XANDER BRINDLE
Another huge load of ekti-X delivered to Ulio Station, and another gigantic profit for Kett Shipping—Xander Brindle decided that was a good enough excuse for a celebratory drink in the star balcony bar with his partner, Terry Handon.
Ulio Station was a popular hub, an interstellar flea market where hundreds of traders exchanged wares outside of Confederation control and therefore without any inconvenient tariffs or taxes.
More than fifteen years ago an old Roamer entrepreneur named Maria Ulio had begun gathering starships that were damaged during the Elemental War: huge Ildiran warliners battered by the faeros or hydrogues, wrecked Manta cruisers from the Earth Defense Forces, abandoned colony ships, burned-out trading vessels—all collected in a large salvage yard.
Maria’s crew worked on the ships, repairing the ones that could be salvaged, converting the others into habitation complexes. Over the years, more and more people brought their ships to the scrapyard; wanderers came there to work, and they stayed; traders found it a convenient place to meet. Ulio Station grew like a coral reef of accumulated ships, some permanently docked, others just passing through.
Xander considered Ulio Station a bustling and energetic complex filled with a mix of people, costumes, traditions, and—Terry’s favorite—a variety of ethnic cuisines. While Xander had been born aboard a starship and grew up eating processed galley food, Terry had a more discriminating palate. And since Xander cared about his partner, he could tolerate fine food for the good of their relationship.
After their ship, the Verne, had picked up a full cargo load of ekti-X from the secret Iswander drop-off point, they flew directly to Ulio Station, which was always their best place to sell stardrive fuel. Because ekti-X was cheap and in such demand, the Verne began receiving frantic bids as soon as they came within comm range. While Xander flew about in search of a docking berth among Ulio’s clustered ships, Terry studied the bids, nodding in satisfaction. “We never have trouble selling our cargo here.”
OK, their competent computerized companion, or compy, announced crisply, “Ekti-X is far less expensive than stardrive fuel extracted by traditional skymining operations on gas giants. And its energy density is greater than standard ekti. Therefore, our commodity remains in demand.”
“The demand isn’t waning,” Xander said. “And I doubt it will.”
In fact, the Iswander Industries fuel was flooding the market, which caused great consternation among the Roamer clans who saw the devaluation of their traditional ekti operations. As they struggled to make a profit, countless Roamers pressured Xander and Terry for any insight into how and where Lee Iswander got his ekti-X so cheaply.
Xander just laughed off the questions, and Terry was naturally tight-lipped; none of the other secondary Kett vessels had any direct contact with Iswander whatsoever. Others could question them all they wanted, but nobody had any clue where ekti-X came from. Their Iswander contact, Elisa Enturi, refused to reveal anything; Terry and Xander would simply deliver a cargo and reap a large profit for Kett Shipping.…
The two men completed their business in less than an hour, selling the entire cargo for ten percent more than the original asking price. Xander now strutted beside his partner as their compy marched in the lead. Terry held on to OK’s smooth polymer shoulder, letting himself be pulled along; an antigrav pack kept his motionless feet suspended just off the deck.
Paralyzed from an accident in his youth, Terry couldn’t use his legs, but that didn’t pose much of a problem in zero gravity. For convenience, Xander kept the Verne’s grav generators switched off, and the two of them were perfectly at home floating aboard the ship. At Ulio Station, however, many of the docked vessels and passageways throughout the ship cluster had gravity at various levels, so Terry relied on OK to tow him along.
Xander saw the nostalgic shine in his partner’s eyes. “Does it feel good to be home? Or are you glad you made your way out of here?”
“Well, I’m glad I found you,” Terry said with a smile. “This place doesn’t feel completely like home anyway. Ulio changes every week as ships come and go, while others dock and stay forever.” He sighed. “It hasn’t been the same since Maria flew off to parts unknown.”
As a teenager, Terry had worked at the station as a starship mechanic; he floated around with a jetpack and an environment suit, tinkering with the external stardrive engines of any wreck that came in for repair. He was so nimble and competent at his job that his coworkers hadn’t even realized at first that he couldn’t walk.
Old Maria Ulio had taken Terry under her wing, and he had worked with her for years, but once Ulio Station became a bustling, self-sufficient hub, Maria got bored with it all. She had her workers repair the battered old Ildiran warliner she had used as her home base for years, said a tearful goodbye to Terry, then flew off by herself with a few compy assistants and plenty of supplies. She had never been seen again.
Ulio Station, meanwhile, remained as bustling as ever.
As the three proceeded toward the star balcony bar inside the refurbished command nucleus of an old Ildiran warliner, OK said, “Do you have an estimate of how long we plan to stay here, sirs? There are fees associated with the docking berth the Verne is using, and there is a waiting list of inbound ships.”
Terry looked at Xander. “We don’t have to rush off, do we? At least three new restaurants opened since the last time we docked—I’d like to try them.”
“We’ll try two of them,” Xander said. “Save one for next time.”
“There’ll be more new ones next time.”
“It’s great to have options.”
“Right, but difficult to choose.”
Xander relented. “All right, with the recent haul, we can afford to stay a full day.”
“And a half.”
“And a half,” Xander agreed, and turned to the compy. “OK, please make the arrangements.”
“Yes, Xander.”
Before they reached the connector passage to the star balcony, a group of Roamers intercepted them in the narrow station corridor. Four men crowded the passageway with no intention of stepping aside. They wore scuffed jumpsuits embroidered with markings from the Duquesne clan, which operated two refurbished skymines on a gas giant—Belliros, if Xander recalled correctly. The Duquesne ekti operations had fallen on hard times, though, because of the flood of cheap Iswander ekti-X being distributed by Kett Shipping.
The three Duquesnes in the back were husky and muscular, as if they had grown up on a heavy-gravity planet. The man in front was the scrawniest, about thirty with sandy hair, a thin face, and a long aquiline nose. Considering his lack of brawn, Xander decided he must be the brains of the group. He identified the man as Aaron Duquesne, the clan’s oldest son and heir apparent to those Belliros skymines, which were rapidly declining in value.
Aaron gave them a smile that had no actual smile behind it. “Xander Brindle, no matter how hard you try, you can’t wipe that smug look off your face.” He turned to look at the three men behind him. “He’s buying everyone drinks tonight, since the Verne made such a profit on this run.”
“I have no problem buying drinks for my friends,” Xander answered with a cocky shrug. “Alas, that doesn’t include you.”
“Please excuse us.” OK stepped politely forward. “We have an appointment.”
“Oh, are we blocking your way?” Aaron said. “That’s a problem.”
Terry looked nervous. “We don’t want any trouble. I can either call Ulio Security or I can call on my friends—and I’ve got a lot of friends here.”
“Ulio must be a friendly place, then,” said Aaron. “And in the spirit of friendship, my cousins and I would very much like to know your source for ekti-X. Where does Iswander Industries get it?”
“Elisa Enturi arranges for delivery, and we distribute it. We don’t push for too many answers. You’d have to ask her.”
Duquesne snorted. “You’re the only ones she talks to.”
“A charming personality wins out every time,” Xander said. “I don’t ask where the ekti-X comes from, and I don’t care.”
“You’re driving the rest of us out of business.”
Xander crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re a Roamer just like me, Aaron Duquesne. You know that the one with the most innovation reaps the most rewards.”
“Brindle is no Roamer clan,” said Aaron. “If you really considered yourself a Roamer, you’d keep your clan Tamblyn name.”
Xander felt a flush of anger. “My mother’s a Tamblyn, and my name is my own business.”
“Your own business?” Aaron said. “But we don’t like your business.”
Behind him, his burly companions pulled out metal wands that telescoped into stiff cudgels.
Terry recoiled and lost his grip on the compy’s shoulder, but his antigrav belt kept his feet suspended a centimeter above the deck. He put a warning tone in his voice. “There’s no brawling allowed on Ulio Station—Maria was very clear about that when she laid down the law. If you’re guilty of assault, you’ll be forbidden from trading here again.”
“Oh, I looked up the rules,” said Aaron. “We have no intention of harming a hair on your pretty little heads—so long as you tell us where ekti-X comes from.”
“Sorry, boys, we honestly don’t know,” Xander said. “Stardrive fuel production is above my pay grade. Iswander has some mysterious new process—and good for him. Given the profits, we don’t ask questions we’re not supposed to ask—and you’re not supposed to ask either.”
With a disappointed frown, Aaron turned to his three cousins. “I was afraid he’d say that. Let’s give him something to think about.”
His three companions snatched OK before Xander could react. The little compy flailed his hands, and the three men hammered him with their metal clubs. One took a vicious swing and battered OK’s head, while another smashed the compy’s shoulders, tearing open the polymer skin; the third man buckled one of the compy’s kneecaps.
OK amplified his voice. “Please stop!”
Xander launched himself off the deck and struck one of the burly men, who caught him easily and slammed him back against a bulkhead. Terry tried to pull himself forward, but he couldn’t find a handhold.
The Duquesnes were mostly done anyway. With a quick succession of blows, they smashed and incapacitated the poor compy. OK lay on the deck, squawking in a voice that degenerated into static.
“Stop, damn you!” Xander yelled. “Enough!”
While two of the men held a thrashing Xander, Aaron took one of the clubs and hammered OK’s artificial face; then he turned with a smile. “You’re right—Ulio Station rules forbid brawling on penalty of banishment. On the other hand, anyone who causes damage to personal property just has to pay a fine.” The gangly man tossed out a handful of credit chips, which clattered on the metal deck. “Here you go. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
Xander tore himself free of the men holding him, and Terry moved forward to grab OK. The compy tried to get up but collapsed against one of the bulkheads—dented, scraped, torn, and unable to stand on one of his legs.
Satisfied with the damage they had done, the Duquesnes retreated. “Remember that, Brindle,” called Aaron. “Take a little more interest in where your profits come from, and we’d be a lot friendlier if you shared your information.” His companions folded around him as they left.
Though he was sick and furious, Xander was unarmed, and he couldn’t fight four men. Terry was not a warrior either. Instead, they tended to the smashed compy. OK’s speakerpatch had been damaged, but he kept trying to make sounds.
“We’ll get you repaired, OK,” Xander said, his voice cracking. This compy had been his copilot since before he’d even met Terry. They had been through a great deal together. “It’s just external damage—a few scuffs, that’s all. We’ll have you patched up and repainted in no time.”
“They’re barbarians!” Terry looked up at him, his face gray. “But they’re correct—Ulio Station law says the punishment for property damage is nothing more than a fine.”
Xander felt nauseated. His parents, Tasia Tamblyn and Robb Brindle—the acting administrators of Kett Shipping—had reluctantly agreed to a trading partnership with Lee Iswander, and profits from the stardrive fuel were too extraordinary to dismiss, but Robb and Tasia were worried that the ekti-X operations were shady dealings. Xander had brushed aside those worries, citing the old adage (which he didn’t really understand) about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. He had remained willfully, and happily, ignorant.
But now …
Simmering with anger, he picked up the damaged compy. OK was incapable of walking, though he made a valiant attempt. “Let’s get him back to the Verne. Fast.”
Terry swallowed hard. “We’ll find OK the best compy repair facility.”
“That’ll be on Earth—back at headquarters.” Xander was sorry Terry wouldn’t get the gourmet dinner he had been promised, but neither of them was hungry anymore.