Mississippi Sector, Rhino 583
There’s an AI on the Singularity. The realization churned Montgomery Gaffigan’s stomach in ways that even the anti-nausea medication couldn’t numb. Beside him, Jazmine wasn’t entirely convinced, but he followed Monty’s logic enough to be concerned, deeply concerned. However, as it stood, they couldn’t turn back and share their concerns with their comrades on the ship. They had to carry out their mission, because regardless of anything going on aboard the Singularity, the fleet needed supplies and stood no chance of getting them if Monty and Jazmine failed their objective.
Monty’s only solace was in the fact that they hadn’t been infiltrated by the Eran AI. Had that been the case, their struggle would have been long over. No, whatever entity had infiltrated their ranks currently had a vested interest in keeping them alive, even if only as pawns in its game. However, while their survival aligned with its intentions now, there was no guarantee that would continue to be the case.
“We’re almost there.” Jazmine guided the Rhino out of a turn that had kept them free of a dark planet’s gravity well. If one squinted, the planet was vaguely visible, but like the rest, it was barely a shape in the darkness without a solar star to illuminate its surface. Without the passive radiation of a sun, these planets could be hard to detect, harder still to navigate around. Infrared was useless on the dark planets’ cold surfaces. Old-fashioned eyesight, even with the planets’ vague shapes, played a key role in navigating this region. That made it an ideal hiding spot for Midwest Station, the heart of all illicit trade.
“I’m good to go,” Monty said. Truly, now that he’d worked the truth out of his haze of memories, he felt better. He knew what he had to do. While they ran this mission, he had to determine where on the Singularity an AI could hide. And then, once they returned with the coordinates for Crimson Heart’s base, he needed to confront it. No matter what, that AI could not be allowed to remain, especially if it was being hunted by the Eran AI. It was too dangerous, given an AI’s ability to manipulate and control everything around it. Any member of the crew could become compromised at any time without ever realizing it.
But those were background concerns now. Gaffigan’s main focus was on the mission ahead of him. A mistake here, and he’d never make it back to warn anyone on the Singularity.
Midwest Station was the ultimate hideout of thieves, smugglers and pirates alike. It was the only place their ships could stop, repair and refuel without fear of law enforcement finding them. The station had carved a niche in the underworld for being neutral to all parties – a place for trade and negotiations to occur. Violating the station’s neutrality was unthinkable. Crime syndicates of all types defended Midwest Station for its value as neutral ground to conduct business, and they dealt quickly with anyone who threatened the station.
Centered in a cluster of dark planets slowly being drawn together by gravity over billions of years, Midwest Station could not be found except by those like Jazmine who already knew where it was. The station had begun as an artificial port placed at the intersection of two major trade routes. In the years before the Hydrian War, artificial satellites like it had been common, giving merchant ships a place to stopover and sell off merchandise before they sailed to their final destination. With hyperspace travel, modern merchant ships did not need to stop as often, but many of these stations still roamed in one capacity or another.
Artificial trade ports like Midwest Station functioned outside a gravity well. They possessed no propulsion systems of their own. They were built with an FTL drive to jump them roughly into position, but a constellation of tug ships pulled the stations into their final alignment. They were free-roaming satellites, and these artificial ports could be moved between trade routes depending on demand.
That said, Midwest Station would likely never be moved again. Simply, it had grown too large. The station had been added onto so many times it no longer resembled its original shape, merely a mishmash of different technologies and metals. It had too much mass to be towed, and its structure would not survive a subspace jump in its present form.
The station was shaped like a dumbbell, but the endcaps were not entirely symmetric. Its structural skin was varying shades of mottled gray, and old, yellowed lights were placed irregularly across its surface. ‘MIDWEST’ was stenciled across the side, not by using paint, but by derelict, rusty pipes.
Lieutenant Gaffigan sat up, studying the station in detail as they approached. “That’s it?” For the fabled station, this motley appearance was a letdown. He’d expected the garish, bloody decorations of the outlaw pirate gangs, but there was no skull and crossbones mark, only this asymmetric shape cobbled together from stolen equipment.
Two dozen ships clung to the hull of the station, docked at various airlocks. Most were freighters of some variety, but Monty could spot a few other Rhinos among them, stolen or salvaged from fleet surplus. The Rhinos had custom paint on their hulls, differentiating which outlaw clan they belonged to. Jazmine had splashed a design on their own craft: a purple and yellow lightning bolt. The same symbol had once resided on his old smuggling ships, and he'd assured it would be recognized.
“We’ll circle for a bit, make sure they know we’re not hiding anything,” Jazmine said, looking down that the station’s familiar shape. “Then, I suspect they’ll make contact with us.” After all, he’d been famous here. He expected a warm welcome.
Monty nodded, then watched several ships come and go as they circled the station. A few ships came to check them out, but none locked weapons or performed active scans. They simply observed, then went on their way.
It was a very long half-hour before their radios crackled, “Rhino Five-Eight-Three, state your purpose.”
Jazmine smiled. So, they do recognize me. If he hadn’t been recognized, the station could have contracted an armed ship to make first contact. “Midwest, we’re looking to make a deal.”
A disinterested grunt answered, “What kind of deal?”
Casually continuing to pilot the craft as if it were an extension of himself, Jazmine’s grin grew wider. It was easy for him to recognize the voice on the other end of the line. “The kind of deal I’ll only negotiate in person. So, what’ll it be, stationmaster?”
A staticky laugh answered, “Very well. You know where to dock.”
The transmission clicked off, the communication vaguer and curter than most Gaffigan had ever heard. He turned to the pilot. “I expected more questions.”
Jazz only chuckled. “The Jayhawker remembers me.” How could he not?
Wasting no time, Jazmine guided their ship toward an airlock on one of the station’s endcaps. It was a vacant spot of honor allotted to the stationmaster’s favorite guests. There was plenty of clearance around it while other regions of the station were crowded with ships.
The airlocks connected with a clank. “Seals are green.” Gaffigan announced. A quieter tinny sound came on the hull as the station’s power line found its home. “We’re in their care.” Monty didn’t especially enjoy that thought, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Jazmine reached up and shut down the engines. “Showtime,” he said, climbing out of his seat and straightening his white dress shirt. As Gaffigan clambered out behind him, he pulled on his suit jacket and covered the sidearm on his hip.
Gaffigan pulled his navy-blue jacket on with a sigh, taking the time to correct the way the colorful pocket square rested. “I still think it’s dumb to show up looking like mobsters.” He didn’t care what anyone said, it didn’t feel practical. Still, he fixed the way his holster and communicator sat on his belt and buttoned the jacket up.
Jazmine gave him a once over and nodded approval. “Trust me, you look the part.”
Before Monty could respond a loud knock pounded the outside of their ship. “Open up!”
Jazmine caught Monty’s nervous expression. “Relax.” This was normal treatment for ships that did not regularly visit the station.
Taking a moment to smooth his luscious hair, Jazmine stepped forward and popped open the hatch. It slid out of the way to reveal two large men in matching suits – black ties, black shoes, black jackets and black pants with blood red shirts. Both had automatic rifles clasped in their arms, and between them was possibly the most beautiful woman Montgomery Gaffigan had ever seen. Golden blond curls framed her delicate face and her floor length evening gown fit perfectly, sky blue fabric sparkling in the light of the airlock.
Jazmine smiled at the sight of her. “Cinderella,” he greeted with open arms, “you’re as lovely as ever.”
She accepted his hug with a pleasant smile on her red-painted lips. “Jumpin’ Jazmine, it’s been far too long. Where have you been?”
Jazz let out a charming laugh. “Ah, you know how business goes. You get a good gig, you take it. I’ve been doing long-term work for an investor on the Frontier.” Strictly speaking, that wasn’t entirely a lie. He had been out on the Frontier a few times, and he had been getting paid.
“Good for you,” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Now, what are you doing back here?”
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Jazmine pulled her close, well aware that she was feeling up the holster of his sidearm and investigating its quality. “New job. My employer has access to some very hot information, but it’s not the information he needs. He needs to make a trade, but that’s not his cup of tea, so he hired me.”
Satisfied by the quality of the gun on his belt, she reached up and pinched his hip playfully. “Well,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t have thought the information trade was your cup of tea, Jazmine, but I’ll take you to see him.” Only the stationmaster could decide if an information trade was possible. “Follow me.”
Unraveling herself from his grip, she turned to lead them away from the airlock. Jazmine nodded for Gaffigan to follow, and the two guards took up a position behind them. Beyond the airlock, the halls of the station graciously widened. Gaffigan found them surprisingly clean, though the deck tiles and bulkhead didn’t match and the lights were differing shades of yellow. The air had a pleasant artificially fresh scent, and it was quiet out here on the station’s endcap since there was no propulsion system to provide background noise.
Cinderella stopped them outside an unmarked door. “You know what to do,” she told Jazmine.
“Many thanks, Princess.” Jazmine blew her a kiss and then ducked into the room. Gaffigan followed him after sending their guide an awkward smile.
The room they next found themselves in next may once have been the bridge of a ship, but was now part of the conglomerate that formed the station. It was exceptionally spacious by standards found in spacecraft and had a series of circular viewports peering out into the Mississippi Sector. The tint placed on the windows magnified the lighting of the nearest dark planet. The contrast of its monotone coloring was heightened, turning its sphere into a glass marble on black velvet.
Lavish decorations filled the space of the room. Hand blown glass lights hung glowing softly from the ceiling. Paintings hung adorned the walls and the spear of a Hydra war chief was locked in an illuminating display case. A low coffee table made from terrestrial cedar sat in the center of the room, and a sleek dark blue couch curved around it in a semicircle, sprinkled with hand-quilted pillows.
Three more sentries stood around the room, stiller than statues in their black and red suits. Another, older man sat on the far side of the couch, watching Jazmine enter the room with a sly smile. His wavy brown hair hung nearly to his shoulders, and he wore a decorative wool jacket made to look like an ancient nobleman’s atop spotlessly white pants. “Jumpin’ Jazmine,” he greeted the former smuggler by the nickname he’d earned in the trade. “They tell me you’ve made a switch from smuggling to trading information.”
Jazmine sat down on the opposite end of the couch, casually as he could manage. “That’s right.”
“Pity,” the man said, “you were quite the pilot back in the day. I’m not sure it’s in your best interest to enter such a risky trade.” In these clandestine dealings, it often was the messenger who was shot. “Are you sure your new employer can be trusted to give you reliable information?”
“Pretty sure.” The smile on Don Jazmine’s face never faltered as Gaffigan sank down onto the couch beside him.
Curiously, the man raised an eyebrow. How peculiar. “You know the drill, then,” he said, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. “You tell me the information you want to trade, I approve it and set you up with a fixer. Before the trade is finalized, you must prove your information is valid and that I can trust you not to ruin the trade reputation of my station.”
Jazmine nodded. Information hadn’t been his industry, but he knew the routine. The stationmaster knew everything that occurred on his station. Nothing was kept from him, and that made him untouchable. To harm him would be the downfall of any outlaw or clan that attempted it, because knowledge was power, especially in underworld society.
“But first, gentlemen,” he said civilly, “your weapons. And let’s begin with introductions. I see you have a new compatriot.”
Jazz unholstered his gun and set it on the table, and Monty followed suit. The stationmaster picked them both up and began to inspect one of them in detail as Jazmine gave his introduction. “I’m Jumpin’ Jazmine, and you know I was the best smuggler to fly out of this station in the last decade. My companion here is Monty. He’s a demolitions expert by trade and my current partner in crime.”
“And I am the master of Midwest Station. You may call me the Jayhawker.” The stationmaster set the gun back onto the table and continued to trace its contours with slow, purposeful fingers. “I did not believe it when I heard a ship with your mark was circling, Jazmine. I suppose I must congratulate you on a most triumphant return after being missing for three years.” A twitch of amusement pulled at his expression. “It seems you’ve upgraded your equipment as well. Military-grade ship and weapons, your new employer must be a powerful man.”
Jazmine nearly laughed out loud. You think that little dropship is my new ride? Hell, that would have been a downgrade from the suped-up freighter he’d had geared for nothing but raw acceleration. The pilot took a moment to imagine the pure shock that would dominate the Jayhawker’s face if he ever realized Jazmine was flying a ship substantially larger and more powerful than that little Rhino. And the topic of his new employer was no less amusing. A powerful man. “You could say that,” Jazmine answered. “But my employer is also a very private person. He’d prefer to keep his name out of our dealings.”
“Of course.” The Jayhawker slid his two visitors’ guns back across the table, and waved to dismiss the guards. They filed out of the room in a neat, orderly march. “So, tell me, what information do you claim to possess?”
Jazmine loosed his most charismatic smile, though he knew it did nothing for the Jayhawker’s cold, cynical eyes. “Well, my good sir, I have perhaps the most valuable information in the known worlds,” he said, baiting the stationmaster to take interest. “I have the location of a wanted target for which the reward is far more than any one man could ever need. A target whose reward could fund a war, and yet the central worlds drop it like pocket change.” Jazmine read the stationmaster’s interest by the way he leaned forward. This was definitely information that could be traded for a gain. “I have access to the one piece of information every bounty hunter in the galaxy wants: the current whereabouts of the renegade Battleship Singularity herself.”
The Jayhawker narrowed his dark eyes. “And how did your employer come by that information?”
“A secret of the trade. My employer did not disclose that.” Jazmine knew it was risky to hide that information, but it was a risk they had to take. No lie could give them the necessary coverage. “But we know that the Singularity is likely to remain in this location for the next few hours as she is making repairs.”
“Does your employer have a motive for not taking advantage of this information himself? Turning this information over to the military would earn him a substantial reward. Why turn here?”
“We all have our motives, stationmaster,” Jazz reminded him, sensing lingering suspicion. “My employer has the Singularity’s present whereabouts, but it is not the information he seeks, and he knows a trade can be made here.”
The Jayhawker hummed for a moment in contemplation. This is a risk. Jazmine was trading very time sensitive information. True, its value was extremely high, but the usual channels of validation would be too slow to render it useful. “What information does your employer seek, Jazmine?”
“The location of the Crimson Heart pirate clan’s base of operations.”
“Any particular reason?”
“I wasn’t paid to ask those questions,” Jazmine replied, appearing disinterested.
“You’re as simple minded as ever, Jazmine,” the stationmaster scorned. “However, due to the time-sensitive nature and sheer value of your information, I will bypass the validation stage of the process. I shall differ you to one of my fixers. He will arrange a trade.”
Perfect. “Thank you for your patience, Jayhawker.” Jazmine said politely, collecting his weapon from the table. Monty followed the action, stashing his own gun back in its holster.
“I’m relying on your record, Jazmine. Aboard this station, it is a good one. Do not tarnish it, and do not disappoint me.”
The stationmaster presented himself casually, but the layer of ice on that unspoken threat sent chills down Gaffigan’s spine.
Reaching behind the couch, the Jayhawker hit a button. The sentries marched through the door and resumed their positions in an instant. Then, the woman in the blue dress and her guards made their reappearance. “Cinderella,” the Jayhawker addressed her, “Take Monty and Jazmine to see Malibu Flower. I believe he can help them.”
Cinderella beckoned them to follow, and once again guided them through the halls of the station. This time, she took them towards the center of the station which showed more signs of habitation. Still, the halls were not the cesspool of chaos Gaffigan had expected. Men in suits sat at tables, having discussions and making deals. Every one of them was armed. It seemed that was how they demanded respect, but there were no bullets flying. The only sign of unruliness came from an admiring whistle aimed at Cinderella, but a single look from the guards stilled that man from further action.
Cinderella and her guards deposited them into a smaller room this time. It had no windows and was decorated floor to ceiling in the lively colors of orange and pink. A high-top table sat in the center of the room, and a man with curly bleach blond hair was waiting for them in a casually unbuttoned pink shirt. Jazmine noted his obviously fake tan. “Malibu Flower?”
The man nodded in confirmation. “I suppose that makes you Jumpin’ Don Jazmine and company. You were once famous around here. The Jayhawker spoke very highly of you.” Of course, that had been before Malibu Flower’s time. “Rumor has it Cinderella was quite taken with you.”
Jazmine laughed warmly, pulling himself up to the table. “Well, between you and me,” he whispered, checking to ensure Cinderella had left, “the only way to end a relationship with a notorious assassin safely is to disappear for a while.” He feigned a bit of relief. “Luckily, I think she’s over it.” Honestly, he thought, getting caught couldn’t have come at a better time. He’d been at a loss for how to escape Cinderella’s affections without getting his throat slit open.
Malibu Flower laughed, a high girlish chuckle. “Well, I hear you have brought me good business, so who am I to judge?” He pointed Monty to the third chair at the table, “Sit. We have things to discuss.” He tapped his fingers across the table’s smooth orange surface, activating a holographic display. “The deal you wish to make… It is a complicated one, especially without verified information. The location of Command’s most wanted ship in exchange for the location of Crimson Heart’s base.” The young man rubbed his smooth chin, contemplating as he scrolled through his list of contacts.
Swiping through a dozen of his client groups Malibu Flower explained, “There are many interested parties for something like this, but no bounty hunter clan will be able to mobilize against such a large target so quickly.” Simply, there wouldn’t be enough time to gather resources and make alliances. Even the largest clan would need to supplement their forces with private security to stand a chance against the Singularity.
“But,” Flower paused his scrolling, “there are other interested parties. Some have no immediate interest in claiming the renegade ship’s bounty. They only want to make contact. For others, mere proof of existence is valuable. They can trade sightings to the military for payment and let the military try to hunt down their traitor.”
Gaffigan swallowed. He didn’t like the sound of that. The worst outcome of this operation was another confrontation with Command. Since repairs on the ship weren’t completed yet, that was likely to be a costly battle. In trading this information, what were they unleashing upon their comrades aboard ship?
Still, Malibu Flower smiled, a show of artificially whitened teeth. “It can be done,” he decided. “Lately, Crimson Heart has ostracized themselves from the rest of the criminal syndicates.” The pirates had carelessly seized a few ships carrying other syndicates’ cargo. “Be ready to transfer the Singularity’s coordinates in one hour, and then I will have Crimson Heart’s coordinates in exchange.”
Jazmine shared the information broker’s easy grin and reached across the take to shake his hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”