, or- wait, let me guess,
you have an excuse all lined up, don’t you?”
Porthos turned back around to face Ten.
His face was, as usual, an unreadable collage of wrinkles, rosacea and grizzled
scruff. “I was in a meeting.”
“A meeting?”
“With a client. The meeting went
long. Out of my hands” He turned up his knobby paws in a shrug, as though to
demonstrate how empty they were.
“I’m sure. Whatever, I don’t care, let’s get on with this, now that
you’re finally here” Ten turned to the side and leaned down to open up his
satchel “By the way,” he said, looking up for a moment “Do you mind telling me
why I couldn’t just send you photos, or a scan or something? I know we usually
meet in person but I was on the other side of the damn arm.”
Porthos shrugged as the waitress
made her way over to the table “Faster this way,” he said, curtly “and
besides-“
“Faster for you, maybe. I’ve got to go all the way back. What are you doing out
this far anyway?”
Porthos cleared his throat,
dismissing the question. “And, besides-
oh…” He cut himself off as the waitress approached with crossed arms. There was
a look of worn-in boredom on her face.
“Well?” she asked.
“Ah, just some water please. Warm.”
Porthos offered the woman a congenial smile.
“Warm? You want warm water?”
“Warm water, please, yes. That’s
all”
The waitress rolled her eyes “Yeah.
Allright.” She turned and walked back to the bar, shaking her head. Porthos turned
his attention back towards Ten.
“Besides,” he continued,
“transmission is never secure. Lord knows how many hands touch that data before
I get to see it. Some of my clients are very fickle- I don’t want scalpers
catching wind of a hot item before I get the chance to make the first offer!” Porthos
pulled an oily rag out from some crevasse in his jacket and began to pat his
equally oily forehead with it.
“Whatever you say,” said Ten,
pulling a white box from his bag up onto the table with a grunt. The item had
some heft to it. “You’re a weirdo, but you give fair prices, so I shouldn’t
complain.” He pushed the cube, about a hand’s breadth wide, towards the old junkman
“So what is it?”
Porthos frowned, and pulled down a
pair of thick glasses that had been hiding in his tangled grey mane. He took
the box in his hands, feeling his fingers along the edges. The box had few
distinguishing marks, aside from smudges of dirt and grease. A seem bisected
the cube through the middle. There were faint markings along one side- or
perhaps just slightly cleaner regions.
“There were handles on this at some
point.” Porthos grumbled as he turned it over in his hands “Did you break them
off trying to open it?”
“What?” Ten snorted “I didn’t try
to open it. I didn’t know it could be opened.”
Ten drummed his fingers on the grungy plastic table, watching Porthos continue
to turn the object over in his hands. After a quiet moment he said “So… it’s a
box? I knew it was something, but you
mean there’s something else inside of it?”
“Yes, it’s a box, obviously” Porthos spat, digging his
fist into his jacket to look for something. Cursing, he pulled his jacket open,
looking down into it as he dug through a bulging inside pocket “The markings
are gone,” he mumbled “But it’s clearly an ARBET
box”
“So… what does that mean? What’s
a... what did you call it?” Ten looked up. The waitress was walking back
towards the table carrying a glass of water.
“An ARBET box” Porthos repeated “An Alliance
Research Bra- oh!” he glanced up startled as the waitress plopped the glass
of water- warm water, down onto the
table, nearly spilling it. Porthos reached out his hand, touching the glass.
“Warm enough for you?” the waitress asked, scowling.
“Yes, actually, it feels perf-“
“Great, here’s your bill” She
slapped a slip of paper down onto the table, and turned, leaving briskly.
“Jeeze, do you know her or
something?” Ten watched as the waitress, rounding the bar, spoke quietly to the
bartender, who looked over at the table and shook his head. Porthos pulled a
small paper packet out of another pocket “That waitress acted like you… what is…
what are you doing?”
“Mind your business.” Porthos
responded, dumping the powdered contents of the packet into the water. The
water immediately turned cloudy and yellowish- and after a moment began to
froth slightly. The cloying, fermented smell of instant-beer was suddenly
clogging the stale air around the table. Porthos stirred the drink with his
finger and then took a long gulp from it “Mmmm- ahh, now then,” he cleared his
throat “Where was I?”
Ten rolled his eyes, “You were
talking about… ARBET?”
“Right, yes. ARBET stands for Alliance
Research-Branch Experimental Transport”
“So… it’s some sort of
experimental… box?” Ten stared blankly at the dingy white cube.
“No! No, argh-“ Porthos took off
his smudgy glasses to annoyedly clean them “No, the box itself isn’t
experimental, it’s for transporting
experiments, fool” Porthos stuffed the no-less smudgy spectacles back onto
his round nose and pulled what appeared to be a screw-driver out of his jacket
“As I said before, lots of hands touch stuff when you ship it. These boxes were
made to make sure experimental samples didn’t get contaminated along the way”
“Why didn’t they just transport
their boxes themselves? Wouldn’t that be safer?” Ten watched curiously as Porthos
delicately slid the screwdriver’s flat tip along the box’s seam.
“You’d think,” He replied “But
those fiddly bastards apparently used to ship whole freighters of these things
back and forth between facilities… back in the day. I’m sure they had
some tight contracts with the shipping lines, but still, you can’t be too
careful when you’re a weird scientist, I guess.” The screwdriver caught on
something, just under the lip of the seam “And they were all about efficiency” Ten
jumped in his seat as the old junkman suddenly jammed the screwdriver into the
seam, making a grinding chunk noise.
“Lucky for us, the locking mechanism
broke off of this one a long time ago. Or was broken off. Whatever- if it was
still on, you’d never get this thing open” Porthos twisted the screwdriver
further in. “All I have to do now is break the seal- should pop right open!”
The old man’s tongue poked out between his chapped lips as he worked.
If
I’d known he was just going to pry it open I wouldn’t have wasted the goddamn
trip. Ten watched, frustrated “And, that’s not going to… damage what’s
inside?”
“What? No!” Porthos shifted the
screwdriver to the other side, and began to twist again “I mean… There could be
anything in here, really. Anyway, no way to know what otherwise!”
Ten opened his mouth to object, but
the box began to hiss out a puff of air before he could speak, and indeed, the
top half of the box popped up. Setting down the screw-driver, Porthos carefully
slid the top half up and off of the box’s contents. Both men craned themselves
over the table to watch as the white shell, now removed, revealed a smaller
cube inside, this one rusted and metallic, with thin tubing covering its
surface in some areas.
“Great,” said Ten, leaning back
into his chair “Another box. Do I have to watch you open this one too before
you make me an offer?”
Porthos leaned back in his chair,
and sipped his drink. His eyes flicked up from the strange object to Ten’s
annoyed face “Twenty-thousand.” he said.
“Twenty-thousand! Are you serious?”
Ten reached out and took a hold of the object. I was expecting a hundred credits, tops. Is this a trick? He lifted
the odd cube out of the lower half of the box. It wasn’t that heavy. Apparently
the… experimental transporter had
made up a good bit of the weight. “But… but what is it?”
“I’ve got no idea, boy, do I look
like a scientist to you” As he spoke, Porthos dug around in his ear with his
pinky. He did not look like a scientist.
“Then why are you offering so much?
What’s your game? You’re obviously lying!” Ten pushed the object back down into
the white shell and began trying to fit the top half back on.
“I’m not lying- I’d have offered
you the same amount before I even opened it. It doesn’t matter what this thing
is, I know people that will pay fortunes for the contents of one of these
boxes. They don’t turn up often.”
Ten watched the man’s face, still
not believing him as he spoke. “Right. Your connections.”
Who you never introduce me to, Ten
thought to himself. The top of the box wouldn’t join back to the bottom, but it
was close enough to being closed and Ten scooped up the dingy cube and shoved
it back into his satchel “I’m not selling-“
“Then you’re an idiot” Porthos
interjected.
“I’m not selling yet. I don’t sell anything I don’t know
what it is.” Ten slung the satchel’s strap over his shoulder and crossed his
arms “Tell me who’d know what this fucking cube is for. I know you know
someone, you always do” Ten glared at the old junkman, and Porthos glared right
back. After a tense moment, the old man seemed to relent, and sighed as he
stood up and adjusted his jacket.
“I tell you what,” Porthos said,
downing the last of his drink “You’re good business, so I’ll do it your way.
Wouldn’t trust ya anyway if you weren’t untrusting” He picked up the slip of
paper with his bill on it, looked at it, and grumbled. “My guy’s a short jump
from here. You can come with me. Won’t change the price anyway. As I said,
don’t matter to me what it is”
Ten stood up, hefting the bag “I’d
have to be crazy to ride anywhere with you in that thing you call a ship. Is
there even space for two people?”
“Ha! It’d be cozy, for sure.
Haven’t cleaned out the trash recently.” Porthos walked over to the bar to scan
his credits with the ill-tempered waitress. Ten made his way over to the door
and waited, walking in toe with the shaggy junkman as he made his way out after
settling up.
“Look, just… ride with me in my
ship”
“I’m not leaving the old girl at
this dump.”
Ten rolled his eyes “Fine. Your
ship is tiny, we’ll just put it in my ship’s hold, I’ve got nearly nothing in
there right now”
“Oh? Just unloaded a good haul
then?”
“Ugh, I wish. I had a great haul. It was fucking
confiscated”
Porthos shook his head “Stupid boy,
you were scrappin’ around Luz weren’t you? Didn’t I warn you?” The walk down
the docking boom was long and cramped. Ten pulled his bag tighter against
himself as the two walked- the thin walls of the boom always made him
uncomfortable. “That new president
they got don’ want no-body mucking around in their space. Even if it’s to clean
up their garbage”
“I think you mentioned it, yeah.
But there’s a lot of nice shit floating out there, and they can’t patrol the
whole fucking orbit constantly”
“Constantly enough to catch you,
apparently. You know, I hear they send repeat offenders down to the surface for
a trial.” Ten scowled at another of the man’s jokes. Luz d’Amanhecer was a gas giant.
***
“So they just kicked you out? Just
like that?”
The question hung in the air for a
moment. Zeph sighed, watching as the queue of people moved forward in front of
her by a few inches. The stuttering old man at the front of the line was still
talking to the android at the front desk- that hadn’t changed. Maybe some poor
fuck gave up and abandoned ship?
“Zeph? Sorry, did I say something
weird?”
Zeph set her mug of formerly-hot
coffee down on the side table beside her chair “No, ah… no, it’s just more
complicated than that” she replied. How
did we even get onto this subject? Why does this always seem to come up?
She pushed her fingers through her hair, pushing the black tangles out of her
face. She looked like she’d recently pulled herself out of bed- which wasn’t
too far from the truth, depending on your definition of ‘recently’, and ‘bed’.
Euphonia, of course, looked like a freshly folded dinner napkin, with her finely
ironed pant-suit, and her perfectly pruned sculpture of hair.
“Basically, we… agreed as a
community to accept The Company’s offer. Offers, rather. We each got separate
offers” Zeph shrugged and tried to smooth out some wrinkles on her slacks “As I
said, they wanted our station’s orbit clear, but they were setting up shop
either way.”
“Setting up shop? You mean they
were going start building even if you guys had refused the offer?” Euphonia’s red-lipped,
too-small mouth pursed into a puckered, anus-like arrangement. The expression was
a poor facsimile of confusion, or perhaps pity. Her eyebrows didn’t move so it
was hard to tell.
“Uhm, pretty much. They’d already
purchased the land rights for Hannon’s Moon. They’d brought all their ships
into orbit. There wasn’t a lot we could do about it. Zoned orbits are based off
local industry, not the other way around. So if we hung around, it would be our fault for living next to an
antimatter plant”
Euphonia stared blankly “I… think
you lost me when you started talking about zoning
honey. If your station was so great, why didn’t you guys just… I dunno, put up
with it? Who cares what they do down on the surface?”
The line inched forward again. The
old man had left the desk with a stack of papers to fill out- actual papers, not digital documents. A
stack of papers that thick were likely registration forms. The process of
registering to operate as a courier was pretty straight forward, in theory.
Apply for your license, register your ship, register yourself as an entity, and so forth. The problem was that each
jurisdiction had its own unique bureaucracy to navigate, and none of them
communicated with each other with any semblance of efficiency. Which meant
waiting in a lot of lines in a lot of different places. That didn’t even
include the process of renting a warpdrive.
“Well, we could have. That’s why
they made us offers rather than just waiting for us to bug off of our own
accord. And we talked about it. Well, like half of us did. A whole fuckload of
people took the offer immediately.” Like Tenny.
Asshole. Zeph sipped her coffee, and continued “Anyway, us folks that
stayed around to think about it
talked about a lot of things. Installing radiation shielding on the station.
Hiring a firm to establish official rights to the orbit. Moving the station- that was a dumb idea, but we did consider it.
When it came down to it, their offer was generous. Enough of us were willing to
accept at that point, and the rest couldn’t maintain the station on their own.
Felt bad for them, but whatcha gonna’ do.”
Zeph glanced over at Euphonia. Her
face was lit up blue by the mini-tablet she was typing out a message on. She
looked up “I’m listening, don’t worry!” she lied, her eyes flicking back to the
screen.
Zeph sighed, and leaned to one
side, resting her chin in her palm. There was a young woman at the front desk now,
whisper-shouting to the nonplussed android behind the desk. She looked about as
frazzled as she sounded. Zeph watched her coolly over her mug as she took
another sip of coffee. Something about form rejections and re-filing fees
chirped out a bit louder in the woman’s tirade over the rest of her frustration
fueled murmurs. Poor idiot, Zeph
thought, watching the android pull out a paper form- again, actual paper- and laid it on the desk,
tapping her polished alabaster finger to indicate a specific article and
subsection. A specific article and subsection that the irate woman had
absolutely, definitely read and acknowledged. That is your signature right here on this line, isn’t it Ma’am? What’s
that Ma’am? No Ma’am, I’m afraid I cannot shove this paperwork up my own asshole. Not only do I not have an
asshole, it is clearly indicated on page three, paragraph four that-
“Zeph? Zeph are you there, honey?”
Zeph did her best to suppress the
smile that had grown across her face, and set down her coffee mug, looking over
at Euphonia, who was directing at her another poorly imitated look of
confusion, or perhaps constipation “Ah… sorry, uh, what’s up? Spaced out for a
sec.”
Euphonia’s eyebrows actually twitched “I just… I’d asked why
you guys had to move? Like, at all, you know? What was the big deal about… The Company you said? With them building
a whatever on the surface?”
“Because they’re building an
antimatter plant?” Zeph responded.
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