The Humanist Interstellar Alliance spanned over a dozen systems throughout the Known Sphere, and New Detroit was no exception; this was a relationship of convenience, as it gave the station full time system security without the expense of maintaining a fleet of their own. The Alliance legation was located on the uppermost decks of the station's 'axle' where it joined the base of Topside, giving them the ability to observe the transient population flowing to and from the docks and the station's most critical areas. The Alliance didn't screen anyone arriving on the station; New Detroit Public Safety was responsible for ensuring that all new arrivals were processed in accordance with USITC regulations. Dirk had been through NDPS' processing already, and as such he only needed his transient ID to go back on-station.
He wasn't liking his odds of finding the hardware he needed to get the ship's armament up and running, but he had several promising leads here on the station, as well as a ship newly arrived insystem. He knew that the Alliance's legation personnel could no doubt tell him exactly to whom the navy had sold their surplus inventory; there was no way they would ever give that information out without some kind of quid pro quo, however, and he didn't have anything good to barter with. That meant he would have to use a back channel approach to his problem; luckily for him, he knew where to find the local quartermaster for the Alliance's Marine contingent on the station, and Kanjira Nahid was an old friend.
There was a mag-lev railway that ran the 7.8 kilometer circumference of the station Topside, and two figure-eight tracks that made a sort of four leaf clover, neatly dividing Topside into four quadrants; each of which was named after the four cardinal points of the compass. Dirk decided to walk from the middle of the station to the South quarter where he was supposed to meet his old friend for drinks. He rarely came Topside on New Detroit, but he had to admit that it was a lot nicer than Lowtown. Topside had the virtue of having a lot more room to live in, and the amenities it offered were definitely first rate. Even here in the South quad of the station, where most of the activity was commercial in nature, the various structures had a very neat appearance which blended into the overall aesthetic of Topside's architecture. The station had an open area in each quarter which had a small green patch of grass and other vegetation, and there were always people there. The small park made for a pleasant diversion on the way to his meeting with Kanjira; being cooped up on a ship in space for protracted periods of time made it difficult to remember what grass and shrubbery smelled like.
With just shy of 225,000 permanent residents, the station was one of the most densely populated places known to exist. Like a major metropolitan city, New Detroit never stopped; day cycle or night cycle, the station's streets were never empty. The street in the area of the quadrant to which he was headed was relatively quiet, but even so Dirk remained acutely aware of his surroundings. He was always on the lookout for potential encounters of an antisocial nature; the NDPS was noted for its occasional willingness to simply place everyone involved in an altercation into custody, and the last thing Dirk wanted was to see the inside of New Detroit's criminal detention center.
The establishment that Kanjira had chosen was called the Greenstreet Grill; it had little to recommend it to any passersby, as there was only a slightly curved brass plate, about 45 centimeters wide, above a door that appeared to be made of some kind of dark hardwood. The door pushed open easily and he stepped in; sandwiched as it was, between between two larger commercial properties, the Greenstreet was narrow to the point of absurdity. Dirk figured that the total width of the place was about maybe five meters, the entryway was an open space between the doorway and the bar, which ran along the wall on his left for about a third if its length. The area beyond the bar consisted of just a few tables and chairs capable of seating twenty very friendly people. The bar was a bit of a throwback, in that it had a live bartender, and actual bottles of liquor lined up on the shelves behind the bar. The barman was a middle aged man who looked like he'd been there, done that, and seen it all; his black eyes gave Dirk a very thorough appraisal, and he gave a single quick nod of his head by way of greeting. Making his way towards the back of the bar, he couldn't help but notice that Kanjira was the only person seated at a table.
"What did you do Kanji? Rent out the whole slopchute for the sake of privacy?" Dirk said jokingly.
"Saul over there," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the bar, "is an old soldier who understands the occasional need for discretion."
"And he's not old. Or deaf." Said Saul from behind his mahogany topped counter.
Dirk sat down across from his friend and former First Sargent, positioning himself so that he could keep the entryway and kitchen doors in his peripheral vision. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he hadn't seen Kanjira Nahid in almost five years. Not that she looked any older for it. She had the dark skin common to the people of the Indian subcontinent, but weathered from half a lifetime spent conducting ground actions planetside. Her teeth were white as new snow, and she had hair like fibers of coal. Her eyes, however, were artificial, and had obviously not been cheap; the Zeiss-Resodyne logo was a thin gold band between her new eyes' cornflower blue iris and the pupils of the implanted optics. Z-R made the best cybernetic optic replacements that money could buy, and hers appeared to be very high-end indeed.
"Looks like someone decided to splurge on new peepers. How you managed those on a Marine's salary is beyond me." He observed casually, while tapping in an order on the table console. "I'm not judging, mind you."
"I'm glad to hear that, Dirk, since you're the last person who should." Kanjira told him sternly. "You haven't forgotten about Scatha, have you?"
Dirk wished he could. Scatha was the name that some pretentious literary joker had given the area controlled by the separatist faction on Draconis; the fighting had been brutal in its intensity, and the rebels had been very effective fighters. That was undoubtedly due to the fact that the Darkaellan Imperium had infiltrated members of its Imperial Army Special Operations Group into Scatha as 'advisors' to the locals. The Marine company he had served in as a designated marksman had the distinction of being the only one that had fought an engagement with an 'Advisory Unit' and survived mostly intact; previous engagements had resulted in a retreat, a rout, or an all out defeat. During the after action mop-up, he had come upon a wounded ISOG advisor. She had been hit by multiple bursts of flechettes, and she was trying to reload her sidearm even though she was coughing up blood. She had looked at him, and stopped, flipped the pistol in her hand around her trigger finger, and held it out to him by the barrel. He'd hesitated for a moment before taking it; the woman hadn't been able to speak, so she pointed her index finger at her head, thumb raised in a 'gun to the head' gesture. He understood what she wanted, and he knew that the medics would be hard pressed to keep her alive at all; he finished reloading the pistol, asked if she was sure, and when she nodded he put a single round through her head. Kanjira had happened along to find Dirk standing there with a smoking gun and a dead advisor in front of him. Neither one of them had said a word; he had just disobeyed their standing orders to take any ISOG advisors prisoner. She'd shrugged her shoulders and moved out in the direction of the rest of the company. She had never reported it, or judged him for his actions that day.
"No, I haven't forgotten, thank you so much for the reminder. As much as I'm sure we'd both enjoy a forced death-march down memory lane, I came here because I need your help." He said, somewhat acidly.
She had a smirk on her face as she replied; "OK. If I can help you, I will, but I can't make any guarantees. Understood?"
"Aye, aye, Top. Loud and clear." He proceeded to explain what he needed, and why. He made it clear that he was only interested in legit goods, and was prepared to pay in hard currency.
"Your boss has to be regretting his decision to try and upgrade his guns on the cheap." She paused to take another bite from her plate before continuing; "The best I can do for you is to point you in the right direction. Right now, the only stuff available from the Navy is older than the stuff you just got rid of."
"Great," he said sarcastically, "just when I though I was going to get out ahead of this... Can you at least tell me if there's anyone insystem who has something?"
"The Ocelot." She replied without hesitation. "It's scheduled to arrive at the station in 27 hours. I just got an update from their last stopover in Rigel-K via hyperwave comm, and they have spares left over from their last upgrade. The capain's name - "
" - Is Powers. Jayne Powers, right?" Dirk's tone was miserable.
"Yeah, what gives?"
"It just so happens that Captain Jayne Powers is my own captain's ex-wife." He explained. "And the two of them can't stand each other. I'm fucked."
Dirk reflected that this day had started out badly enough that he shouldn't be surprised by what he'd just heard. Thinking fast, he decided to throw the dice, and see what happened.
"There's no way I can deal with Powers directly, but what about you? Would the Corps get its tits in a twist if you acted as a broker?" He could see her turning the idea over in her head before speaking.
"I can try, but it can't be official. The most I can do is reach out and let her know that there's a buyer for what she's got, and then tell you how much it'll cost. Anything else would be seen as acting as your agent, and that carries some stiff penalties. I'm gonna be skirting too close to the edge as it is." She gave him a warning look as she finished.
"Fair enough. I'll give you my private comcode, so you can contact me directly with details, but, for fuck's sake, don't tell her who's buying." He pleaded. "That would only complicate matters to shit."
He finished his drink and stood to leave, but turned back before he took a second step, to say: "Thanks, Top. If this deal goes through, I'll definitely owe you one."
"On top of what you owe me now?" She said, as he walked out the door, leaving her to settle the bill.
He wasn't liking his odds of finding the hardware he needed to get the ship's armament up and running, but he had several promising leads here on the station, as well as a ship newly arrived insystem. He knew that the Alliance's legation personnel could no doubt tell him exactly to whom the navy had sold their surplus inventory; there was no way they would ever give that information out without some kind of quid pro quo, however, and he didn't have anything good to barter with. That meant he would have to use a back channel approach to his problem; luckily for him, he knew where to find the local quartermaster for the Alliance's Marine contingent on the station, and Kanjira Nahid was an old friend.
There was a mag-lev railway that ran the 7.8 kilometer circumference of the station Topside, and two figure-eight tracks that made a sort of four leaf clover, neatly dividing Topside into four quadrants; each of which was named after the four cardinal points of the compass. Dirk decided to walk from the middle of the station to the South quarter where he was supposed to meet his old friend for drinks. He rarely came Topside on New Detroit, but he had to admit that it was a lot nicer than Lowtown. Topside had the virtue of having a lot more room to live in, and the amenities it offered were definitely first rate. Even here in the South quad of the station, where most of the activity was commercial in nature, the various structures had a very neat appearance which blended into the overall aesthetic of Topside's architecture. The station had an open area in each quarter which had a small green patch of grass and other vegetation, and there were always people there. The small park made for a pleasant diversion on the way to his meeting with Kanjira; being cooped up on a ship in space for protracted periods of time made it difficult to remember what grass and shrubbery smelled like.
With just shy of 225,000 permanent residents, the station was one of the most densely populated places known to exist. Like a major metropolitan city, New Detroit never stopped; day cycle or night cycle, the station's streets were never empty. The street in the area of the quadrant to which he was headed was relatively quiet, but even so Dirk remained acutely aware of his surroundings. He was always on the lookout for potential encounters of an antisocial nature; the NDPS was noted for its occasional willingness to simply place everyone involved in an altercation into custody, and the last thing Dirk wanted was to see the inside of New Detroit's criminal detention center.
The establishment that Kanjira had chosen was called the Greenstreet Grill; it had little to recommend it to any passersby, as there was only a slightly curved brass plate, about 45 centimeters wide, above a door that appeared to be made of some kind of dark hardwood. The door pushed open easily and he stepped in; sandwiched as it was, between between two larger commercial properties, the Greenstreet was narrow to the point of absurdity. Dirk figured that the total width of the place was about maybe five meters, the entryway was an open space between the doorway and the bar, which ran along the wall on his left for about a third if its length. The area beyond the bar consisted of just a few tables and chairs capable of seating twenty very friendly people. The bar was a bit of a throwback, in that it had a live bartender, and actual bottles of liquor lined up on the shelves behind the bar. The barman was a middle aged man who looked like he'd been there, done that, and seen it all; his black eyes gave Dirk a very thorough appraisal, and he gave a single quick nod of his head by way of greeting. Making his way towards the back of the bar, he couldn't help but notice that Kanjira was the only person seated at a table.
"What did you do Kanji? Rent out the whole slopchute for the sake of privacy?" Dirk said jokingly.
"Saul over there," she said, nodding her head in the direction of the bar, "is an old soldier who understands the occasional need for discretion."
"And he's not old. Or deaf." Said Saul from behind his mahogany topped counter.
Dirk sat down across from his friend and former First Sargent, positioning himself so that he could keep the entryway and kitchen doors in his peripheral vision. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, but he hadn't seen Kanjira Nahid in almost five years. Not that she looked any older for it. She had the dark skin common to the people of the Indian subcontinent, but weathered from half a lifetime spent conducting ground actions planetside. Her teeth were white as new snow, and she had hair like fibers of coal. Her eyes, however, were artificial, and had obviously not been cheap; the Zeiss-Resodyne logo was a thin gold band between her new eyes' cornflower blue iris and the pupils of the implanted optics. Z-R made the best cybernetic optic replacements that money could buy, and hers appeared to be very high-end indeed.
"Looks like someone decided to splurge on new peepers. How you managed those on a Marine's salary is beyond me." He observed casually, while tapping in an order on the table console. "I'm not judging, mind you."
"I'm glad to hear that, Dirk, since you're the last person who should." Kanjira told him sternly. "You haven't forgotten about Scatha, have you?"
Dirk wished he could. Scatha was the name that some pretentious literary joker had given the area controlled by the separatist faction on Draconis; the fighting had been brutal in its intensity, and the rebels had been very effective fighters. That was undoubtedly due to the fact that the Darkaellan Imperium had infiltrated members of its Imperial Army Special Operations Group into Scatha as 'advisors' to the locals. The Marine company he had served in as a designated marksman had the distinction of being the only one that had fought an engagement with an 'Advisory Unit' and survived mostly intact; previous engagements had resulted in a retreat, a rout, or an all out defeat. During the after action mop-up, he had come upon a wounded ISOG advisor. She had been hit by multiple bursts of flechettes, and she was trying to reload her sidearm even though she was coughing up blood. She had looked at him, and stopped, flipped the pistol in her hand around her trigger finger, and held it out to him by the barrel. He'd hesitated for a moment before taking it; the woman hadn't been able to speak, so she pointed her index finger at her head, thumb raised in a 'gun to the head' gesture. He understood what she wanted, and he knew that the medics would be hard pressed to keep her alive at all; he finished reloading the pistol, asked if she was sure, and when she nodded he put a single round through her head. Kanjira had happened along to find Dirk standing there with a smoking gun and a dead advisor in front of him. Neither one of them had said a word; he had just disobeyed their standing orders to take any ISOG advisors prisoner. She'd shrugged her shoulders and moved out in the direction of the rest of the company. She had never reported it, or judged him for his actions that day.
"No, I haven't forgotten, thank you so much for the reminder. As much as I'm sure we'd both enjoy a forced death-march down memory lane, I came here because I need your help." He said, somewhat acidly.
She had a smirk on her face as she replied; "OK. If I can help you, I will, but I can't make any guarantees. Understood?"
"Aye, aye, Top. Loud and clear." He proceeded to explain what he needed, and why. He made it clear that he was only interested in legit goods, and was prepared to pay in hard currency.
"Your boss has to be regretting his decision to try and upgrade his guns on the cheap." She paused to take another bite from her plate before continuing; "The best I can do for you is to point you in the right direction. Right now, the only stuff available from the Navy is older than the stuff you just got rid of."
"Great," he said sarcastically, "just when I though I was going to get out ahead of this... Can you at least tell me if there's anyone insystem who has something?"
"The Ocelot." She replied without hesitation. "It's scheduled to arrive at the station in 27 hours. I just got an update from their last stopover in Rigel-K via hyperwave comm, and they have spares left over from their last upgrade. The capain's name - "
" - Is Powers. Jayne Powers, right?" Dirk's tone was miserable.
"Yeah, what gives?"
"It just so happens that Captain Jayne Powers is my own captain's ex-wife." He explained. "And the two of them can't stand each other. I'm fucked."
Dirk reflected that this day had started out badly enough that he shouldn't be surprised by what he'd just heard. Thinking fast, he decided to throw the dice, and see what happened.
"There's no way I can deal with Powers directly, but what about you? Would the Corps get its tits in a twist if you acted as a broker?" He could see her turning the idea over in her head before speaking.
"I can try, but it can't be official. The most I can do is reach out and let her know that there's a buyer for what she's got, and then tell you how much it'll cost. Anything else would be seen as acting as your agent, and that carries some stiff penalties. I'm gonna be skirting too close to the edge as it is." She gave him a warning look as she finished.
"Fair enough. I'll give you my private comcode, so you can contact me directly with details, but, for fuck's sake, don't tell her who's buying." He pleaded. "That would only complicate matters to shit."
He finished his drink and stood to leave, but turned back before he took a second step, to say: "Thanks, Top. If this deal goes through, I'll definitely owe you one."
"On top of what you owe me now?" She said, as he walked out the door, leaving her to settle the bill.
No comments:
Post a Comment