Minotaur hung in space, a large blue and green marble with white caps on opposite sides, half occluded by a dark shadow, as the ship's geostationary orbit pulled it around to the night side. The coloration always seemed off to Rollie, even though he'd never set foot on another planet, it just seemed as if the colors were too dark. Which made no sense, because the light from the local sun actually shone more brightly on Minotaur's surface than Sol did on Earth. The local plant life was also far more energetic than Earth's, and tended to grow quickly, filling any available space it could find until it could grow no further.
This was a good thing for the Banghi hunters, who went out into the jungles to find the long, thin shoots, topped with small vermilion colored flowers, that grew out of the incredibly valuable root of the Banghi plant. Its value derived from its use as a precursor in the production of nearly perfect cancer treatment drugs. The rate of growth was offset by the plant's scarcity, however, and the local wildlife made searching for it problematic as well.
There were things in the jungles where Banghi grew that were almost as deadly as they were valuable. As a result, Banghi hunters also tended to do double duty trapping Minotauran scorpionflies. Scorpionflies hardly resembled either scorpions or flies, but they had wings and a long tail with a stinger at the end, so the name stuck. They were fast, and poisonous beyond belief, but with careful handling, their poison sacks could be harvested, and then used to produce extremely potent painkillers. There was a secondary market for the flesh of the scorpionfly, but it was rare and expensive.
Rollie couldn't justify eating bugs, no matter how expensive, and he'd heard that the flavor left a lot to be desired. He was after something else entirely, and he knew exactly where to go in order to find it. The Jester was oriented port side facing the planet, and his view from the ship's portside observation blister was nearly unobstructed. Níngjìng Bay was a bright crescent of light on the dark side of Minotaur, looking very much alone amidst the sea of shadow surrounding the capital. He reminded himself that they were still a good 200 kilometers above the surface, and even a metropolis would look small at such a distance. At ground level, however, that same city was as densely populated as any space station, and it was the only place on any planet's surface in which he felt comfortable.
The older quarter of the Bay area, which had originally been settled by second and third wave colonists, was a veritable warren of random streets and alleys, now populated by the newly arrived migrants deposited by the shuttles that landed hourly. The more common, older, and most massive cargo shuttles used the bay itself as a landing field, since water could be converted into hydrogen for fuel easily enough, and it obviated the need for a runway. Shuttles built after the development of gravity polarization technology could land virtually anywhere, and most of the multisolar corporations with large properties in the Bay area had privately owned landing fields. Other organizations, and a few embassies, maintained their own landing pads as well. The largest landing field for GP equipped shuttlecraft was the New Shanghai Spaceport, 75 kilometers north, and the traffic in and out of there was staggering. Heavy cargo shuttles landed and took off every few minutes, and lighter orbital commuter flights left at nearly the same rate. The only other organizations with their own landing fields were the Níngjìng Bay Police Department and the Ministry of Defense. There were other areas where shuttles could land, discretely, without attracting any official attention from either the Police or the Navy, but they were usually far inland and located in rough terrain.
Rollie was waiting for the Jester to meet up with a heavy cargo shuttle, onto which he would happily move several dozen tons of cargo consigned to be picked up on planet, as well as their two passengers, Rip and Cody. He'd ignored the warning from the USPF office on New Detroit about gambling with Rip, and he had managed to lose enough money to make him wary of doing so again in the near future. He was still fuming about it when he ran into Alex coming off shift.
"Hey, 'Lex, got anything big planned while the USPF is wringing out DJ? Rumor has it that they wanted to put him in protected custody until we pull out of the system." He asked, in a transparent effort to rile her up. She looked so miserable when she looked at him, that he immediately regretted it, and felt a pang of guilt.
"Aww, I'm sorry kid; look, they're just being thorough, they've had all of the depositions for something like three days, and it's standard procedure for them to conduct a personal interview when someone - or several- gets killed. No matter how justified." He added quickly, in an attempt to forestall any emotional waterworks.
"Maybe, but they didn't seem to be too thrilled to have to be here, and they didn't seem to give the Navy's report much attention either." She told him, sounding worried. "Do you think that they'd really put him in protected custody?"
”Nah. He'll probably be let loose sometime today. You guys won't lose your hotel reservations, but you may be checking in late. The Captain gave you guys 72 hours of liberty, and I can pretty much guarantee that your boy will do whatever he has to to make the shuttle on time." He said, turning back to watch as the terminator swept across south continent, enveloping the largest single landmass on the planet in darkness, while hoping Dirk didn't strangle the USPF officer doing the crew interviews.
"Thanks, jerk." She said, in a sisterly sort of way, and punched him lightly in the arm. ”I guess I'd better pack a bag if I'm going to be on that flight, huh?"
Rollie let her go without further comment, since the question was rhetorical, and she was out of the earshot before he could have answered anyway. He turned his thoughts to the various people on Minotaur from whom he had bought his tobacco over the years, and he still had no idea how to get as large a supply as he figured he'd need for the mission past Vulcanfall. He decided that the thing to do was to go down, and find his usual dealer, then get him to make the connection. There was, of course, the small matter of how he was going to get it back on board, but he had methods for getting his private stash off planet.
He stood looking out at the planet from the confines of the observation bubble for a while longer, without really thinking about anything in particular, when his com badge chirped for his attention. It was the Captain.
"Rollie, the transport shuttle I contracted is on final approach. Are we good to go?" Asked the Captain, a slight edge of anxiety in his voice.
"Loads all prepped and ready to go, but I get the feeling that DJ isn't gonna make the flight, unless those UniSys folks let him go soon." He replied.
He very much doubted that those unrepentant assholes from the USPF would offer Dirk a lift to the planet in their shuttle, except maybe in handcuffs. Their attitude had been confrontational from the time they'd come through the airlock. They had thrown their weight around, just because they could, but Dirk had been the personification of zen-like calm. He adopted the usual passive-aggressive behavior with them that he reserved for people who tried to interrogate him about his personal life. It was a tried and tested method, it involved answering questions within the boundaries of the information requested, ignoring leading statements meant to elicit information, and generally pretending not to understand why the interrogator was asking questions in the first place. Rollie's firsthand experience with the technique had turned his brain to mush in half an hour, and he still regretted prying into Dirk's life history, going on two years later.
He truly hoped that Dirk would make the shuttle down to Minotaur, otherwise he was likely to take his frustrations out on the officers interviewing him, and that could get rough. He decided that preemptive action was needed, and headed down to the crew lounge where the USPF officers had set up shop. His arrival coincided with him overhearing Dirk say, "...can go fuck the horse you rode in on, you miserable, feckless twat. The idea of you telling me how to deal -" before a foolishly belligerent voice cut him off.
"You shut your fucking mouth and sit down you little prick, or by God I'll put you on your ass, and shut it for you!" Rollie heard from just down the hall, where Jinx, Bao-Jian, and Hicks were eavesdropping.
Rollie started running when he heard Dirk say: "You fucking try it, if you think you're hard enough, cunt."
The challenge was delivered in a lethally flat voice, and he came through the open doorway of the lounge, the rest of the listeners in tow, just in time to distract attention away from Dirk.
"Who the hell are you? This area is off limits until we're done here, now get lost." Said a large, thick necked man with a dark complexion.
The distraction worked, and he grinned at Thick Neck, like he was the punchline of a mildly entertaining joke.
"The name's Rolland Overton Langston, dirtsider. Ship's Bosun and master cargo handler, and I'm going to have to borrow Mr Sinclair for a couple of hours." He said, with an arrogance he hoped would fool them into believing that he had the authority to do what he was doing.
The smaller, pasty faced man sitting in front of Dirk, who looked like a grown up version of the kid who took down names when the teacher was out of the classroom, spoke up in high, quavering voice.
"That's unacceptable, we were told that we would have full cooperation. We still have a number of questions about the incident on the well deck." Said Pasty Face, in a nasal accent Rollie couldn't place.
"Well, dirtsider, if you don't like it, tough. You've had Mr Sinclair here for the better part of five hours, and I can guarantee that his life ain't that interesting. I got work needs doing, and DJ here to do it, so now he's mine. You can take it up with the Captain, you want it different, but remember: You're guests on board this ship, you piss the Old Man off, he'll kick you off this crate himself." He concluded his lecture by gesturing toward the doorway with his thumb, looked at Dirk, and said, "Loading bay, now. Captain just called, transport's on final."
To his credit he caught on fast, and didn't wait for approval, instead, he jumped up and quick marched out, with a snappy "Yes, sir."
Rollie turned about just as quickly, and seeing the three crew staring at him all but goggle-eyed, said: "What're you lookin' at? We got work to do!", and headed straight out to the corridor, and then ran after Dirk, dragging them out in his wake. He caught up to Dirk in less than a minute.
"How's that for a rescue? D'you think that Thick Neck back there realizes how much he owes me for saving his life? 'Cause it sounded like you were about to retune his FTL drive." Rollie asked, as he tried to bring his racing heart beat under control.
"That was quite a performance, Rollie, I never thought you had it in you. I owe you one; I was just about to see if I could make that thick bastard's nose bleed if I kicked his ass hard enough. Tell you what; we'll take you out to the Hyperwave Club while we're on planet. It's supposed to be the best in the city." Dirk said, his voice heavy with gratitude.
Rollie knew that Dirk was trying to express his gratitude at being pulled out of the USPF interview, but he really wished Dirk could remember that he wasn't a large crowd type of person. He was forced to admit that he was right about the club's standing, given that the length of the lineups were legendary. Rumor had it that the Hyperwave had set a record for the longest line to get into a nightclub in history; no one really knew if it was true, but it sounded good.
Which made the offer a bit strange.
"Just how do you plan on getting us in? Waiting for hours until a spot opens up is kind of dull, and if we have to wait outside, we'll probably get rained on." He said, skeptically.
"Oh ye of little faith. I shall work miracles, you'll see." Dirk replied, smiling like a newly beatified saint.
Rollie rolled his eyes, and wondered how much trouble they were going to get into for ditching the USPF jerks, but he had a cargo transport to load, and now he had Dirk and the others to help.
"Great, now let's see you miraculously working to get that cargo off onto the transport arriving in a few minutes." Rollie said, caustically, and gently pushed him in the direction of the lift for the forward loading bay.
He figured that the Saints-damned USPF would probably complain about being interrupted, but didn't think that they'd get anywhere with the Captain by doing so. Even if they decided to make an issue of it, there were limits on their authority, and the Alliance locals wouldn't like having their toes stepped on in their own jurisdiction by UniSys police officers.
All in all, he doubted that they had much to worry about.
This was a good thing for the Banghi hunters, who went out into the jungles to find the long, thin shoots, topped with small vermilion colored flowers, that grew out of the incredibly valuable root of the Banghi plant. Its value derived from its use as a precursor in the production of nearly perfect cancer treatment drugs. The rate of growth was offset by the plant's scarcity, however, and the local wildlife made searching for it problematic as well.
There were things in the jungles where Banghi grew that were almost as deadly as they were valuable. As a result, Banghi hunters also tended to do double duty trapping Minotauran scorpionflies. Scorpionflies hardly resembled either scorpions or flies, but they had wings and a long tail with a stinger at the end, so the name stuck. They were fast, and poisonous beyond belief, but with careful handling, their poison sacks could be harvested, and then used to produce extremely potent painkillers. There was a secondary market for the flesh of the scorpionfly, but it was rare and expensive.
Rollie couldn't justify eating bugs, no matter how expensive, and he'd heard that the flavor left a lot to be desired. He was after something else entirely, and he knew exactly where to go in order to find it. The Jester was oriented port side facing the planet, and his view from the ship's portside observation blister was nearly unobstructed. Níngjìng Bay was a bright crescent of light on the dark side of Minotaur, looking very much alone amidst the sea of shadow surrounding the capital. He reminded himself that they were still a good 200 kilometers above the surface, and even a metropolis would look small at such a distance. At ground level, however, that same city was as densely populated as any space station, and it was the only place on any planet's surface in which he felt comfortable.
The older quarter of the Bay area, which had originally been settled by second and third wave colonists, was a veritable warren of random streets and alleys, now populated by the newly arrived migrants deposited by the shuttles that landed hourly. The more common, older, and most massive cargo shuttles used the bay itself as a landing field, since water could be converted into hydrogen for fuel easily enough, and it obviated the need for a runway. Shuttles built after the development of gravity polarization technology could land virtually anywhere, and most of the multisolar corporations with large properties in the Bay area had privately owned landing fields. Other organizations, and a few embassies, maintained their own landing pads as well. The largest landing field for GP equipped shuttlecraft was the New Shanghai Spaceport, 75 kilometers north, and the traffic in and out of there was staggering. Heavy cargo shuttles landed and took off every few minutes, and lighter orbital commuter flights left at nearly the same rate. The only other organizations with their own landing fields were the Níngjìng Bay Police Department and the Ministry of Defense. There were other areas where shuttles could land, discretely, without attracting any official attention from either the Police or the Navy, but they were usually far inland and located in rough terrain.
Rollie was waiting for the Jester to meet up with a heavy cargo shuttle, onto which he would happily move several dozen tons of cargo consigned to be picked up on planet, as well as their two passengers, Rip and Cody. He'd ignored the warning from the USPF office on New Detroit about gambling with Rip, and he had managed to lose enough money to make him wary of doing so again in the near future. He was still fuming about it when he ran into Alex coming off shift.
"Hey, 'Lex, got anything big planned while the USPF is wringing out DJ? Rumor has it that they wanted to put him in protected custody until we pull out of the system." He asked, in a transparent effort to rile her up. She looked so miserable when she looked at him, that he immediately regretted it, and felt a pang of guilt.
"Aww, I'm sorry kid; look, they're just being thorough, they've had all of the depositions for something like three days, and it's standard procedure for them to conduct a personal interview when someone - or several- gets killed. No matter how justified." He added quickly, in an attempt to forestall any emotional waterworks.
"Maybe, but they didn't seem to be too thrilled to have to be here, and they didn't seem to give the Navy's report much attention either." She told him, sounding worried. "Do you think that they'd really put him in protected custody?"
”Nah. He'll probably be let loose sometime today. You guys won't lose your hotel reservations, but you may be checking in late. The Captain gave you guys 72 hours of liberty, and I can pretty much guarantee that your boy will do whatever he has to to make the shuttle on time." He said, turning back to watch as the terminator swept across south continent, enveloping the largest single landmass on the planet in darkness, while hoping Dirk didn't strangle the USPF officer doing the crew interviews.
"Thanks, jerk." She said, in a sisterly sort of way, and punched him lightly in the arm. ”I guess I'd better pack a bag if I'm going to be on that flight, huh?"
Rollie let her go without further comment, since the question was rhetorical, and she was out of the earshot before he could have answered anyway. He turned his thoughts to the various people on Minotaur from whom he had bought his tobacco over the years, and he still had no idea how to get as large a supply as he figured he'd need for the mission past Vulcanfall. He decided that the thing to do was to go down, and find his usual dealer, then get him to make the connection. There was, of course, the small matter of how he was going to get it back on board, but he had methods for getting his private stash off planet.
He stood looking out at the planet from the confines of the observation bubble for a while longer, without really thinking about anything in particular, when his com badge chirped for his attention. It was the Captain.
"Rollie, the transport shuttle I contracted is on final approach. Are we good to go?" Asked the Captain, a slight edge of anxiety in his voice.
"Loads all prepped and ready to go, but I get the feeling that DJ isn't gonna make the flight, unless those UniSys folks let him go soon." He replied.
He very much doubted that those unrepentant assholes from the USPF would offer Dirk a lift to the planet in their shuttle, except maybe in handcuffs. Their attitude had been confrontational from the time they'd come through the airlock. They had thrown their weight around, just because they could, but Dirk had been the personification of zen-like calm. He adopted the usual passive-aggressive behavior with them that he reserved for people who tried to interrogate him about his personal life. It was a tried and tested method, it involved answering questions within the boundaries of the information requested, ignoring leading statements meant to elicit information, and generally pretending not to understand why the interrogator was asking questions in the first place. Rollie's firsthand experience with the technique had turned his brain to mush in half an hour, and he still regretted prying into Dirk's life history, going on two years later.
He truly hoped that Dirk would make the shuttle down to Minotaur, otherwise he was likely to take his frustrations out on the officers interviewing him, and that could get rough. He decided that preemptive action was needed, and headed down to the crew lounge where the USPF officers had set up shop. His arrival coincided with him overhearing Dirk say, "...can go fuck the horse you rode in on, you miserable, feckless twat. The idea of you telling me how to deal -" before a foolishly belligerent voice cut him off.
"You shut your fucking mouth and sit down you little prick, or by God I'll put you on your ass, and shut it for you!" Rollie heard from just down the hall, where Jinx, Bao-Jian, and Hicks were eavesdropping.
Rollie started running when he heard Dirk say: "You fucking try it, if you think you're hard enough, cunt."
The challenge was delivered in a lethally flat voice, and he came through the open doorway of the lounge, the rest of the listeners in tow, just in time to distract attention away from Dirk.
"Who the hell are you? This area is off limits until we're done here, now get lost." Said a large, thick necked man with a dark complexion.
The distraction worked, and he grinned at Thick Neck, like he was the punchline of a mildly entertaining joke.
"The name's Rolland Overton Langston, dirtsider. Ship's Bosun and master cargo handler, and I'm going to have to borrow Mr Sinclair for a couple of hours." He said, with an arrogance he hoped would fool them into believing that he had the authority to do what he was doing.
The smaller, pasty faced man sitting in front of Dirk, who looked like a grown up version of the kid who took down names when the teacher was out of the classroom, spoke up in high, quavering voice.
"That's unacceptable, we were told that we would have full cooperation. We still have a number of questions about the incident on the well deck." Said Pasty Face, in a nasal accent Rollie couldn't place.
"Well, dirtsider, if you don't like it, tough. You've had Mr Sinclair here for the better part of five hours, and I can guarantee that his life ain't that interesting. I got work needs doing, and DJ here to do it, so now he's mine. You can take it up with the Captain, you want it different, but remember: You're guests on board this ship, you piss the Old Man off, he'll kick you off this crate himself." He concluded his lecture by gesturing toward the doorway with his thumb, looked at Dirk, and said, "Loading bay, now. Captain just called, transport's on final."
To his credit he caught on fast, and didn't wait for approval, instead, he jumped up and quick marched out, with a snappy "Yes, sir."
Rollie turned about just as quickly, and seeing the three crew staring at him all but goggle-eyed, said: "What're you lookin' at? We got work to do!", and headed straight out to the corridor, and then ran after Dirk, dragging them out in his wake. He caught up to Dirk in less than a minute.
"How's that for a rescue? D'you think that Thick Neck back there realizes how much he owes me for saving his life? 'Cause it sounded like you were about to retune his FTL drive." Rollie asked, as he tried to bring his racing heart beat under control.
"That was quite a performance, Rollie, I never thought you had it in you. I owe you one; I was just about to see if I could make that thick bastard's nose bleed if I kicked his ass hard enough. Tell you what; we'll take you out to the Hyperwave Club while we're on planet. It's supposed to be the best in the city." Dirk said, his voice heavy with gratitude.
Rollie knew that Dirk was trying to express his gratitude at being pulled out of the USPF interview, but he really wished Dirk could remember that he wasn't a large crowd type of person. He was forced to admit that he was right about the club's standing, given that the length of the lineups were legendary. Rumor had it that the Hyperwave had set a record for the longest line to get into a nightclub in history; no one really knew if it was true, but it sounded good.
Which made the offer a bit strange.
"Just how do you plan on getting us in? Waiting for hours until a spot opens up is kind of dull, and if we have to wait outside, we'll probably get rained on." He said, skeptically.
"Oh ye of little faith. I shall work miracles, you'll see." Dirk replied, smiling like a newly beatified saint.
Rollie rolled his eyes, and wondered how much trouble they were going to get into for ditching the USPF jerks, but he had a cargo transport to load, and now he had Dirk and the others to help.
"Great, now let's see you miraculously working to get that cargo off onto the transport arriving in a few minutes." Rollie said, caustically, and gently pushed him in the direction of the lift for the forward loading bay.
He figured that the Saints-damned USPF would probably complain about being interrupted, but didn't think that they'd get anywhere with the Captain by doing so. Even if they decided to make an issue of it, there were limits on their authority, and the Alliance locals wouldn't like having their toes stepped on in their own jurisdiction by UniSys police officers.
All in all, he doubted that they had much to worry about.
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