Bert rolled back the cabin carpeting and lifted the engine access panel. A plume of gray steam pushed against his face. He winced. The battery melted into the propulsion drives, and the usually blue fluid in the fuel rods was a brackish gray. Bert snapped on heavily insulated gloves before pulling out one of the rods with a set of toothed titanium tongs. The cooling liquid boiled into steam that left droplets over everything inside the vehicle.
“What’s the verdict?” Nicole asked.
“If you don’t know by now, you’re pretty hopeless,” Bert said.
“Let’s have it,” Fade said.
“The cooling system’s busted, that caused the rods to overheat and melt the battery into propulsion drives. Luckily for us the safety features kept us from becoming a bomb. The entire drive, gravity, and power system: worthless. We’re talking about a hundred thousand Haricons to get her replaced, and that’s not even thinkin’ about the damage to hull. I can make her work for planetary travel, but only short term.”
In the bridge, Fade entered the code ‘Open Wound’ on a concealed key panel. A post extended from the floor by the side of the captain’s chair. The crystal flew upwards into a holder with a muffled thump. Fade pulled it out and dropped it in the pocket of his trench coat, then sealed the straps. In the passenger compartment, he found the case with the money from Miss Howards, fifty thousand Haricons. The outside hatch only opened only sixty centimeters before jamming, Bert forced it upwards with his hands, gaining only three and half extra centimeters.
“It’s stuck now,” Bert said, “The dogfight with Buldeths pushed the frame inwards all across the hatch, moved everything way past tolerances.”
They were forced to slither out of the S119 one at time. Fade left last. Bert pushed on the S119’s hatch from the outside to no avail before examining the burnt thrusters on the back of the hull. They crunched tightly together; their frames melted into the exhaust openings. The walls of the ship’s fuselage remained mostly intact.
An old woman in a mechanics overalls joined them on the platform. She had a full, yet wrinkled face with prominent lines around the eyes and at the sides of her lips. Her blue shirt was stained with oil and her worn boots were badly scuffed at the toe. An electronic stun device hung from her side pocket by a communications radio.
She almost grabbed Bert, “What’s the purpose in wrecking our garages like this? Are you the owner of this vessel?”
“I am,” Fade said.
“Mr. Delfi has agreed to pay your docking fees for today only. If you don’t renew within twenty four hours we reserve the right to confiscate your vehicle. Not that a piece of scrap like this would do us much good. And I don’t think you want to stick Mr. Delfi with the fines and clean-up fees.”
The old woman scanned the sides of the transport, then swiped the thruster wall with her finger and examined the crusty black dirt.
“The thruster walls are burnt out, from the direction of the shock marks it looks like you were hit from above. The exhaust holes are cramped together, they must have overheated from the stress. Your outer hatch needs replaced. I bet the engine’s shot too. If it turns out you have the money and care about the vehicle, I’ll work on her, but I’d recommend having it hauled for scrap. I’m Rebecca Dellias, manager of Repair Services. As long as you pay all the fees, my services will be on call. I’ll give you an estimate on any work you request for ten Haricons.”
“False advertising,” Bert said, “I want the red head in the bathing suit, not some withered old hag.”
“We’re one in the same. Only holographs don’t age, people do, at least the unmodified variety.”
“You modeled for that?” Nicole asked.
“It seemed like fun fifty years ago. I never thought they’d use it this long, and they refuse to use another model.”
Rebecca frowned as she handed Fade her card. The black suit case flew into Bert’s arms. It pushed him back against the guard rails.
“I have my own mechanic, so we’ll only require parts.”
Rebecca looked at Bert, then at Nicole.
“Which one?” she asked.
“The one holding the case.”
“Well, he’s not allowed to conduct repairs here without a license from the station authority. He can supervise me if you like, but I still get full pay.”
“Listen Grandma,” Bert growled, “If this ship gets repair, it’s goin’ to be by my hands only. I don’t need some old bat meddlin’ with my work, and if you ain’t worth nothin’ ya shouldn’t get paid nothin’ either.”
“Then don’t repair it, just make sure we’re paid for its disposal and your time here, or you’ll be thrown out along with it.”
Rebecca left on those terms, leaving Bert to mumble under his breath. Fade found the interface computer near the hatch. It gave him a paper card with his registration number and a one-day key to the garage. The halls led to the core of the station. A large screen at the side wall displayed station information. There was a public restroom to the left as well as a few vending machines and some network consoles, but the main purpose of the hub was access to the garages and storage. The inner corridors of the third rim were lined with numbered hatches resembling triangles with flattened tops; they were all doors to rented rooms. Advertisement boards, screens, holographic advertisements, and a sign announcing that rim three was the secure lodging facility broke the pattern of garage doors. Signs hung from the center of the ceiling indicating the locations of shops, payment centers, and station service centers. The economy of the sparsely populated station was completely dependent on commerce; hence freight captains, tourists, and travelers.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
The windowed, wide, outer halls were populated with a few hundred refugees from the Hakkut system. Most of the refugees stood in line at the counters for hotel accommodations. Several children played tag in the halls. A few relieved couples nestled into each other at the benches. A well-dressed man argued with a clerk for deluxe accommodations, repeating his name; Arch Stanton III, constantly and loudly, as if it were an oath. A black jacketed man with bright purple hair leaned on the short metal separation wall of an internet booth to watch two freighter captains complain about their losses in the portal disaster. An older man in a worn coat leaned against a window while he sharpened a smooth ivory-handled knife with a laser sharpening device; he stared at his work every half minute through a glass attached to his eye. Finally, a sign above pointed the way to Delfi’s eatery.
A holographic cowgirl in tight jeans shorts and a short flannel top pushed her Imperial Blend beer toward Bert. He smiled at her with a lustful glance. The open views into space became more pronounced as they reached the eatery. The station passed Uranus, a tiny bluish green disc amidst the stars. Neptune, without magnification, appeared as a bright, fast-moving star with a blue tint. Nicole broke from the group and stood silently in front of the window.
“I never get tired of the view here. If only that ringed planet were out, I’ve seen it three times from here, but it’s so rare. I’ve never seen another planet like it. This system amazes me.”
Fade stopped and stared blankly in the direction of the eatery.
“We’re here on business. Don’t forget that.”
“Don’t be so uptight. You’ll get her back.”
Fade continued at a steady pace while the others kept up until they approached a large screen displaying footage from the battle in the Hacetion sector; the Dorian warped into subspace as a bright white light enveloped the screen before it vanished. They watched silently as the news commentator flashed back; an older man with thick black glasses.
“Buldethian losses in the Hacetion battle and the subsequent fighting on Hakkut are estimated at over twenty ships of the line and five hundred thousand soldiers while Imperial Casualties were kept lower than twenty thousand. The Dorian escaped the battle after receiving minor structural damage because, as quoted by Admiral Igito Norima in a statement to the media, the traitorous Independent Battle Corp. joined the ranks of the enemy and forced a strategic withdraw. He also stated that the majority of the Dorian’s crew is healthy, faithful, loyal, and remains devoted to continued dominance of the battlefield.”
A line rotated upwards like a tornado, becoming a new display box with a picture of blue planet with large green and brown continents draped in a red and white stripped flag. The caption below read: Cease Fire Disintegration? The news commentator continued in a slow steady tone.
“Negotiations with the Origin Special Administration informally known as the United States of Earth collapsed today with the assassination of Foreign Minister Charles Mugabe. The disintegrated remains of Charles Mugabe, age thirty-seven, were found in the bedroom of his suburban Nairobi apartment. Officials of Origin’s African state claim that agents of Harn are behind the death of this senior diplomat and peace maker; the ashes found were positively identified by DNA scan and the confirmation of remaining body parts, including three teeth and the left hand. The Harn government denied responsibility. A joint resolution of the Imperial senate condemned the USE for using the sad event as a pretext to cancel crucial peace negotiations. Senatorial Coordinator, Guy Witherspoon; who traveled to Ganyemede in wake of the assassination, had strong words against the assassination of OSA diplomat.”
The box expanded to show the coordinator at a podium. Lights flashed and capsule microphones floated in the air around him. His shriveled hands shook the small computer screen he read from. A slow feeble voice enunciated everything as clearly as possible.
“I condemn this brutal attack on a man of peace in the most emphatic of terms. The Imperial Government of Harnicor and the Origin Special Administration were working together through intense negotiations intended to resolve taxation and government disputes in the face of a troubled time for the peace of the universe. Both sides need to work together for the sake of a peaceful and free galaxy. The murder of Charles Mugabe by the enemies of peace brings risk of renewed conflict to both our governments. I implore the OSA not to use this murder as an excuse for further dismissal of Imperial authority within the Sol system. Let’s preserve the peace of the galaxy together. ”
The secondary screen shrunk back in its place and displayed the word RECRIMINATION in bloody red letters. The commentator pushed up his glasses and assumed an angry posture.
“Despite the conciliatory diplomacy of the Senate and the Grand Coordinator, the OSA sent word that it is no longer interested in negotiations unless the Harn Empire grants full autonomy to inner belt, withdraws from the Olympus Mons base on Mars, concedes rights to the asteroid belt, pays reparations over disputed mining activities, and grants the OSA a trading station in the Jovian region. The conflict has been exacerbated by the recent annexation of Mercury, location of the Empire’s last remaining research colony in the inner Sol system. The Verder Station on Mercury reported its surrender to USE infantry forces only hours ago. The Verder station was undefended, used primarily for monitoring of solar phenomena such as sun spots and ion streams. The Imperial Government responded by placing five hundred thousand Haricon bounties on every officer involved in the disgraceful operation, and by stepping up counter intelligence activities to root out spies and collaborators in the Jovian lunar system.”
A display of pictures and drawings with their matching statistics flashed on the screen and were left up as the commentator named each man and the price on his head. The commentator coughed before going further.
“In three standard days, the Dofu Space Station will be hosting the handover of the Neimun to the Imperial Fleet. Karen Howards of the Galactic News Network will be the primary representative of the media. As for her experience on both the Imminent Destruction, a cruiser of the regular forces disabled in battle, and her time on the captured Neimun, she calmly stated that her duty to inform the citizens of Harn trumped all concerns for her safety.”
“They sure know how to dish it to locals.”
“Things aren’t getting any better here either. I’ve seen enough,” Fade said.