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Karma Station, Karma Star System, Cresht Region, Tolo Arm
October 2nd, 2037
“Sergeant Tina?” Terry asked as they walked.
“Just Tina, kid.”
“Okay, Tina. What the hell was that all about?”
The older woman laughed and flipped her short blond hair over one shoulder before answering. “We—Humans, that is—and the MinSha don’t have a good relationship.”
“They blew up a lot of people,” Terry said.
“And not without provocation,” she agreed. “However, they lost two troopers; they didn’t have to kill a couple million. That kind of soured our relationship from the beginning. Well, since day one, Asbaran Solutions has taken every contract they can get that lets them kill MinSha, even if they lose money.”
“That’s just one Horseman though,” Terry pointed out.
“Aliens don’t differentiate one hairless ape from another very well.”
“Ah,” he said. They walked on for a bit before he said anything else. “Were we in danger? I mean, really?”
“Humans are always in danger off Earth, young man.” She looked down at him. “Don’t forget that, okay?” He nodded. “Seriously, most aliens don’t believe life is nearly as important as we do. To the bugs, glassing Iran was just tit-for-tat. We killed two of theirs, they killed two million of ours.”
“But aren’t we making it worse by being mercs?”
“Maybe,” she admitted, nodding slightly. “But some believe if we don’t learn to fight them, we might not be around for long.”
“We learned in school there are rules against that since we joined the Union.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said in mock seriousness. “Rules, right.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Sorry, but you have to understand that rules are made to be broken. You only get in trouble if you get caught.”
“Won’t the Peacemakers punish someone who kills us?”
“The Peacemaker Guild are a weird bunch,” Tina said. “Who’d have thought a libertarian society with fewer rules than a street fight would have all powerful law enforcement. Shit, kid, they don’t even have a single jail in the Union, did you know that?” He shook his head that he didn’t. “If you do something the Peacemakers can ding you for, you either pay a hefty price, or...”
“Or what, Tina?”
“You pay the ultimate price. All I know is, don’t even screw around when there’s a new rule.”
“What rule?”
“Well, the rules have always been; One, don’t step on Superman’s cape. Two, don’t piss into the wind.” Terry giggled at that. “Three, don’t take the mask off the Lone Ranger. Now the fourth rule is don’t piss off a Peacemaker.”
“I’ll remember that,” he said. She gave him a rueful grin that made him wonder if she meant it. He’d have to do some reading on the Peacemakers, now that he had a full GalNet node at his disposal.
They approached a long line of carts set up in the promenade. These weren’t permanent and weren’t selling big things. It looked like they were meant to deal with tourists. I’m a tourist, he decided, and he slowed down to look over each cart. Tina stayed within a few meters and let him find his own way.
The first few seemed to specialize in food and drinks. Terry knew so little of the written languages he had to go by what he heard from vendors or customers. His translator was on automatic, and it converted whatever it heard and was capable of rendering into English. The tiny device could translate more than 100 simultaneous conversations. He’d learned that from his studies on Union pinplants. If he possessed pinplants, he could have programmed them to sort the multitude of conversations to search for something he was interested in, like his name or species being mentioned.
Lacking pinplants, Terry was forced to use his own perception to pick up on what was being said. He knew most of the foods wouldn’t be palatable to him, or worse, could be poisonous. Human digestive systems were one of the most delicate, he’d heard.
He continued past those vendors and came across one selling guns. Right out in the open, racks upon racks of guns, ammo, and a case full of what looked like grenades! He stopped and stared. There wasn’t even a living attendant, just a robot and a slate to enter your order and pay. Tina noticed he’d stopped and looked at him.
“You’ve never seen a robot kiosk before?” she asked.
“Those are guns! And grenades!”
“Yup.”
“But what if I wanted to buy a gun, a kid?”
“Go for it.”
His jaw fell open and he gawked at her. “But...”
“But what, junior? This isn’t Earth, not everything is against the law, and there aren’t cameras on every street corner watching you. Karma Station is a trade zone and a merc zone. A lot like the startowns around starports; only Union laws hold sway, and there ain’t many of those. Don’t they teach you this in school?”
“Yeah, but...”
“But what?”
“I guess it’s not quite the same as seeing it for myself.”
“There have been people on Earth who think like this for a long time. They’re called libertarians. Whatever you want to do is okay, as long as you don’t try to hurt other people.”
“But if I buy that gun, I could hurt someone.”
“And you’d be shot dead in short order. Look around you, kid. I mean, really look.”
Terry made a face but looked around at all the aliens walking by. He wasn’t sure what Tina had expected him to see until he noticed one had a gun. Then another, and another, and another! It looked like more were armed than weren’t. A lot of them he was certain weren’t merc races. Maybe even most.
“It looks like almost everyone has a gun!”
“Bingo,” Tina said and mussed his hair. “I bet all of them do; you just can’t see the ones who conceal.”
“Aren’t there any cops at all?”
“Karma employs several merc companies for security,” she said, “though they’re only lightly armed. You don’t want anyone pulling off a major firefight inside a big pressurized tube in space.”
“What if those MinSha had attacked you back in the pit?”
“Then we would have fought, though only with small arms and laser pistols. Don’t want to piss off the neighbors.” She winked at him, and he shook his head.
“It doesn’t sound safe,” he said.
“Nowhere in the universe is safe, kid.”
Terry grunted. Doc had said the exact same thing quite a while ago. He’d shrugged it off, but it looked like the man had been more honest than Terry had thought.
Out of curiosity, he went to the kiosk and scrolled through the selections on the slate. He could read the numbers, though not most of the words. He recognized an ‘audible’ selection and pressed it. The slate spoke in various languages. When his translator understood one, he pressed the icon again.
“Welcome to Z’hhk’l’s Weapons Emporium. Please select your category of weapon.” It went on to list those categories: blade, blunt force, ballistic, energy weapon, high explosive, and a selection of defensive armors. The last was short.
Terry clicked on handgun, and pictures began to scroll by. Like Doc had said, their designs weren’t for Human hands. Far from it. He picked one anyway. The gun enlarged to take up the entire screen, and a Tri-V popped up showing the various features. The kiosk said it had three in inventory, and the price was 75 credits, or 110 including a hard-shell box, two extra magazines, and 150 rounds of armor-piercing ammunition.
“Thing has quite a kick,” Tina said over his shoulder.
“I was just curious,” Terry said, his face turning red.
“Don’t blame you. That gun is favored by the HecSha. They look a little like bipedal dinosaurs with flattened heads and a bad attitude.” She took out a slate and tapped on it. A second later the Tri-V came on with a HecSha displayed. Obviously a merc, the alien carried all manner of guns, knives, and explosive devices. It looked at him and sneered, its mouth full of blunt yellowed teeth.
“Ugh,” Terry said. He looked back at the gun and noted the price again. Doc had given him enough credits to buy a dozen of them. He began to understand what the man had meant by credits not being the same in value out there as dollars.
“Come on kid, if you want a gun, we’ll get you one.”
“No!” he said a little too defensively. “I don’t want a gun, I was just...”
“Seeing if I was full of shit?” Terry spluttered. “It’s cool, I usually am full of shit.” He looked up at her, and she winked. Terry laughed, and they continued down the line of kiosks. In a little bit, he came to one he liked.
“Hey, now this is something!” he said. The kiosk had a Tri-V running over the booth showing a variety of slates and other computer equipment. “Do you think I can afford one?” he asked Tina.
“How much you got? I doubt dollars will convert out here; we’re not common enough yet.” Terry took out the 1,000 credit chit and showed her. “Woah, dude! Where’d you get that?”
“Doc gave it to me for working so hard while he was gone.”
“Guy likes you, that’s a nice little payment. Let’s see...” she said. “I don’t want to sit here all day while we do this slowly.” She used her slate to interface with the kiosk. The computer was linked wirelessly to her own translator, allowing for text conversion. She knelt down so he could see the written inventory and prices.
The kiosk had slates ranging from ones it called ‘Routine’ to ones that were ‘Industrial.” Terry clicked on Routine, and it showed a list, varying by size and configuration. He’d only seen the ones a few aliens carried and that his father had bought for the institute. They’d all been rectangular and transparent. He realized that was only one of a thousand variations. Many were hexagonal, or hourglass shaped. They even had some that were as thin as a pencil.
“I didn’t know there were so many,” he said, shaking his head.
“You just want one for yourself?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“Let me.” She clicked on the slate, and in a second three were displayed. All were similar to the ones he’d seen his mom using, though in three different colors, and one wasn’t transparent. However, the cheapest was, and labeled as ‘reconditioned’. He was used to that on Earth; a lot of high-end electronics were recycled. He clicked on the one at the bottom of the list. It was 19 credits.
“That’s it?” he wondered.
“Sure,” she said. “There’s probably a thousand companies making a million of those every day. They’re like water bottles back on Earth, cheap and everywhere.”
Terry clicked on a new version of the same slate. It was 53 credits. “Can you show me one of the Industrial type?”
“Sure,” Tina said. She clicked a few times. The selection there wasn’t as large. “These aren’t always made to be easily portable,” she said and pointed to the dimensions. “That’s translated into English meters.”
Terry could see what she meant; most were pretty big. The smallest was 34 centimeters by 19. He conjured up a mental image. It would be a little bigger than his tablet back on Teddy Roosevelt. He clicked price. That model would cost 198 credits. He looked at Tina and grinned.
“Go for it,” she said, “it’s your money after all!”
Terry gleefully pressed the select button. A little window lit up on the side of the kiosk where a door opened. He placed the chit inside, and the door closed. “What if it doesn’t give me the slate?” he asked suspiciously.
“That would be how you got your expensive robotic kiosk shot full of holes,” Tina said and winked. “Remember that HecSha? What do you think it would do if a slate didn’t pop out?”
Terry laughed and imagined the alien merc eating the kiosk. Crunch, crunch, yum!
The machine displayed some words on the screen above where he’d put the money. Tina held up her slate for him. “Processing Request,” it said.
“It’s probably verifying the credit chit is genuine. Takes a few seconds.” The machine beeped and new words appeared.
“Would you prefer cash or credit in change?”
“Cash,” Terry said. Tina pressed the selection for him. The same door he’d put his money into reopened. Inside was a box and a small stack of credits. He took the slate and tucked it under his arm while counting the credits. There were eight 100 credit chits, and two little 1 credit chits.
“Are you satisfied with your transaction?” the machine asked.
Terry opened the plastic box and found exactly what he’d ordered inside; a shiny new silver-backed slate. He found the activation plate at the bottom, just like on his mom’s, and pressed it. The slate came alive with sliding alien script.
“We can get it configured in a minute,” Tina said, then pressed “Yes” to answer the machine.
“Thank you for your transaction.”
“Holy cow!” Terry said, and turned the slate over and over in his hands.
“Score, kid,” Tina said. “Come on, there’s a little place just over there that serves drinks. I have a program code for a few you might like. We can have a drink, and I’ll get that slate working in English.”
Terry nodded and followed her like a puppy dog, never taking his eyes off the amazing machine he’d just bought for only 20% of his money. He was also thinking, What else can I get while I’m here?
* * * * *
