*I would like to thank my good friend Joe MacDonald for the characters of 'Rip' and Cody introduced in this chapter, he gave me a short bio on each one about 20 years ago, and I decided that they finally deserved to be heard from.*
The forward loading bay was, of necessity, the largest on the Jester; since the United Systems Interstellar Traffic Commission had decreed over 75 year ago (with a lot of badgering from the board of directors of New Detroit) that all ships with horizontally layered decks, docking at any space station, would be required to match their artificial gravity to that of the station and dock bow-on to the station's docking bay. The loading door actually consisted of two overlapping doors that moved in opposite directions, with an airtight door on the inside and a thicker impact shield on the outside; which was there to prevent some random micrometeorite from putting a hole in the ship through the loading bay. At something like twelve meters wide and five high, there wasn't much that one couldn't load into the Jester. The loading bay itself was over seven meters from the deck to the gantry crane ceiling, sixteen meters wide, and just under twenty long. The aft bulkhead of the loading bay had two separate vacuum tight doors leading to the cargo bays which were now packed with whatever tramp cargo and additional supplies, spares and parts Captain Marshall had seen fit to carry. If things got desperate then the loading bay could, in theory, be used to store cargo, but that was generally considered to be a bad idea since the loading bay didn't have all of the deck cleats and anchor points that were necessary to immobilize cargo.
"Y' don't want anything comin' loose if the gravity goes out." Rollie explained as patiently as possible to the ship's new passengers.
"Is that something that happens often?" Asked the gentleman who had just come aboard with a young woman, "Loosing gravity, that is."
"No, at least I've never heard of it just... Happening." Rollie explained, "I'm just sayin'. Gravity polarization's a more or less mature tech, but better safe 'n sorry, right?" Rollie found the man, one William 'Rip' Rolland, a bit difficult to take. He was impeccably dressed, well groomed, and spoke with an accent that put him in mind of the colonists on Jefferson who emigrated from the southern areas of the former USA. The man was clearly not accustomed to natural sunlight, however. His skin was pale and waxy, and when he spoke, his voice had a rasp to it that one normally associated with things like pulmonary infections.
"I am given to understand that this ship is one of the fastest in private hands; is that correct?" Rip asked casually.
"Actually, the Jester is 'the' fastest privateer in the known sphere." Rollie replied defensively. "We'll make Vulcanfall's system boundary in under three weeks once we go FTL. The best courier ships take three and a half, and your average starliner takes at least five." He decided there was no harm in telling them just exactly how the Captain had acquired the Jester's FTL drive. It was a good story, hell, it was practically legendary among privateers.
Captain Marshall wasn't the only privateer to ever acquire a military grade FTL drive, but he was the only one ever to get his hands on a late model Darkaellan military FTL drive. By sheer dumb luck he had stumbled across one of their navy's ships while transiting an uninhabited star system; unmanned and adrift, he had laid claim to it under USITC salvage law. The Darkaellan Imperium had challenged his claim in court on the basis that declared military assets were the sole property of the nation whose flag they carried, and were therefore not subject to open salvage. The Captain was a man who knew salvage law, however, and there was a very tight loophole that the Imperium's legal team had overlooked. The ship had not been left with an active beacon to warn passing vessels that the ship was in fact awaiting retrieval, ergo the ship was considered to be abandoned, and therefore subject to open salvage by any and all comers. The court had sided with the Captain, and then he made the Imperium an offer it could hardly refuse: They could have the whole thing back on the condition that he be allowed to keep the FTL drive. The alternative was to watch him sell off one of the Darkaellan Imperial Navy's latest military vessels piece by piece to the highest bidder. It had been an enormous gamble, but it had paid off in spades. There had been a whole lot of legal wrangling between the two parties regarding whether or not he would be entitled to the same maintenance services from DTI's technicians, and in the end it had been a legal rep for DTI who had signed off on it; with the proviso that any future sale of the vessel would entail the removal of the Jester's FTL unit by their agents beforehand. The captain's fortunes had improved considerably by being able to get choice contracts for high value salvage on very tight schedules.
"Well isn't that just capital, I always say-" The racking cough that erupted from deep within Rip's chest caused his nurse companion to grab an inhaler mask from her medical bag, which she placed in front of his face with the ease of long practice and familiarity.
"I think we'll cut our tour short," the nurse said neutrally for the benefit of Rollie and her charge, "Rip here needs to rest a bit."
Rollie escorted them to their 'stateroom'. Not that the amenities were any better than those of the rest of the crew, but the room itself was actually about two meters wider than the rest. The extra space in that one cabin was one of those things for which no one had ever given a good explanation; at least not one that had made sense to him, but he was good at letting that sort of thing go. Rollie was nothing if not observant, however, and he tended to notice things that were out of place or slightly off. Their two passengers were definitely odd; the nurse, named Cody Daniels he recalled, was as professionally skilled as any he'd seen, but she didn't have the same detachment as their own, Jinx. At first, he had thought that the nurse thing had been a cover for being a personal escort or doxie, but he didn't see any of the tell tale signs that she was any of those things. Whatever her reason, she was taking really good care of her patient; she had a very gentle and caring demeanor that a lot of people might mistake for simplemindedness.
He left them to their own devices after showing them how to pull up a ship layout on their personal ship badges, and headed for the well deck where the tugs and ship's salvage and maintenance mechs were kept. He had been assured that this 'Rip' character wasn't carrying some contagious disease, but had a chronic condition, hence the nurse. Nevertheless, he wanted to get out of there, and quick.
"Y' don't want anything comin' loose if the gravity goes out." Rollie explained as patiently as possible to the ship's new passengers.
"Is that something that happens often?" Asked the gentleman who had just come aboard with a young woman, "Loosing gravity, that is."
"No, at least I've never heard of it just... Happening." Rollie explained, "I'm just sayin'. Gravity polarization's a more or less mature tech, but better safe 'n sorry, right?" Rollie found the man, one William 'Rip' Rolland, a bit difficult to take. He was impeccably dressed, well groomed, and spoke with an accent that put him in mind of the colonists on Jefferson who emigrated from the southern areas of the former USA. The man was clearly not accustomed to natural sunlight, however. His skin was pale and waxy, and when he spoke, his voice had a rasp to it that one normally associated with things like pulmonary infections.
"I am given to understand that this ship is one of the fastest in private hands; is that correct?" Rip asked casually.
"Actually, the Jester is 'the' fastest privateer in the known sphere." Rollie replied defensively. "We'll make Vulcanfall's system boundary in under three weeks once we go FTL. The best courier ships take three and a half, and your average starliner takes at least five." He decided there was no harm in telling them just exactly how the Captain had acquired the Jester's FTL drive. It was a good story, hell, it was practically legendary among privateers.
Captain Marshall wasn't the only privateer to ever acquire a military grade FTL drive, but he was the only one ever to get his hands on a late model Darkaellan military FTL drive. By sheer dumb luck he had stumbled across one of their navy's ships while transiting an uninhabited star system; unmanned and adrift, he had laid claim to it under USITC salvage law. The Darkaellan Imperium had challenged his claim in court on the basis that declared military assets were the sole property of the nation whose flag they carried, and were therefore not subject to open salvage. The Captain was a man who knew salvage law, however, and there was a very tight loophole that the Imperium's legal team had overlooked. The ship had not been left with an active beacon to warn passing vessels that the ship was in fact awaiting retrieval, ergo the ship was considered to be abandoned, and therefore subject to open salvage by any and all comers. The court had sided with the Captain, and then he made the Imperium an offer it could hardly refuse: They could have the whole thing back on the condition that he be allowed to keep the FTL drive. The alternative was to watch him sell off one of the Darkaellan Imperial Navy's latest military vessels piece by piece to the highest bidder. It had been an enormous gamble, but it had paid off in spades. There had been a whole lot of legal wrangling between the two parties regarding whether or not he would be entitled to the same maintenance services from DTI's technicians, and in the end it had been a legal rep for DTI who had signed off on it; with the proviso that any future sale of the vessel would entail the removal of the Jester's FTL unit by their agents beforehand. The captain's fortunes had improved considerably by being able to get choice contracts for high value salvage on very tight schedules.
"Well isn't that just capital, I always say-" The racking cough that erupted from deep within Rip's chest caused his nurse companion to grab an inhaler mask from her medical bag, which she placed in front of his face with the ease of long practice and familiarity.
"I think we'll cut our tour short," the nurse said neutrally for the benefit of Rollie and her charge, "Rip here needs to rest a bit."
Rollie escorted them to their 'stateroom'. Not that the amenities were any better than those of the rest of the crew, but the room itself was actually about two meters wider than the rest. The extra space in that one cabin was one of those things for which no one had ever given a good explanation; at least not one that had made sense to him, but he was good at letting that sort of thing go. Rollie was nothing if not observant, however, and he tended to notice things that were out of place or slightly off. Their two passengers were definitely odd; the nurse, named Cody Daniels he recalled, was as professionally skilled as any he'd seen, but she didn't have the same detachment as their own, Jinx. At first, he had thought that the nurse thing had been a cover for being a personal escort or doxie, but he didn't see any of the tell tale signs that she was any of those things. Whatever her reason, she was taking really good care of her patient; she had a very gentle and caring demeanor that a lot of people might mistake for simplemindedness.
He left them to their own devices after showing them how to pull up a ship layout on their personal ship badges, and headed for the well deck where the tugs and ship's salvage and maintenance mechs were kept. He had been assured that this 'Rip' character wasn't carrying some contagious disease, but had a chronic condition, hence the nurse. Nevertheless, he wanted to get out of there, and quick.
- - -
With the ship loaded and ready to go, Rollie had some free time to himself. As a professional loner, he found the peace and quiet of the ship's well deck very much to his liking. The well deck was the primary storage area for the ship's auxiliary craft, like the four giant yellow, spider-like CAT-Hyundai salvage mechs, or the pair of NHI PM-3 'Mule' recovery tugs. He made his way to his preferred hideaway in the number 12 emergency escape pod, where he got comfortable in a crash couch and pulled a battered stainless steel cigarette case and old fashioned Zippo out of his pocket. Setting the pod's ventilation on its highest setting before lighting a cigarette, he noticed that his supply was running low, and resolved to address that deficiency as soon as possible. New Detroit, like all other members of the Humanist Interstellar Alliance, had a total ban on real tobacco, and Rollie didn't know anyone on the station who was dealing that he could trust.
Over a century ago, a bunch of prize winning geneticists had found a way to modify tobacco so as to make its consumption relatively harmless. Within a generation of its creation most of Earth's governments had banned the growing and sale of "real" tobacco, since virtually all tobacco companies had started using Synthabac. In addition to making smoking virtually harmless, Synthabac reduced the levels of nicotine by more than 90 percent and gave it a flavor like smoldering dried salad greens.
Naturally, a black market had evolved.
Real tobacco could command some really high prices in the right market, and Rollie reflected that it was a good thing they had a stop over in the Rigel Kentaurus system. Níngjìng Bay was possibly the biggest city known to man, with a metropolitan area of more than 420 square kilometers and 62 million-plus residents, it had more than a fifth of the planet Minotaur's total population. It was also one of the best places off Earth to find quality leaf, and had the distinction of being the only place, on any planet, that he didn't suffer from the crippling anxiety that normally came with his agoraphobia with regard to planets. Rollie mostly found the idea of going onto any planet insane; there was no control over the environment at all, the weather could change in an instant, there were biological pathogens of every variety, and last but not least, there was wildlife. His personal view of the universe might very well be unique, he had never found anyone else who shared it, at any rate.
Rollie knew that the Captain only tolerated his skirting the prohibitions on real tobacco because he occasionally enjoyed a cigar on special occasions himself. He also realized that his willingness to turn a blind eye to personal use of the product would not extend to outright smuggling; that hadn't stopped Rollie from purchasing enough, from time to time, to cover the occasional 'gift' to help smooth out a side deal on something else however. Rollie had made a few easy credits that way, and he figured that a long-term operation like the one they were about to undertake might necessitate a relatively large purchase, just for his own consumption. He did some rapid arithmetic in his head, and quickly realized that his next purchase would put him way out of his normal dealer's comfort zone. He would have to move up the food chain a bit, and that could be dangerous, since he would be asking for a quantity that - in his case - would be considered 'intent to traffic a controlled substance' under UniSys Code § 105-009. Needless to say, the idea of spending time in a dirtside prison was not one he wanted to think about.
He decided to put his mind to work considering other things, like just exactly where they might be going on this very new hush-hush job of theirs. The Captain was keeping the final destination a mystery, and there were as many rumors as ears on the ship regarding what the job might be. All anyone knew was that it would likely be about six months round trip, and anybody not comfortable with that could debark anywhere between New Detroit, Minotaur and Vulcanfall; after that anyone who stayed on board would be going all the way. He suspected that the Captain had stumbled onto a really big, fat salvage claim, and didn't want to risk having it jumped, unlikely as that might be. He just hoped it wasn't anything involving the Imperium; they had Saints-awful long memories when it came to people who interfered with them.
Rollie reflected that Darkael was a place that no one really understood, it was impossible to just got there and see what was going on, and people from the Imperium tended to be less than enthusiastically welcomed anywhere. They were tolerated on Minotaur, and generally disliked in the rest of the Alliance. The Jefferson Republic hated the Darkaellan Imperium for reasons that were unclear to most non-Jeffersonians, and their theories about Darkael were laughable; most of them revolving around the idea that the MacMullen family keeps itself in power by using genetic engineering to deny people's free will, creating a totally atheist, plutocratic, class-based genocracy. The Free Systems League displayed a sort of studied antipathy toward the Imperium that was little different from its attitude towards the Alliance, with the exception of Glamis, where they tended to blend in fairly easily due to their shared Scottish roots. What exchange of ideas existed between the Imperium and the rest of humanity was largely based on trade, commerce, and banking. The Darkaellan Imperial Bank was the most reliable financial institution in the Known Sphere. They had bank secrecy down to an art form, and even UniSys wouldn't try to pry information out of them. Even members of The Cartel, which hated Darkael with a white hot rage, had money in DIB accounts. The most compelling reasons for this were that the bank offered foreign currency exchange, with commission rates lower than anyone else, and their interest on cash deposits was almost always better than their competition. They also made a habit of having real human beings working behind a counter that you could go in and talk to, if you wanted to get help in person. Most banks just had highly interactive kiosks, and the only human being working for the bank was a maintenance tech.
There was of course their involvement in Sigma Draconis; their 'military advisors' to the independence-seeking locals hadn't offered a lot of advice, but had brought in a lot of weapons to fight with. The so called advisors were Darkaellan special forces units, although it wasn't common knowledge, and they were there primarily to disrupt the mining operations of Techidexon Mining, who were in turn using Cartel mercs 'to maintain site security'. He and Dirk had gotten drunk one night, and Dirk had opened up about some of the things that had happened after the Alliance Marine Corps had landed at Scatha to try to bring some order to Sigma-D. It had not sounded like fun.
Rollie finished his smoke by blowing a large smoke ring at the air intake grill in the pod and decided that he'd wasted enough time. He decided that he would spend some time on station in the company of a woman whose affection was negotiable, it had been a while, and he needed to take his mind off the job for a few hours.
Over a century ago, a bunch of prize winning geneticists had found a way to modify tobacco so as to make its consumption relatively harmless. Within a generation of its creation most of Earth's governments had banned the growing and sale of "real" tobacco, since virtually all tobacco companies had started using Synthabac. In addition to making smoking virtually harmless, Synthabac reduced the levels of nicotine by more than 90 percent and gave it a flavor like smoldering dried salad greens.
Naturally, a black market had evolved.
Real tobacco could command some really high prices in the right market, and Rollie reflected that it was a good thing they had a stop over in the Rigel Kentaurus system. Níngjìng Bay was possibly the biggest city known to man, with a metropolitan area of more than 420 square kilometers and 62 million-plus residents, it had more than a fifth of the planet Minotaur's total population. It was also one of the best places off Earth to find quality leaf, and had the distinction of being the only place, on any planet, that he didn't suffer from the crippling anxiety that normally came with his agoraphobia with regard to planets. Rollie mostly found the idea of going onto any planet insane; there was no control over the environment at all, the weather could change in an instant, there were biological pathogens of every variety, and last but not least, there was wildlife. His personal view of the universe might very well be unique, he had never found anyone else who shared it, at any rate.
Rollie knew that the Captain only tolerated his skirting the prohibitions on real tobacco because he occasionally enjoyed a cigar on special occasions himself. He also realized that his willingness to turn a blind eye to personal use of the product would not extend to outright smuggling; that hadn't stopped Rollie from purchasing enough, from time to time, to cover the occasional 'gift' to help smooth out a side deal on something else however. Rollie had made a few easy credits that way, and he figured that a long-term operation like the one they were about to undertake might necessitate a relatively large purchase, just for his own consumption. He did some rapid arithmetic in his head, and quickly realized that his next purchase would put him way out of his normal dealer's comfort zone. He would have to move up the food chain a bit, and that could be dangerous, since he would be asking for a quantity that - in his case - would be considered 'intent to traffic a controlled substance' under UniSys Code § 105-009. Needless to say, the idea of spending time in a dirtside prison was not one he wanted to think about.
He decided to put his mind to work considering other things, like just exactly where they might be going on this very new hush-hush job of theirs. The Captain was keeping the final destination a mystery, and there were as many rumors as ears on the ship regarding what the job might be. All anyone knew was that it would likely be about six months round trip, and anybody not comfortable with that could debark anywhere between New Detroit, Minotaur and Vulcanfall; after that anyone who stayed on board would be going all the way. He suspected that the Captain had stumbled onto a really big, fat salvage claim, and didn't want to risk having it jumped, unlikely as that might be. He just hoped it wasn't anything involving the Imperium; they had Saints-awful long memories when it came to people who interfered with them.
Rollie reflected that Darkael was a place that no one really understood, it was impossible to just got there and see what was going on, and people from the Imperium tended to be less than enthusiastically welcomed anywhere. They were tolerated on Minotaur, and generally disliked in the rest of the Alliance. The Jefferson Republic hated the Darkaellan Imperium for reasons that were unclear to most non-Jeffersonians, and their theories about Darkael were laughable; most of them revolving around the idea that the MacMullen family keeps itself in power by using genetic engineering to deny people's free will, creating a totally atheist, plutocratic, class-based genocracy. The Free Systems League displayed a sort of studied antipathy toward the Imperium that was little different from its attitude towards the Alliance, with the exception of Glamis, where they tended to blend in fairly easily due to their shared Scottish roots. What exchange of ideas existed between the Imperium and the rest of humanity was largely based on trade, commerce, and banking. The Darkaellan Imperial Bank was the most reliable financial institution in the Known Sphere. They had bank secrecy down to an art form, and even UniSys wouldn't try to pry information out of them. Even members of The Cartel, which hated Darkael with a white hot rage, had money in DIB accounts. The most compelling reasons for this were that the bank offered foreign currency exchange, with commission rates lower than anyone else, and their interest on cash deposits was almost always better than their competition. They also made a habit of having real human beings working behind a counter that you could go in and talk to, if you wanted to get help in person. Most banks just had highly interactive kiosks, and the only human being working for the bank was a maintenance tech.
There was of course their involvement in Sigma Draconis; their 'military advisors' to the independence-seeking locals hadn't offered a lot of advice, but had brought in a lot of weapons to fight with. The so called advisors were Darkaellan special forces units, although it wasn't common knowledge, and they were there primarily to disrupt the mining operations of Techidexon Mining, who were in turn using Cartel mercs 'to maintain site security'. He and Dirk had gotten drunk one night, and Dirk had opened up about some of the things that had happened after the Alliance Marine Corps had landed at Scatha to try to bring some order to Sigma-D. It had not sounded like fun.
Rollie finished his smoke by blowing a large smoke ring at the air intake grill in the pod and decided that he'd wasted enough time. He decided that he would spend some time on station in the company of a woman whose affection was negotiable, it had been a while, and he needed to take his mind off the job for a few hours.
No comments:
Post a Comment