Alex had been standing watch on the Jester's bridge, using the ship's uplink to the station's infonet to check the open manifests of other ships in dock. There hadn't been any publicly listed manifest from the ships currently docked, with parts matching the specs Dirk had given her, but there had been three ships on approach, and one of those did. Unfortunately, the ship was captained by the Captain's ex-wife, and that was a problem. She had considered how best to go about getting what they needed without going anywhere near Jayne Powers' ship.
Having finished for the moment, she was downloading a partial manifest of available goods that might be traded for those parts, if she could ever find a way to get them without either ship's captain ever finding out about it. It was baffling, what one could find on a starship's manifest; one crew member had listed seven, 10 kilogram, wheels of cheese, another had included two dozen hand woven rugs, made on Earth. The Captain allowed his crew a percentage of the available cargo space for their own trade goods or personal effects, with the option of listing any of their property in the ship's trading manifest. This guaranteed that anyone's goods listed were open to bidding by anyone who might want it whenever the ship made port.
Her duties as the ship's communications officer were rarely needed when docked, so she invariably did double duty as a sales and purchasing agent. Most of the people she encountered in the course of her duties as the ship's agent tended to be caught off guard by her appearance. She was of highly mixed ancestry, her father was Anglo-German, her mother was mostly French-Irish with a heavy streak of Native American thrown in. She was aware people generally found her exotic-looking, and she wasn't above using that to her advantage if she thought she could get away with it. The ship's crew knew better, and they tended not to be swayed by her looks, but she had a keen mind to make up for it. She occasionally resented that her appearance was too often the deciding factor in a deal, however, she was also smart enough, for someone as young as herself, to play that card with some skill. She had been haggling with local vendors in an attempt to acquire Dirk's parts for most of the watch, and was just leaving the bridge when she received a private, text-only message which read: 'Don't buy SPCLs. Deal made. Good price. Need a bottle of REAL Scotch. No questions asked.'
Her next move was to call the Captain: "Dirk sent a message, Cap'n, he says he's made a deal for the SPC lines we need for a - and I quote - good price. He also needs a bottle of 'real' Scotch; he didn't say why." she concluded, anticipating his unasked question.
There was an uncomfortably long pause before a reply came back.
"Didn't happen to mention who he bought from did he?" The Captain asked, slowly.
"No, but he was supposed to be meeting with someone from the Alliance Naval Station, it could be from there." She answered thoughtfully.
"Well, tell him that he has -" there was a break in the conversation, "- just over 27 hours to make the buy and get the parts on-board, otherwise the additional docking fees are going to start coming out of bonuses." The Captain said testily.
New Detroit, busy as it was, allowed ships to remain docked for up to 72 hours for a reasonable mooring fee, but any time over that period was subject to very steep surcharges. Exceptions were made for ships carrying New Detroit registry, Alliance military vessels, and ships needing repairs, or whose crew needed medical attention. Even then, however, ships requiring more than three days to conduct business not involving the transfer of large volumes of cargo, or people, were often encouraged to park away from the station and hire a shuttle service.
"What about the bottle of Scotch, Captain? Do we even have such a thing?" She inquired, somewhat confused as to why such a thing was necessary.
"If I have to choose between being a big, fat, defenseless target, or drinking the best alcoholic beverage ever created, I can probably give up a bottle and learn to ration myself." Was the sour reply.
Alex decided that talking further on this subject would only aggravate him further so she decided to say nothing. She decided the best course of action was to get in direct contact with Dirk, and find out what he might need in the way of financial services to buy the SPC lines and get them aboard. Doing so was easier said than done; Dirk had engaged his com badge's privacy function, and until it was deactivated, he was effectively unreachable. She did the only thing she could, and left him an urgent message to call her immediately. She could have tried an emergency override to get a message to him, but the situation didn't warrant it just yet.
She was halfway to her quarters when inspiration struck, and she sent Rollie a message instead. She couldn't quite wrap herself around the idea that Dirk and Rollie were friends; they couldn't be more polar opposites if they tried. Where Dirk was attractive, adventurous, and self-confident; Rollie was homely, antisocial - almost anthrophobic, and a loner. If the two of them could be said to have any overlap whatsoever, it was that they both had a perverse sense of humour, and a taste for practical jokes.
Rollie answered her message within a minute. "Hey, gorgeous, what's up?"
"I need to find Dirk, and I thought you might know where to find him. He activated his com badge's privacy mode, but if I do an emergency burn-through, it will get logged by NDPS, and - let's be honest - that kind of attention should be avoided. Right?" She said, with sharp emphasis on the last.
"Don't panic, he's with me, and we're both headed back to the ship. Dirk forgot to reset his com badge's privacy setting after his meeting earlier. I'll transfer you over." There was an electronic chirp from her headset as Rollie transferred her over.
"Dirk, you owe me, I was able to convince the Captain to donate a bottle of his private stock, so please tell me that you have a solid deal going." She said, making the statement something of a plea.
"That is possibly the best thing I've heard all day, 'Lex, so I will make it up to you with an overnight stay at The Excelsior. Sound like a plan?" he asked.
The response wasn't actually an answer, but her excitement at the offer he'd just made had caught her off guard.
"Uh, I'm clearing my schedule as we speak, and I'll have a bag packed before you get here." Came the excited reply.
"See you in a bit, Kitten." He said as he closed the connection.
She had read about The Excelsior Hotel's spa, but had never been able to justify the expense, and it was definitely expensive. If Dirk was willing to spring for even one night in that luxurious setting, then she wasn't going to say no, and she was determined to be ready to go as soon as Dirk got back to the ship.
The ship wasn't scheduled to depart for more than 26 hours' and she had no inclination to waste one more minute than was necessary. Down time and shore leave with Dirk was never dull, he was always bound and determined to enjoy himself to the fullest; on-planet resorts, posh hotels, sight-seeing, local entertainment, good food and drink - and making love. He did as much living as humanly possible. She'd asked him about it once, and he had simply said that he was 'making up for lost time'. She had her own ideas about it, but in the interest of keeping the peace, she didn't press the issue.
She was looking forward to going to Minotaur again, before heading on to Vulcanfall, and whatever lay beyond. The nightlife on Minotaur was incredible; clubs, music, and dancing, all in the most bewildering variety. The first time she'd been there, she had been too young to appreciate it, but successive visits had given her a taste for what it had to offer. Alex firmly believed that a girl who works hard, is allowed to play hard, and she worked very hard in an effort to make sure that when it was time to play, it would be worth it, and you could play really hard on Minotaur.
There were over two dozen planets that had been settled in one form or another by human beings, Minotaur was easily the most heavily populated world outside of the Terran solar system. All of the major shipping companies were represented there, and and it was home to dozens of corporations with multi-system reach, even DTI had a corporate center there. It was the center of commerce for the whole of the Humanist Interstellar Alliance, as a result, the local standard of living was extremely high. Those two factors were generally acknowledged to be the reason for official immigration that pushed into the five figure range annually; there was no good estimate of illegal immigration, but an unofficial report by the United Systems Interstellar Transportation Commission put the number at anywhere between 4500 and 7000 persons per Terran standard year.
Alex firmly believed that the flow of people to Minotaur was the reason for its economic superiority amongst the worlds of the Alliance; anyone capable of finding a way out of the Sol system was probably self-motivated in a big way, and not likely to require much in the way of outside support. Illegal immigrants were often even more self sufficient than others; since their status as illegals made it impossible to register for what little public welfare was available, most found work in the massive market in agricultural produce or in the local aquaculture industry, which both relied heavily upon casual, seasonal labour.
Since its founding more than a century before by an American/Pan-Asian (mostly Chinese) coalition, Minotaur had adopted an official policy of relatively small government combined with low taxation. The restrictions imposed by the planetary government on industry, banking, and commerce were almost nonexistent, and governed little more than basic controls on things like pollution, insurance, and health standards. There was almost no service that couldn't be found, and goods from almost every inhabited star system found their way to the capital, Ningjing Bay. In many ways, The Bay, as it was usually referred to by locals, had eclipsed the great capitals of Earth where the colonies were concerned. Its populace had early on adopted a highly cosmopolitan attitude, combined with a great deal of laissez faire, both social and economic.
Being a member of a privateer's crew, however, meant that Alex saw more than what the corporate and public relations people were willing to advertise. The Bay had a thriving underworld, and it catered to those who had the money to spend on its wares. She was familiar with Rollie's nicotine addiction, and there was one of the cargo handlers who liked a little Hatat now and then, but most of the highly addictive narcotics common to Earth were rare, and still officially controlled. Things like alcohol and marijuana were too difficult to control due to the simplicity of their manufacture and growth; marijuana in particular had proven to be ridiculously easy to grow on Minotaur. Tobacco was also grown there, on illegal plantations out in the jungles of the major continent, northwest of Ningjing Bay. The production and export of tobacco products was a major enterprise, and they were smuggled to virtually every corner of the Known Sphere.
She knew there were privateers, and even some corporate starship captains, who either actively engaged in smuggling, or at the very least turned a blind eye to it on their vessels. There were also rare individuals who took up smuggling professionally. Professional smugglers moved anything that turned a profit, from illegal weapons, to proscribed intoxicants, luxury goods (carrying high tariffs), and even people. Anything worth enough money to justify the risk could be smuggled from one system to another. Alex wasn't entirely sure that Cameron Marshall hadn't done a little 'off the books transportation' in the past, but he wouldn't allow it now.
Her day bag was packed, and she'd no sooner slung it over her shoulder, when she stepped quickly out of her quarters and nearly tripped over Dirk in the corridor.
"Hey there!" He said, slightly surprised. "Looks like I've got some catching up to do." He continued, tugging on the shoulder strap of her day bag, then continuing on to his own room.
"Yeah, you do, Marine. Now, get that sculpted ass of yours in gear, time's-a-wasting." She replied coyly, as she followed him to his quarters.
Having finished for the moment, she was downloading a partial manifest of available goods that might be traded for those parts, if she could ever find a way to get them without either ship's captain ever finding out about it. It was baffling, what one could find on a starship's manifest; one crew member had listed seven, 10 kilogram, wheels of cheese, another had included two dozen hand woven rugs, made on Earth. The Captain allowed his crew a percentage of the available cargo space for their own trade goods or personal effects, with the option of listing any of their property in the ship's trading manifest. This guaranteed that anyone's goods listed were open to bidding by anyone who might want it whenever the ship made port.
Her duties as the ship's communications officer were rarely needed when docked, so she invariably did double duty as a sales and purchasing agent. Most of the people she encountered in the course of her duties as the ship's agent tended to be caught off guard by her appearance. She was of highly mixed ancestry, her father was Anglo-German, her mother was mostly French-Irish with a heavy streak of Native American thrown in. She was aware people generally found her exotic-looking, and she wasn't above using that to her advantage if she thought she could get away with it. The ship's crew knew better, and they tended not to be swayed by her looks, but she had a keen mind to make up for it. She occasionally resented that her appearance was too often the deciding factor in a deal, however, she was also smart enough, for someone as young as herself, to play that card with some skill. She had been haggling with local vendors in an attempt to acquire Dirk's parts for most of the watch, and was just leaving the bridge when she received a private, text-only message which read: 'Don't buy SPCLs. Deal made. Good price. Need a bottle of REAL Scotch. No questions asked.'
Her next move was to call the Captain: "Dirk sent a message, Cap'n, he says he's made a deal for the SPC lines we need for a - and I quote - good price. He also needs a bottle of 'real' Scotch; he didn't say why." she concluded, anticipating his unasked question.
There was an uncomfortably long pause before a reply came back.
"Didn't happen to mention who he bought from did he?" The Captain asked, slowly.
"No, but he was supposed to be meeting with someone from the Alliance Naval Station, it could be from there." She answered thoughtfully.
"Well, tell him that he has -" there was a break in the conversation, "- just over 27 hours to make the buy and get the parts on-board, otherwise the additional docking fees are going to start coming out of bonuses." The Captain said testily.
New Detroit, busy as it was, allowed ships to remain docked for up to 72 hours for a reasonable mooring fee, but any time over that period was subject to very steep surcharges. Exceptions were made for ships carrying New Detroit registry, Alliance military vessels, and ships needing repairs, or whose crew needed medical attention. Even then, however, ships requiring more than three days to conduct business not involving the transfer of large volumes of cargo, or people, were often encouraged to park away from the station and hire a shuttle service.
"What about the bottle of Scotch, Captain? Do we even have such a thing?" She inquired, somewhat confused as to why such a thing was necessary.
"If I have to choose between being a big, fat, defenseless target, or drinking the best alcoholic beverage ever created, I can probably give up a bottle and learn to ration myself." Was the sour reply.
Alex decided that talking further on this subject would only aggravate him further so she decided to say nothing. She decided the best course of action was to get in direct contact with Dirk, and find out what he might need in the way of financial services to buy the SPC lines and get them aboard. Doing so was easier said than done; Dirk had engaged his com badge's privacy function, and until it was deactivated, he was effectively unreachable. She did the only thing she could, and left him an urgent message to call her immediately. She could have tried an emergency override to get a message to him, but the situation didn't warrant it just yet.
She was halfway to her quarters when inspiration struck, and she sent Rollie a message instead. She couldn't quite wrap herself around the idea that Dirk and Rollie were friends; they couldn't be more polar opposites if they tried. Where Dirk was attractive, adventurous, and self-confident; Rollie was homely, antisocial - almost anthrophobic, and a loner. If the two of them could be said to have any overlap whatsoever, it was that they both had a perverse sense of humour, and a taste for practical jokes.
Rollie answered her message within a minute. "Hey, gorgeous, what's up?"
"I need to find Dirk, and I thought you might know where to find him. He activated his com badge's privacy mode, but if I do an emergency burn-through, it will get logged by NDPS, and - let's be honest - that kind of attention should be avoided. Right?" She said, with sharp emphasis on the last.
"Don't panic, he's with me, and we're both headed back to the ship. Dirk forgot to reset his com badge's privacy setting after his meeting earlier. I'll transfer you over." There was an electronic chirp from her headset as Rollie transferred her over.
"Dirk, you owe me, I was able to convince the Captain to donate a bottle of his private stock, so please tell me that you have a solid deal going." She said, making the statement something of a plea.
"That is possibly the best thing I've heard all day, 'Lex, so I will make it up to you with an overnight stay at The Excelsior. Sound like a plan?" he asked.
The response wasn't actually an answer, but her excitement at the offer he'd just made had caught her off guard.
"Uh, I'm clearing my schedule as we speak, and I'll have a bag packed before you get here." Came the excited reply.
"See you in a bit, Kitten." He said as he closed the connection.
She had read about The Excelsior Hotel's spa, but had never been able to justify the expense, and it was definitely expensive. If Dirk was willing to spring for even one night in that luxurious setting, then she wasn't going to say no, and she was determined to be ready to go as soon as Dirk got back to the ship.
The ship wasn't scheduled to depart for more than 26 hours' and she had no inclination to waste one more minute than was necessary. Down time and shore leave with Dirk was never dull, he was always bound and determined to enjoy himself to the fullest; on-planet resorts, posh hotels, sight-seeing, local entertainment, good food and drink - and making love. He did as much living as humanly possible. She'd asked him about it once, and he had simply said that he was 'making up for lost time'. She had her own ideas about it, but in the interest of keeping the peace, she didn't press the issue.
She was looking forward to going to Minotaur again, before heading on to Vulcanfall, and whatever lay beyond. The nightlife on Minotaur was incredible; clubs, music, and dancing, all in the most bewildering variety. The first time she'd been there, she had been too young to appreciate it, but successive visits had given her a taste for what it had to offer. Alex firmly believed that a girl who works hard, is allowed to play hard, and she worked very hard in an effort to make sure that when it was time to play, it would be worth it, and you could play really hard on Minotaur.
There were over two dozen planets that had been settled in one form or another by human beings, Minotaur was easily the most heavily populated world outside of the Terran solar system. All of the major shipping companies were represented there, and and it was home to dozens of corporations with multi-system reach, even DTI had a corporate center there. It was the center of commerce for the whole of the Humanist Interstellar Alliance, as a result, the local standard of living was extremely high. Those two factors were generally acknowledged to be the reason for official immigration that pushed into the five figure range annually; there was no good estimate of illegal immigration, but an unofficial report by the United Systems Interstellar Transportation Commission put the number at anywhere between 4500 and 7000 persons per Terran standard year.
Alex firmly believed that the flow of people to Minotaur was the reason for its economic superiority amongst the worlds of the Alliance; anyone capable of finding a way out of the Sol system was probably self-motivated in a big way, and not likely to require much in the way of outside support. Illegal immigrants were often even more self sufficient than others; since their status as illegals made it impossible to register for what little public welfare was available, most found work in the massive market in agricultural produce or in the local aquaculture industry, which both relied heavily upon casual, seasonal labour.
Since its founding more than a century before by an American/Pan-Asian (mostly Chinese) coalition, Minotaur had adopted an official policy of relatively small government combined with low taxation. The restrictions imposed by the planetary government on industry, banking, and commerce were almost nonexistent, and governed little more than basic controls on things like pollution, insurance, and health standards. There was almost no service that couldn't be found, and goods from almost every inhabited star system found their way to the capital, Ningjing Bay. In many ways, The Bay, as it was usually referred to by locals, had eclipsed the great capitals of Earth where the colonies were concerned. Its populace had early on adopted a highly cosmopolitan attitude, combined with a great deal of laissez faire, both social and economic.
Being a member of a privateer's crew, however, meant that Alex saw more than what the corporate and public relations people were willing to advertise. The Bay had a thriving underworld, and it catered to those who had the money to spend on its wares. She was familiar with Rollie's nicotine addiction, and there was one of the cargo handlers who liked a little Hatat now and then, but most of the highly addictive narcotics common to Earth were rare, and still officially controlled. Things like alcohol and marijuana were too difficult to control due to the simplicity of their manufacture and growth; marijuana in particular had proven to be ridiculously easy to grow on Minotaur. Tobacco was also grown there, on illegal plantations out in the jungles of the major continent, northwest of Ningjing Bay. The production and export of tobacco products was a major enterprise, and they were smuggled to virtually every corner of the Known Sphere.
She knew there were privateers, and even some corporate starship captains, who either actively engaged in smuggling, or at the very least turned a blind eye to it on their vessels. There were also rare individuals who took up smuggling professionally. Professional smugglers moved anything that turned a profit, from illegal weapons, to proscribed intoxicants, luxury goods (carrying high tariffs), and even people. Anything worth enough money to justify the risk could be smuggled from one system to another. Alex wasn't entirely sure that Cameron Marshall hadn't done a little 'off the books transportation' in the past, but he wouldn't allow it now.
Her day bag was packed, and she'd no sooner slung it over her shoulder, when she stepped quickly out of her quarters and nearly tripped over Dirk in the corridor.
"Hey there!" He said, slightly surprised. "Looks like I've got some catching up to do." He continued, tugging on the shoulder strap of her day bag, then continuing on to his own room.
"Yeah, you do, Marine. Now, get that sculpted ass of yours in gear, time's-a-wasting." She replied coyly, as she followed him to his quarters.
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