Ar Suft had once been a bread basket world, but greed and poor economic policies on the part of its ruling consortium had turned it into a desert in recent centuries. The depletion of the planet had led to a sharp decline in commerce with the rest of the Combine of Interests, and its Bureau of Interstellar Commerce and Transit had been compelled to schedule the planet's removal from their routes: a gradual process of stepping down over the course of a century. Very few people had ever bothered with coming to Ar Suft before, and since the decision had been made to cut it off from the rest of the galaxy, the planet had undergone a mass exodus.
Ar Suft had never been of much interest to the galaxy at large; it had always been a backwater world. It hardly made the news when it was announced the gate ship would no longer stop there. It was just one more planet nobody had heard of in the core worlds: one more useless appendage rightly cut off from the rest of civilization. Decades later however, a rumor of Ancient technology had spread among these cosmopolitan worlds. The surface of Ar Suft was littered with exotic alloys! There were caches of priceless baubles everywhere! The treasure troves were just waiting to be found; you only had to walk out into the desert to trip over a fortune!
In the year of Admission, Fifth Century, the gate ship arrived at Ar Suft, true to its schedule, down to the smallest calculable fraction of time. It came with its usual entourage of parasitic consorts: freighters, passenger liners, and space faring barks of all kinds. These ships in turn carried passengers of all varieties: several thousand of which were fortune seekers, scavengers, prospectors and thieves, collectively known as tech hunters.
As a whole, ships' crews and passengers were shocked to learn that an Evolution cruiser was orbiting Ar Suft. Most of the captains had never been keen to land on the dying world to begin with, but with Evolution occupying the planet, they were universally averse to leaving their berths aboard the gate ship. Few of their passengers argued the point. Even most of the tech hunters decided that there were better places to seek their fortune. It was a small minority that took Evolution's presence as confirmation of the rumors. Why else would the cyborgs be there? They were more keen than ever to get down to the surface and make themselves rich.
Sinsin Cu found himself at the confluence of this nexus: a solitary figure in a churn of thousands of competitive impulses. His own impulse was to get down to Ar Suft. He had been a passenger aboard a family bark for the last six weeks, with no other goal in mind. The captain of his ship had the opposite inclination. She was driven by profit, averse to risk, and lacked the compulsion of principle needed to meet her obligations. They argued vociferously, tediously and unproductively.
In the meantime, the captain's daughters, reached out to the other ships being ferried by the carrier. They arranged to transfer their passenger to another ship's shuttle. The price for this modest service was exorbitant, the dangers of Evolution being well known, and the bolder captain was seeking to gouge his peers for every gram of precious metal he could extort. When the captain's daughters presented this solution to their mother and passenger, it sparked another confrontation over who should pay the fee: Sinsin, or the woman who had already been paid to perform that very service. Only after her daughters' shrill interjection did the the feckless captain admit that the obligation was hers.
When it came time to depart, the captain made no goodbyes, but her daughters gathered around Sinsin at the airlock and crushed his slender body in a series of embraces. They had grown fond of him in the course of their travels. He had been a font of adventurous stories, about worlds they would never visit, and civilizations lost to time. They pressed treats into his hands, wished him well on his adventures and expressed their envy, even as they lamented the dangers of his destination.
“Be safe,” they told him. “Take care.”
“You're good, worthy creatures,” he told them. “Don't worry about me, I'll be fine.”
The airlock closed on their long faces.
The skiff, loaded with passengers, equipment and goods from three different ships, departed the gate ship, and joined the intermittent stream of traffic coming from and going to Ar Suft. They landed at Goodenough: the only remaining city of consequence on the planet. The starport there was an enormous old monolith, dating back to the era of the New Dawn. Once capable of berthing one hundred ships simultaneously, most of the super structure lay derelict and empty. Evolution had cordoned off a small corner for its own use, and another for use of the incoming civilian traffic.
The skiff landed, its doors opened, and Sinsin was welcomed to Ar Suft by a gust of hot, dusty air. He stepped out, blinking at the glare of a yellow-white sun and feeling somewhat sluggish and short of breath.
Guards were everywhere. Humanoid drones and their Centurion overseers blocked all possible exits, and they patrolled the landing field and terminal in squads. Evolution strike craft flew patterns above and around the starport. It was an occupation, but the militia of the local prefecture hadn't been entirely usurped. Local authority took on the brunt of the administrative headache; Evolution only seemed to be there to make sure everyone submitted to inspection and questioning.
A crowd approached the landed craft as the new arrivals left them, seeking to barter passage off world. Most were emigrants of the typically mundane, apprehensive, poor, and desperate variety. With the arrival of Evolution they might justifiably be called refugees. There were tech hunters mixed in with them: men and women of various races, with a decidedly tough, mercenary and criminal-like bearing. Some of these latter-types accosted the new arrivals as their paths crossed. Heckling, derisive laughter and cold unfriendly stares were exchanged as tech hunters, arriving and leaving, passed one another.
“Have fun panning this crap ball.”
“No luck chummy?”
“Dug you a latrine for you bozos out Skelter Rock way. Filled it up for you too.”
“Drank all the booze and quit, eh?”
“You might as well just turn around and leave with us.”
“There's nothing here but First Founding junk.”
“Nah man. It has Evolution too!”
“Sinsin Cu!” a voice exclaimed in belligerent wonder. A tall, powerful, human male shouldered his way through the crowd. Grinning, he threw back his yellow cloak with a flourish and stretched his massive arms wide, as if expecting a hug.
No embrace was likely to occur however. Sinsin's antennae first went forward, then flat against his skull as he identified the smell of the brown face staring back at him. His hand went to the light caster he kept holstered, high on his left “hip.”
“Deku Tahn,” Sinsin said, softly. “It truly is a small galaxy.”
The enormous man laughed heartily: a jovial sound that belied the tension underlying their encounter. He stopped three meters away, planted his hands on his hips, and glowered amiably at Sinsin. “An annual wasted, my crew ready to mutiny, and who comes along but Sinsin Cu? I was just telling the boys, I was sure we were missing something. I can smell it. Evolution and the Andorrans didn't come here for a rumor, and I'm a piss-faced son of a bitch if you did either. Damned if my nose isn't always right.”
“What do you want Deku?” Sinsin asked testily.
“I want a mountain of nack and a bed full of tits and ass,” Deku growled. His declaration was serious, and his belligerent tone defied any and all opposition. “The same as ever. What do you want? No, no, don't tell me: the betterment of civilization through understanding of the past. Same old Sinsin, pretending his shit don't stink. What brings you here Professor?”
Sinsin didn't answer, but instead performed a cursory search of the starport terminal, looking for Deku's compatriots. He spotted a likely group of idle rogues, who stared back at him with naked interest. He didn't recognize any smells from his past encounters with Deku, but that was to be expected. Many kinds of people became tech hunters, and they employed many different methods of procuring Ancient valuables. Some were diggers. Some were merely bandits who stole what others found. Deku was a man of mixed parts: willing to do whatever needed doing, but he had mostly leaned towards the latter type in all the years Sinsin had known him. Such people rarely made friends, and never kept followers for long.
“It doesn't matter,” Deku said; he knew Sinsin wouldn't answer. “I know it's something good or else you wouldn't be here. Suppose you cut me in. It'll save us both a whole lot of trouble if we worked together for once.”
“You're serious!” Sinsin exclaimed.
“Why wouldn't I be?”
“Because we both know I'm not here to rape this planet in a search for treasure, and even if I was, I couldn't trust you.”
“Sure, sure. You're just an academic, I know. But you just might have to you to trust me: between Evolution and the Andorrans, this place is fixing to blow.”
“What about the Andorrans?” Sinsin asked cautiously.
“You haven't heard?” Deku asked Sinsin with a gloating smile. He laughed. “What a rare treat this is! I know something Sinsin Cu doesn't! Ha ha!
“Tell you what: token of friendship -I'll tell you. An Andorran cruiser made a pass at the planet about a week ago. They had a bit of a smash up with Evolution and bolted. The militia thinks they're going to come back though.”
“That's all you know? Gossip I could have heard anywhere?”
“Well maybe I can tell you more over dinner. What do you say Professor? Let's talk over grub. I'll buy.”
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“I'll think about it,” Sinsin said evasively.
“What's to think about? It's only dinner.”
“Is it?”
Deku's eyes narrowed. Sinsin hadn't been friendly from the beginning of this encounter, but now there was an edge to the geel's buzzing voice.
“Alright, alright,” Deku said slowly. “Come and find me after you get settled then. Adventure will be here when you come to your senses. She's docked in bay four. I'll see you around professor.”
This last declaration set the hairs on Sinsin's antennae on end: tingling with danger sense. There was no mistaking the threat, and there was no doubting the promise of Deku's words.
Time dragged by as the inspection line inched forward. Sinsin slowly crept along with it, his interest in this new world smothered completely by the monotony of waiting in that interminable line. He watched the shuttles come and go: the people pass by, and thought that if the sun didn't broil him, the gravity would smother him, and if all else failed, the boredom would surely finish him through pure depression of the spirit. Though he wasn't at all hungry, and didn't even like them, he ate the sweets the spacer girls had given him, just for something to do. Later, when he heard voices raised in anger, he turned to see with shameless interest.
It was an argument over the suddenly inflated price of passage. There were more people trying to leave than there were spaces for them to occupy, and more and more people were facing the prospect of being marooned. The tech hunters blamed the refugees, the refugees hated the tech hunters regardless, and fists were balled. Then there was a terrified scream. Sinsin saw a gun raised in the air, and hands and arms reaching to restrain its owner: an obelisk of rage and desperation that ended with an accidental discharge.
The Evolution drones responded instantly. Compelled by their brutal logic, they cauterized the whole area of danger with overwhelming firepower. Squads from all over the terminal converged on the brawl, firing as they came running in. Dozens of people were dead in moments, and the body count rose steadily as the drones kept up a fusillade of indiscriminate fire. They cut down people running in terror, those who wormed about on the ground in fear and agony, and those few who desperately, foolishly fought back. An incoming vessel: a fat old military drop ship, prudently diverted from its final approach, and was itself shot down without warning.
“I said hold your damned fire!” a militia captain was screaming: had been screaming from the start. He strode deliberately towards the closest Evolution Centurion and kicked it in the shin. The cyborg stood impassively by, even though it had just executed half a dozen people for less provocation. “Sling your weapons you psychos! Emergency responders to landing bay four,” the captain shouted into his comm-piece. “We've had a shooting and a – and a crash. Send all of them. I said all of them! Everyone! And ask the clinic for volunteers. We're going to need help with search and rescue -and with triage.
“You! Give me a hand here!”
The militia captain directed this last at Sinsin, who thoughtlessly complied. Together, they ran for the drop ship, and tried to save its crew and passengers from the burning wreckage.
Hours later, Sinsin found himself answering the questions posed by a different member of the militia. Like him, this guard was still covered in soot, dust and blood from the recent rescue efforts, and he was clearly shaken. He asked his questions somewhat at random as an Evolution drone observed impassively.
“Where are your bags?”
“Stolen, it would seem.” Sinsin had left his duffel and shoulder bag at his place in line, and of course, upon returning to his spot, found that they had not waited for him. Their new owner would surely be disappointed with their contents however. There wasn't much value in a few changes of clothing and a geel hygiene kit. His few valuables he invariably kept on his person.
“What's your business here?”
“I'm an immigrant,” Sinsin answered.
“You know this rock is being cut off from the Combine?”
“That's' why I'm here. I thought it would be quiet. Safe.”
“It used to be,” the guard said glumly.
“That was bad what happened,” Sinsin said grimly. “But it's nothing compared to the core worlds. They're sneaking atomics into cities, and the Codex is threatening to destroy the Stellar Gate of Antaris.”
The guard had nothing to say to that. Though dramatic, Sinsin was describing events that affected strangers far, far away, and they were both covered with the visceral reminders of the lesser, more immediate tragedy. “Where do you come from?”
“Originally or most recently?”
“Both.”
“I was born on Glory Transcendent, but I came here from Tarkis Tarkin.”
“So you're a tech hunter.”
“No sir,” Sinsin said. “It's illegal to salvage Ancient technology where I come from.”
“It's illegal everywhere,” the guard said distractedly. The focus of his attention shifted from the interview to a dead young woman being carried through on a stretcher. She had been a beauty, but at her passing, her face had relaxed into an expression of a heartbreaking sadness.
“Damn it Dane cover her up!” he shouted at one of the stretcher bearers. “What the hell's the matter with you?”
The stretcher bearers marched on, as if they hadn't heard. They probably didn't. They were civilian volunteers, unused to the horror of violence and its aftermath, and they were in a state of dull shock over the massacre.
The militia guard wiped at the blood and dust on his brow, still agitated and bereft by the sight of the young woman. He had to be prompted twice before coming back out of his fugue; he did so, silently shedding a tear. “Immigrant. Right. Your profession?”
“I'm a teacher,” Sinsin lied in his usual manner: by telling a half-truth.
“You're not going to find much work here. There haven't been any schools for years.”
“Well that won't last forever,” Sinsin said confidently.
“This planet is dying,” the guard said morosely.
“Nonsense!” Sinsin declared emphatically: utterly sincere. “Its circumstances are merely changing, and only temporarily at that. In a thousand years, maybe two, Ar Suft will be the thriving garden world it once was, and the gate ship will come back for its grain and people. It's happened before you know, on many other worlds.”
The guard didn't say anything for some time: just stared at Sinsin unhappily. He was too forlorn to think past the present, let alone take comfort from a brighter, possible future, hundreds of years away. “I think we're done here,” he said, looking to the drone, as if for confirmation. The machine didn't move or utter a sound. “Don't try to leave the city without a pass from the Prefect's Office. You'll be killed.”
“Where do I go to apply for citizenship or a visa?”
“Just get out of here,” the guard said peevishly.
Sinsin was among the last to leave the terminal. The incoming traffic had been halted as a result of the massacre, and most of the other new arrivals had preferred not to involve themselves in its aftermath; they were long gone. Overcome with fatigue, Sinsin stretched out on a crooked old bench, and watched the trickle of the last few people leave the starport terminal; most walked into the city, but a few loitered in the hopes of some kind of taxi or transit service. He dozed like that,waking now and then when he sensed people nearby: people who always backed away upon meeting his gaze.
Sinsin woke, just before a human hand touched his shoulder. His caster snapped up, and its muzzle chased the retreating form that had been looming over him.
“Don't shoot!” the form said plaintively, its hands raised.
Behind the hands was a human face: a young man's, Sinsin knew, but he could smell human youth more easily than read it in their faces -a wildly hormonal species. Sinsin could also smell that he meant no harm, and that he was merely afraid. He put away his gun. “You shouldn't sneak up on people,” he scolded him.
“I didn't sneak. I called to you from over there,” the young man pointed to his air car: a seemingly custom-made junker.
Sinsin scowled at that. He was a light sleeper, and wouldn't have slept through any such thing as a raised human voice. A small voice in his mind told him he was getting old: that his plates were starting to crack and peel, and that he sometimes slept through his alarms. He repressed the voice with the equivalent of a mental snarl.
“I thought you might want a ride,” the human went on saying. He backed away another step. He wanted to get away from this strange, dangerous geel, but at the same time, he didn't want to make him mad.
“A ride to where?”
It wasn't a question. Sinsin was merely thinking out loud, but of course, the young man turned sheepish and flustered. He stopped in the middle of his third back step.
“Well, most of the tech hunters are squatting in the old hotels. I could take you to one,” he added reluctantly. Having a pistol aimed at his face had made him less than eager to take the geel anywhere. “It shouldn't be too hard to find a room in good shape.”
Sinsin didn't answer. He had pulled his personal networking device from a chest pocket and was trying to connect to the local hub. Every planet had one: a network of computers for information sharing. The core worlds were even networked together by a marvel of Ancient technology, (it was what made them a “core” world), but backwaters like Ar Suft were only connected to this “galaxy hub” for as long as there was a gate ship in-system.
“Evolution shut down hub access,” the young man explained.
“Well that's inconvenient,” Sinsin buzzed morosely. “I was supposed to meet somebody here.”
“Who?”
Again, Sinsin didn't answer. He looked back at the terminal entrance, where Evolution had erected an omni camera. No doubt its microphones would hear anything he told the young man.
“My first inclination is that I should wait here for my friends to come and search for me,” he mused out loud. “But I'm concerned that may be a long wait.”
“Are they tech hunters too?”
“I'm not a tech hunter.”
“Oh!” the young man exclaimed, surprised. But then he remembered the pistol, and his eyes narrowed doubtfully. “What are you then?”
“I'm a teacher and an immigrant.
“I would appreciate it if you took me to a hotel,” Sinsin continued more assertively. “But not one where there are tech hunters, if possible. I prefer peace and quiet. And privacy. And safety. I'm willing to pay for your services of course,” he added, seeing the boy's continuing apprehension.
“Well, I suppose I can take you to my aunt's place,” he ventured to suggest. “She runs a hostel for the ice miners. Their shifts come through here every...” the young man trailed off. “I uh, I'm not sure how she would feel about you uh... bringing a gun into her place.”
“Suppose you bring it then,” Sinsin suggested. He unclipped the holster from his belt and offered it to the young man.
“Oh no, no,” the human said nervously, waving his hands.
“Just temporarily, until we're sure your aunt won't mind me having it on me. How much will your services cost me sir?”
“Oh, for the ride, nothing, not if you're going to be renting a room,” he hesitantly took the pistol. “I don't really know what my aunt charges, so you'll have to talk to her. We'll uh... see if I have to take you somewhere else. We can talk about a fare for me then. Does that sound alright Mr...?”
“That sounds satisfactory. I'm Sinsin Cu.”
“Dallas Aiken.”
“It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.” They shook hands, and the young man was reassured, significantly more at ease. “Please, after you.”