A roiling muddle of thoughts filled Miguel Galluzzi’s head as the shuttle’s pitch changed, g-force pressing him down in the copilot’s seat as Ensign Naftali placed them on approach to Port Authority.
Ahead the blue expanse of Donovan’s ocean was broken by the continental mass; the old impact crater made it look like a bite had been taken out of the coast. They were shooting through clouds now. Flashes of cumulus that momentarily blotted the view.
Galluzzi might have been an old space dog—and he had to maintain his decorum—but inside he bubbled with excitement. This, after all, was the culmination of everything. The entire purpose of space flight. He was living the dream that had filled human imagination all the way back to the moment the first hominin looked up at the stars and wondered.
For that one moment, it didn’t matter that Ashanti’s voyage here had been disastrous. If anything, knowing how close they’d all come to dying made this arrival even more fulfilling.
To get to this point, Galluzzi had crossed thirty light-years of space, lived for nearly three years “outside” of the universe. Brought his ship, the survivors, and cargo to this distant world.
G-force increased as the shuttle cupped air, the roar of it loud through the hull. Then the nose dropped, Naftali caressing the thrusters as he crossed the coast, put them into a glide over a vegetation-dotted landscape, the colors oddly vivid compared with Earth.
The shuttle slowed into a hover, and Naftali eased it down. Galluzzi caught sight of another A-7 parked off to the side of a stack of shipping containers. Then a billow of dust spewed out, and the shuttle settled onto its landing skids.
“Welcome to Donovan, Captain,” Naftali told him as he spooled the thrusters down.
Galluzzi could feel the change through his seat. Planetary gravity. So different from the angular acceleration that served as a surrogate aboard ship.
I am on a distant world.
For a moment he wanted to giggle, to shake his fists with delight. Didn’t, of course. He was the captain. Captains didn’t do those sorts of things.
Even if they had survived the kind of spacing he had.
Rising, he emerged from the command deck hatch and crossed aft through the cargo-packed main cabin to where Windman opened the aft ramp and let it drop.
The acrid smell left by the thrusters gave way to fresh air as Galluzzi minced his steps down the ramp. Gravity, after all these years, was a tricky thing. He could feel the strain in his muscles.
And then he was out in the light, blinking, aware of the air on his skin and its incredible perfumed scent. The direct heat from Capella was a marvel, the light so bright it hurt his eyes. In wonder, he extended his hand to the breeze, feeling it trickle over his fingers. Eyes closed, he leaned his head back to the sunlight; for a moment, with breath going in and out of his lungs, he savored the miracle of fresh air.
The whine of machinery began to seep through his consciousness. Opening his eyes, he forced himself back to reality.
“Miguel!” Benj Begay called. The Advisor/Observer came striding across the landing field. The man wore a freshly pressed suit. Something obviously retrieved from one of the crates of personal possessions that had been locked away in cargo. Begay might have just stepped out of an office on Transluna. The professional cut of the clothing, shining a metallic blue in the light, looked oddly out of place against the background of dirt, shipping crates, and the high fence surrounding the domes.
“Benj. Good to see you.”
“What’s the word on the ship?” Begay stepped close, shaking Galluzzi’s hand as if it had been years instead of days since they’d seen each other.
“Got Deck Three cleaned out. I wouldn’t leave until that had been taken care of.”
Benj’s expression soured. “I can’t imagine the kind of . . . Well, was it bad?”
“Call it macabre, grisly, insane . . . Hey, words don’t convey the kind of things . . .” He shook his head. “Forget it. The whole deck’s sterilized. Stripped down to the hull.” He looked around at where forklifts were whining and moaning as they lifted shipping containers. “What’s happening here?”
“Getting the first loads out of Ashanti now that Corporate Mine has been taken care of and the Maritime Unit has been happily dropped out on their reef. Figure that if you’re done with Deck Three, with the additional crew to help, we can have the Cargo Deck emptied within another couple of weeks. Most of what you see here is ready to be shipped up. Loaded and sent back to Solar System.”
“Given what the Supervisor’s got floating up in orbit, and the number of containers I see here, we’re not even going to come close to taking it all.”
If I can even stomach the thought of spacing again.
“I’ve got a manifest of what goes first. Miguel, you’re not going to believe it.”
“Believe what?”
“The wealth.” Begay took his arm. “Come on. I’ve got the manifest on my tablet. Let me take you on a stroll through town. Buy you a drink and the finest meal you’ve ever eaten. Then I’ll brief you on what’s at stake.”
Galluzzi let Benj take the lead, followed him through a huge gate just before a giant hauler wallowed its way past, cloaking him with a light coating of dust. To his amazement, a man dressed in quetzal hide and coarse cloth stood guard with a rifle. And, yeah, he’d heard. Seeing it, however, was shocking.
“What’s that?” Galluzzi hooked a thumb at the departing hauler.
“Clay,” Benj told him. “Makes the finest sialon in the galaxy. As if that means shit. Most of those containers out there are full of it. Enough cubic kilometers to fabricate a dozen Freelander-sized ships. But forget the clay. It’s inconsequential.”
“What? That’s why they founded Port Authority here in the first place.”
“Those containers up in orbit? They’re full of beryllium, rhodium, cerium, terbiums, ruthenium. All being kept pristine in vacuum. And then there’s the gems, like nothing Earth has ever produced. After that, the gold, silver, platinum and the like are almost boring.”
Looking around at the central avenue just past the admin dome, Galluzzi asked, “When do we get to the good part of town?”
“You’re here.” Benj spread his arms to take in the entirety of the graveled north-south thoroughfare. “I give you the Transluna of Capella III.”
Galluzzi’s brain stumbled at that. He saw weathered domes interspersed with buildings made of stone, timbers, and some sort of plaster. Barrels, pieces of equipment, drying racks, little gardens, hand-painted signs, everything was a jumble, right down to the mismatched light poles that lined the street.
The people ambling past were just as bizarre. The colors, the outlandish cut and style of the clothes, the rainbow-effect quetzal hide, the wild and unkempt hair styles. Most men were bearded. Not to mention the big floppy hats and guns. So many guns. Hard to think that they hadn’t all murdered each other upon the outbreak of the first discord. Even the women looked like cutthroats.
“This is the richest planet in the galaxy?” Galluzzi asked.
“Sum and total,” Benj told him. “Me, I can’t wait to get out of here. Even if it means shipping back aboard Ashanti, but I’ll get to that in a bit. Want to see the worse parts of town?”
“I think I’m fine with first impressions.”
A loud bang made him jump. Turning, he realized it came from the building with GUNSMITH burned into the curious wood sign over the door.
“They build and fix firearms. Sell them to anyone, can you imagine? I mean, you could just walk in there and buy a rifle. No questions asked, no one watching.”
“Insane!”
“The whole place is, Miguel.” Benj shook his head. “It’s one thing to hear that they’re a bunch of libertarians. But once you set foot down here? Realize that, no shit, there really isn’t any government to speak of? I mean seriously. No one takes care of these people. They’re completely on their own. What kind of insanity is that?”
“Sounds scary.”
“Yeah.” Benj motioned. “Come on. After years of rations, I promised you a meal the likes of which you’ve never eaten. They might be a bunch of lunatics, but, by damn, can they cook!”
“What’s the Supervisor say about all this?” Galluzzi tried to take in a whole new order of shabby as he walked beside Benj. “Why hasn’t she restored order here?”
“According to the story, she tried. Quickly figured out it would be open warfare, and she’d have to kill them all to reestablish Corporate control. Now, that said, Aguila herself is off the rails if you ask me. She and her Corporate Mine are little better than the local savages.”
“You been down there?”
“I have. They might call themselves Corporate, but it’s in name only. You ask me, it’s a sort of co-op. But one that’s corrupted by Port Authority’s cash economy. Miguel, there’s no redistribution here. Even Aguila’s people, they’re rich in their own wealth. What they call plunder. And they’re a clannish bunch. You say anything critical of Aguila, they’re ready to reach down your throat and pull your lungs out through your mouth.”
“What’s Dek say about all this?”
“Dek?” Benj laughed almost hysterically. “I never knew that insanity was infectious, but he’s gone as crazy as the rest of them. Figured that as a Taglioni, he should have come uncorked at first sight of this place. Instead, he’s out in the bush, like he’s fallen headlong into the absurdity that is Donovan.”
Benj led him to a dome with benches out front. “This is Inga’s. The local drinking and eating establishment. Well, there’s the cafeteria, but the name pretty much says it. Down the street, The Jewel is a casino and whorehouse. One of two brothels if you can believe it, but that’s a story for another time.”
Galluzzi stepped inside to find the floor in need of sweeping and followed Benj down into a subterranean room with a stone floor and long tables crowded by benches.
Benj found a spot in the back, off to the side, and told the young man who walked over, “Two of the lunch specials and two glasses of the amber ale.”
The waiter said, “Uh, you’re Skulls. You got cash or plunder?”
With careful fingers, Benj placed a coin on the table. “That’s a ten. That enough?”
“You got it,” the lanky twentysomething told him, turning to bellow, “Two specials, two amber ales.” Then he was off to a table full of hatted, cloak-wearing, pistol-packing locals up front.
Galluzzi just stared at the coin, having never seen the like. Finally asked, “Why didn’t we just stand up and shout?”
“Some of us try to cling to the illusion of gentlemanly conduct.”
Galluzzi threw his head back, laughing with gusto for the first time in how long? “Hard to believe this place is for real.”
“Oh, it is.”
“What do you hear about the Unreconciled?”
“Guess they’re out in some distant research station. The latest news is that the Prophets got turned into raving morons because they ate other people’s brains. Some sort of protein malfunction that eats holes in gray matter. Spongiform encephalitis.” Benj barely suppressed a shiver. “Damn, but I’m glad to be rid of them.”
Galluzzi grunted.
Benj fixed him with a hard stare. “Miguel, I need to know. Once the cargo is loaded, how soon do you expect to space?”
Galluzzi leaned back, experienced a quivering in his heart. “I don’t know, Benj. It’s going to depend.”
“On what?”
“The condition of the ship and crew. What the Supervisor orders. I don’t know. Just how we all feel.”
“How we feel? You heard anything I’ve said? This place is a lunatic’s asylum. The closest thing to Corporate order is Aguila’s mine. And there’s nothing there. Just a mine, barracks, and a cafeteria. This”—he waved around—“is the best this shithole has to offer.”
“Benj, take a breath. Listen to me. You were there. You know what kind of condition my people are in. It’s been ten years. We almost died. Most of them are out of contract. If I post an order that we’re spacing as soon as we’re loaded, half of them will refuse. The half that I order aboard will hate me for cutting their shore leave. . . . And it’s not like murder hasn’t been committed on Ashanti before.”
Benj rubbed his face with the flats of his hands. The old gesture of frustration having grown so aching familiar over the years. “Miguel, do you understand? We’re talking about the kind of wealth that will make us all famous. Look back in history. The Spanish treasure fleets of galleons? The Venetian merchants of the Renaissance? They are nothing compared to the splash Ashanti will make when she’s unloaded. Your photo will be holoed from one side of Solar System to the other.”
Right. They’ll have a face to put to the name. “So that’s what a monster looks like. He’s the one who left the cannibals to die.”
Galluzzi asked, “And you, my friend?”
Benj’s lips twitched before he said, “Who knows? Supervisor of Transluna? It wouldn’t be out of the question.”
“What if Aguila wants to go back? Take her own wealth. Put herself at the forefront of the discovery.”
Benj’s expression went tight. “I guess we’ll just have to wait.” A beat. “As the locals say, ‘Welcome to Donovan.’”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning anything can happen.”
Not that it mattered to Miguel Galluzzi. What did was the question that bounced around inside his head: Can I space again? Do I even want to?