Junction Station

Clusters Edge

The Junction was the last waypoint station before transit to the Sol system. There were no human colonies for three to four weeks’ travel time beyond this point. It had been a hub of activity during early settlement of the Alpha Persei Cluster, but in recent decades, it had succumbed to obsolescence. Grace could see it clearly now out the cockpit window. There were three large passenger starliners. That was most unusual. Traditionally, the flights going back to Earth would leave from the most populated systems, where it was most convenient for passengers, but these were not usual times.

Grace signalled the dock master and was given a berth. Their small craft had a much easier time finding a spot than another of the larger liners would. She had taken a risk coming out to the edge of the cluster, but she was gambling it would be the best point to refuel after the last two waystations near more populated systems had been completely out.

“You think we’ll find something here?” asked Miles.

He had his camera raised and snapped a shot of her, contemplating an answer.

“Cut that out,” she snapped, “and we’d better, or we are fast running out of options.”

He looked at his slate, which loaded the image of her frustration in grainy black and white.

“You know we have colours now, right?” she said, “and holograms.”

“It’s true,” Miles agreed, “but there’s something pure about a black-and-white image, right?”

Grace replied something diplomatic.

The docking level was deserted. There were usually several attendants to be found in these places, but whilst there were plenty of ships, no one was there to meet them. Grace stepped down onto the deck plate of the station with a clunk and walked over to the supply depot, where she would usually be able to buy more than enough fuel cells. Not only did they not have any, there didn’t seem to be much of anything apart from some candy. Grace reached in, but they only had the orange ones left. She didn’t bother.

She heard the artificial sound of an aperture shutting and realised that Miles was still taking photos. The time to have ditched him was long gone, however.

“Let’s head up to the main gangway,” Grace said, with a tilt of her head towards the stairwell.

There had to be the best part of a thousand people on the concourse, mostly refugees hoping to find a berth on any ship leaving the cluster. Usually, the flight to Earth would cost a couple of thousand credits, what the average citizen made in a month or two. Now they were charging ten times that. Whoever was running these liners was doing some healthy war profiteering. Grace was not impressed. She hoped whoever the captain of the Duc de Normandie was, was proud of their decision.

She spoke to Miles.

“See if you can find anyone that knows where we can get some fuel cells, yeah?”

He nodded.

She barged her way along the main concourse to where one of the liners was boarding. People above were actually queueing to get on board. She wished them the best of luck.

“Where are you headed?” someone asked.

Grace turned and saw a woman sat in a fold-out chair.

“I’m actually looking for some fuel,” Grace replied.

“Got a ship? If you wanted to sell it, you’d be a rich lady,” the woman replied. “Not to me. I’ve got several, but you’d get a lot more than you would have paid a month ago.”

Grace was amused at the irony of the situation. A month ago, she had owed more money than she was looking to make in several—years, to pay off her ship. Now, through the tenant demand and Chase’s clever manoeuvrings, the ship was in her name, and she hadn’t paid a penny. She needed the ship more than the money right now. Always good to have an option.

“You know where I can find fuel?” she asked.

“Oh shit,” the woman replied “You hadn’t heard?”

“Heard what?” asked Grace.

“Several ships came through a week ago and stole the last of the cells. They call themselves pirates, but they were amateurs but it worked. I fear we’re going to see a lot more of their kind in the coming months.”

“With the Navy’s current standing, I wouldn’t be surprised,” agreed Grace.

“But look,” the woman said. “The Duc de Normandie is discarding its shuttles to fit more people.”

“Can’t they do FTL?” asked Miles, confused.

“Sure, but they’re not fast enough to make that crossing.”

Grace thanked her and continued on her way. The large liner was parked up next to them. The upper decks had large transparent viewing sections, and dozens of passengers could be seen looking back down at Junction Station. They appeared to be from all over the cluster—well-dressed people in suits and ties, and others clearly not travelling with luggage, in clothes they had been wearing for days.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

A feeling came over Grace and she peered up. Yes, Miles was taking images on the Duc de Normandie.

“Shit,” said Grace. She turned back and rushed past the woman she had just spoken to and barged through the long line of passengers, ducking under the stewards, checking people’s tickets. She’d made it a few steps into the ship’s embarkation lounge when she felt a firm hand place itself on her shoulder. She turned around and thumped its owner without stopping to look at what they wanted.

“I’m not staying,” she said, in lieu of an explanation, and rushed into the first elevator she found, instructing it to take her to the viewing platform.

The Duc de Normandie was not a new ship, but it had been upgraded in the last few years. The paint was still fashionable—colours mainly royal blues and light greys—not to Grace’s taste, but still not ancient. The corridors were bustling with people looking for their staterooms. She saw an entire family make their way into a room designed for two people. By the second week, that was going to be unbearable.

She came to the end of the corridor and stepped through to the open area. On a normal flight, with the passengers merely in the thousands rather than tens of thousands. This would have been quite quiet, a nice place to take a walk. There was probably about a square kilometre of open deck. Some of these ships even grew grass and trees, with a lake that could be filled for long voyages.

Grace could make out where a lake would have been. There was even a fountain, not currently operating. The lake had no water in it, just people, like every other area of the ship, and saw the large floor-to-ceiling transparent window and could see where the embarkation ramp was connecting to Junction Station.

This had definitely been where she’d seen Miles, and she hoped he was still here, but there was no sign of him. She could hear the a fuss being made in the crowd. He was at the bow of the ship.

“Miles, you idiot, what are you doing here?” she asked.

He turned around, a broad grin on his face, indicating everything that was around him.

“I couldn’t miss this,” he said.

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you. I think we might find something in the shuttle bay,” said Grace.

They made their way back through the open promenade-like area The elevator took them straight down to the shuttle bay. There were only a handful of auxiliary craft to be found, far below regulation numbers. Grace didn’t even want to think what would go down if anything happened to this ship during her flight.

There was a uniformed crewman working at one of the shuttles.

“Hi there,” Miles said cheerily, walking over and without asking and snapping his photo.

“Yeah, hi?” the man asked with some confusion.

“We want to buy some fuel,” said Miles.

The crewman did a double take.

“Well, the captain wants these shuttles unloaded. They’re putting up the disaster relief tents in here. So many people want to leave the cluster. I can see why.”

Grace had immediately clocked his Earth accent and smug tone.

“How much?” she asked.

The crewman walked round to the rear of the shuttle, where its aft doors were open. He came back out with five barrels of fuel cells.

“Five thousand for the lot.”

“Sol Credits or Alpha Persei?” Grace asked him.

Miles had already reached for his payment card. Grace carefully lowered his hand back towards his pocket before the crewman saw.

“Sol Credits,” he said dismissively. “AP credits won’t get me very far these days.”

“Three thousand,” said Grace. “Two weeks ago, you wouldn’t have seen five hundred for this stuff.”

“Two weeks ago, there wasn’t a mass exodus either,” the man replied with a shrug. “But I can do four thousand for you.”

Grace was about to counter with three and a half but Miles handed his card over. The crewman tapped his own card against it, and Miles confirmed the transaction had completed.

He turned and looked at Grace.

“We’re splitting this, right?” Miles asked.

“Let’s just get it off the ship first,” she said.

A klaxon sounded.

“You better be quick,” said the crewman. “We’re disembarking.”