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Second Octal, Hyperspace
December 5th, 2037
It turned out getting onto the Behemoth was simply a matter of asking. All docked non-merc ships were allowed free access to the ship’s various common areas. Since it was a kilometer and a half across, those common areas were enormous.
Terry was able to read up a bit on Second Octal specifically. Its crew was listed as “Approximately 4,000” and mostly Maki. While he’d seen Maki on Earth, they were a race he wasn’t familiar with, so he looked them up before bed. They’d reminded him of monkeys when he’d first seen them back home. Now, as he looked at the GalNet images, they were more like lemurs. Only these were much bigger, though somewhat smaller than Humans, had split tails, and were also a merc race. “I wonder what they’re doing running big space freighters?” he had wondered before drifting off to sleep.
“You guys ready for a day on the town?” Doc asked at Teddy Roosevelt’s airlock.
“Town?” Terry asked.
“Yeah, these Behemoths are small cities in space,” he said. “I might have slipped over last night for a couple hours, just to look around.”
“You know the crew are Maki, and they’re mercs?” Terry asked. Doc gave him the appraising look again.
“Mercs?” his mom asked, looking at Terry in alarm.
“I knew they were a merc race,” Doc replied. “I’ve been shot at by them a couple times. However, the Maki aren’t like some merc races.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, they’re more like us.”
She had her slate out and was looking at the GalNet image of a Maki. “Doesn’t look a lot like us,” she said. “More like a monkey.”
“Lemur,” Terry corrected.
His mom rolled her eyes. “Same thing.”
“I didn’t say they looked like us, just that their societal structure is more like ours and less like other merc races.” They’d climbed into the ring hallway around Second Octal, where all the ships were docked. This time there were others there. Terry listened to Doc with half his attention as he looked at the aliens. “The Maki society isn’t built around mercs, like the Tortantula or the MinSha.”
“I know what the MinSha are,” she said. Terry glanced at Doc, who winked at him. “What are Tortantula?”
“Giant 10-legged spiders with a gun-wielding chipmunk on their backs,” Terry said. She gasped.
“Close enough,” Doc said. “The point is, their societies are completely structured around a merc life. If you aren’t a merc, you work to support them. Your race gains almost all its income from mercs, and if you aren’t one, you’re a second-class citizen, or worse.”
“How are the Maki different?” Terry asked, also curious. A bunch of lizards, more like snakes, but with six legs, were motivating by. Behind them were tall, Humanoid aliens with water-filled helmets he immediately recognized as Selroth, like the ones on Pegasus.
“I don’t exactly know,” Doc admitted. “Only that they’re a race big into starships, both military and transports. They make warships, too, as well as operate merc space navies.”
“Do they make these?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Doc said. “I don’t think anyone’s made these for eons.”
Terry looked around as they approached the lift from the other day. The ship looked worn, certainly. However, it didn’t look as old as it was supposed to be. How could a ship operate for thousands of years? More, tens of thousands of years.
“Then where did they get them?” Terry asked.
Doc shrugged and punched a code into the lift’s control panel. It flashed blue. Terry had begun to learn color coding wasn’t the same as Earth in many places. Lots of races used blue as an ‘okay’ color, and green as bad. Doc had said once it was because not all aliens bled red blood; many were green. He guessed it made sense.
The lift opened, and Doc put out a hand to delay Terry. He wondered why, but then a massive brightly purple bulk moved out of the elevator. The Oogar’s beady black eyes regarded the much smaller Human’s as it shambled out. It roared, which made his mom squeak in surprise.
“Greetings,” their translators said.
Doc touched his translator and replied.
“Greetings,” he said in reply. Satisfied, the Oogar shambled off.
“I’d hate to hear it angry,” his mom said.
“It doesn’t sound a lot different,” Doc said. “I met a guy who said the Oogar don’t have an ‘indoor voice.’” Chuckling, the three entered the lift. It had probably been a bit crowded with a single Oogar. It fit all three of them handily. Terry tapped the controls, and the doors closed.
“They kinda smell,” Terry said.
“I bet we don’t smell good to them, either,” his mom said. Doc nodded in agreement.
It seemed like a foreign concept to him, until he thought about it. What would the Oogar think of Humans? Hairless monkeys from a backwater world? Oogar were mercs, but had the Oogar been a merc itself? Did it even know they were Human? Every day he spent out in the galaxy, Terry felt like his perceptions were being altered.
No, he thought, not altered. Improved. He was about to tell Doc when the lift slowed to a stop. He noticed immediately they were lighter than before. It was similar to what he’d heard the moon was like, a sixth of a G.
The doors opened, and they shuffle-stepped out. Months of living in space had made his reflexes as flexible as his mind was becoming. If you lived in space, you adapted to varying gravity quickly, or got used to bruises. He didn’t like bruises, so he worked hard to adjust quickly.
The lift doors opened. Terry expected to see a corridor like on Karma Station, maybe a wide promenade. Instead, it was more like the inside of a shopping mall. The area was curved and reminded Terry of a sports stadium. There were aliens everywhere he looked. He’d been expecting mostly Maki, but there were hardly any in sight.
As they moved into the open, there was a large interactive Tri-V. It would have been called an information kiosk in older times. Here it was part display, part directory, and part advertisement. Terry couldn’t put his finger on what the place felt like. His mother did it for him.
“It’s like a cruise ship!” she said, a laugh in her voice.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Doc agreed. “These Behemoths make a lot of their money carrying other ships from system to system. I guess they also make money off the ship’s passengers.”
They quickly learned the area was called the Pavilion by their translators. Terry recalled how the translators worked with a matrix of meanings and only assigned a word if the context was closer. He would have called it a mall.
The space was organized into levels, each one providing different products and services. On the bottom floor where they entered were mostly ship’s services and the most Maki. The busiest was the ship purser’s office, which handled the contracts of carriage between Second Octal and all ships docked for transit. Terry found out the purser also managed the ship’s accounts in relation to cargo and any inside passengers. The latter turned out to number in the thousands as well. Billions moved around the galaxy on various starships. The cheapest way was via a Behemoth.
“They’re more like balloons than airliners on Earth,” Doc said. “You don’t tell a Behemoth where to go, you just climb on and enjoy the ride.”
Also on the first deck was a sizeable dining galley for passengers. You needed an inside ticket to access it. There was a sizeable store where you could buy supplies for your ship as well as passengers, while one more handled booking to extend a trip or arrange future ones. Outside the office was a Tri-V of the galaxy showing hundreds of sparkling yellow dots connected by a vast web of green traces.
“I wonder what it’s for?” Terry wondered.
“Those are all our clans ships,” a Maki who was standing nearby answered. They all turned to look at the alien.
“That’s a lot of ships,” his mom said. Terry nodded.
“How many?” Doc asked.
“Our clan boasts 122 ships,” the Maki said, turning and gesturing at the Tri-V with all the flourish of a ringmaster at the circus. “A full 82 of those are Behemoths, like our beautiful Second Octal. Are you interested in booking further passage?”
“No, thank you,” Doc said, and the Maki bowed before turning away. “Hey,” he said suddenly, and the alien turned back. “Your translator has our language?”
“We have done business with Humans,” the alien said. “It is only good business to be prepared for future business.”
“He thinks we’ll be around a long time,” Terry said after the Maki left.
“Or at least be customers for a long time,” Doc pointed out.
They moved up to the second level of the pavilion and found it contained a vast number of shops like what Terry had seen on Karma Station. Not quite as diverse, but many products were available, from day-to-day living devices such as cooking or cleaning, to electronics. Terry noticed a shop selling slates like the one he’d bought.
“Why do you want to go in there?” Doc asked. “You already have a new slate.”
“I’m curious,” he said. The storefront contained a Tri-V customer interface. To his amazement, it automatically changed to English as soon as he got close to it. “Excellent.” Terry began clicking icons until he found his own model slate, if not a perfect match. He picked it, then gasped at the price. “They want 600 credits for the one I paid 190 for on Karma Station!”
“Nice markup,” Doc said.
“I’ll say,” his mom agreed.
“How can they get away with it?” Terry asked. He looked at the description and, sure enough, it was even the same manufacturer. He couldn’t read the writing, but he recognized the symbol.
“How can they do what?” Doc asked.
“That’s...what’s it called? Scalping!”
“Not really,” Doc said. “Scalping is having something somebody else needs and charging through the nose for it because they have no other choice. And before you say anything, we’re not in such a case here. You can always wait six more days and buy it at our next destination. Regardless, though, there’s no laws in the Union to stop predatory buying or selling practices.”
“Then how do they stop it?”
Doc laughed. “They don’t!”
“How’s that fair?”
“It isn’t,” his mom said.
“You agree with that?” Terry asked her.
“No, of course not. This is just the world we live in now. Besides, I see Doc’s point. If you don’t like the price, go somewhere else. You already found your slate for sale at another place. I bet they’re available all over the galaxy at vastly different prices.” She glanced at Doc and got a nod in agreement. “It looks to me like the Union depends on competition to keep prices down.”
“You’d be right,” Doc said. “It doesn’t always work, of course. There are some things nobody else sells. In which case, the manufacturers suck as much of your blood as they can before giving you the product.”
“But that’s not—”
“Fair,” Doc finished for him. “I know, kiddo. However, minus a governing body like some agency telling you what you can and cannot manufacture, there’s also nothing stopping you from going into business to make the same product cheaper.”
Terry grumbled. “Maybe I’ll just hire some mercs to put you out of business.” He wasn’t expecting the response he got.
“Now you’re thinking the way the Union operates.”
“Wait, you mean that happens?!”
“You bet,” Doc said. “That was one of the jobs we did. One company didn’t like how another company was trying to take away their business, so they hired us to send a message.”
“What happened?” his mom asked.
“Message delivered,” Doc said and winked. “Don’t look at me, the other guys should have hired some of their own mercs.”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “With things operating the way they seem to, everyone must have to hire mercs to protect themselves.”
“They do,” Doc agreed. “How sweet it is.”
“Why doesn’t a big merc ship come along and attack this one?” Terry asked.
“Ah,” Doc said and pointed at him. “Now that’s an interesting subject. This ship is licensed under the Merchants Guild; attacking it would probably be a bad idea for the mercs. Without a contract, they’d be pirates. Which means they wouldn’t be mercs for long. You see, pirates are galactic target practice. Normal ROE don’t apply.”
“ROE?” Terry asked.
“Rules of engagement. However, I think there’ve been wars between clans within the Merchants Guild. In which case, mercs got involved legally.”
“Everything is so confusing,” Terry said, shaking his head.
“Lots of people think the Galactic Union is a huge free-for-all, kinda like the old west. Nothing could be further from the truth. The great guilds sit astride the entire ballgame. The Merc Guild provides firepower and a way to settle the score, or get ahead. The Merchants Guild moves stuff around. Mess with them, and you could find it hard to get from A to B. The Cartography Guild controls the stargates. Don’t pay their fees, you can’t even leave the neighborhood. The Trade Guild manufactures things; upset their applecart and you might find nobody will sell you new equipment. The Information Guild maintains the GalNet and keeps data flowing around the galaxy. Piss them off, and your slate could find its data gone. Then we get to the syndicates, who operate under various guild licenses...”
“Okay, okay,” Terry said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Damn, Doc, where did you learn all this?”
“Out in the galaxy,” the man said and waved his hands in an expansive gesture. “That’s why I agreed to teach the class. Being a merc and surviving means a lot more than just killing aliens and getting paid. If you jump on a starship and go to another part of the galaxy, you damned better know a bit about how things work beyond the barrel of your gun.” He got quiet for a bit. “I hope they found someone good to teach the class after I left.”
“I’m sure they did,” Terry’s mom said, and put a hand on Doc’s muscular arm. The man smiled at her in a way that made Terry happy, while at the same time he missed his dad. Everything was so damned complicated.
“I still think the price is nuts,” Terry said, looking at the display.
“Price too high?” the store’s computer asked in English. “How about this?” The price changed to 500 credits.
“See,” Doc said and winked at him. “How many stores back in Molokai would cut you a 20% discount just because you said their stuff was too expensive?”
“None,” Terry admitted. They walked away, but he could hear the computer calling after him asking if 450 was a better price. Strange world I live in, he thought.
The next level up was designed for the convenience of the passengers, both on and off the ship. Various robotic vendors offered food, drink, and entertainment. There wasn’t an awful lot of entertainment they found interesting. There were a dozen Tri-V galleries, though. Terry had heard about them on Karma Station.
A Tri-V gallery was a big room with dozens of Tri-V projectors. The floors were covered in millions of tiny ball bearings, which could be moved in any direction to simulate walking without moving. The floor could also raise and lower as you walked. The effect was the most immersive virtual reality imaginable. At least, the vendors claimed it was. No Humans took advantage of them because they needed to be programmed for a Human.
They found a food vendor whose kiosk responded in English when they approached. The selections were limited; however, they offered various juices and, amazingly, applesauce.
“Real applesauce?” his mom asked.
“Yeah, looks like it,” Doc said. Then he pointed. “They have corn, too.”
“Why would they have fruit juices, apple sauce, and corn?” Terry wondered.
“Merchant ships make a lot of their money speculating,” Doc explained. “They’ll buy something in one star system on the gamble somebody else will pay more for it than they paid.” He touched the icons and grimaced. “Yeah, they’re winning on this one.”
Terry leaned in to read. The fruit juice was 10 credits a liter, the applesauce 25 credits a liter, and the corn 5 credits a half kilogram.
“Want a million-dollar meal?” Doc asked.
“Corn, applesauce and juice for a million bucks?” she asked, then laughed.
“We’re not on Earth anymore,” he said.
“Money doesn’t work the same,” Terry agreed.
Doc touched the control on a table with a long bench and ordered some of the juice, one liter split between three containers. The table opened a box, and three plastic glasses with brightly colored fluid inside rose up. Terry took one right away and had a sip. His mom’s eyes went wide.
“Mango,” Terry said and smacked his lips. “Ice cold and yummy!”
“I was going to suggest we go carefully,” his mom said darkly.
“They just came from Karma,” Doc reminded her, “one jump from Earth. This is on the trade route. Besides, remember, they knew English. I suspect this clan has traded with Humans a few times already.” He took a drink of his own juice and nodded. “Since they probably paid a credit a ton, profitable transaction, too.”
Terry’s mom looked at the glass for a second, then took a drink, too. Her eyes widened and she moaned. “Oh, good,” she said. All they’d had on Teddy Roosevelt was powdered drinks.
Doc played with the ordering system. In a few seconds, a bowl filled with applesauce rose into view. Everyone laughed when it arrived with straws instead of spoons. “When in Rome,” Doc said and took a messy slurp. Soon they were all trying to suck the thick sauce through the straws and laughing uproariously.
Terry was glad his mom was having a good time and got an idea. While they ate, he used his slate to access the Behemoth’s computer. As he’d thought, all the various services they’d found in the Pavilion were also available through his computer, including the Tri-V gallery. Doc and his mom were chatting as they enjoyed the applesauce; neither of them noticed the grin on his face as he worked on his slate.
The corn proved more difficult. Doc was sure it would be raw, and even if it were sweet corn, it wouldn’t be too tasty. So he dug into the ordering system and found a way to get it cooked. Terry helped by telling him how long it needed to cook and at what temperature, then had to convert the temperature into kelvin so the alien autochef understood.
“Add some salt!” his mom suggested as Doc was finishing.
“Good idea,” Doc said, and found sodium chloride as an option, adding 5 grams to the order during cooking. Then he also remembered something other than straws to eat it with. They waited for a couple minutes while it cooked, not knowing what to expect. Then the little door opened, and a dish piled with steaming corn rose up. The smell was fantastic.
Doc picked up one of the spoons, more like a plastic dugout really, and scooped up some. “Here’s mud in your eye.” He blew on it, popped it into his mouth, and cautiously chewed. “Hmmm...” he said.
“Well?” Terry’s mom demanded. Doc’s serious face cracked into a wide grin.
“It’s sweet corn,” he said, “and perfect.
Terry and his mom dug in with a vengeance. It only took them a couple of minutes to devour the corn. Doc ordered more. At the same time, he found something else and ordered it.
“What’s that?” she asked. He held up a finger for patience. She made a face but waited. Eventually the door opened, and another tray came up. This time it had a pile of corn and some steaming meat. “I didn’t see any meat from Earth anywhere on the menu,” she said.
“No,” he said, “this is Kluup; it’s from somewhere out there. My crew and I had it on a contract a while back. Tastes a little like chicken.” The meat had a slight tint of orange and smelled a little like cooked tomatoes. Both Terry and his mom gave him a dubious look. “Oh, good lord,” he said and speared a piece with the plastic skewer the meat came with. He blew on it and popped it into his mouth, chewing busily. “Okay?”
“Good enough for me,” Terry said and got his own piece. It did taste kind of like chicken, with a slightly unusual sweet quality about it. Before long his mom gave it a try, eventually pronouncing it satisfactory. As the two grownups were finishing off the last of the fruit juice, Terry looked up the Kluup on his slate. It was from the far side of the galaxy. It would take months to get there, probably, and then get back. The thing looked like it was half worm and half squid. Yuck!
They looked around for a bit longer before heading back. Terry glanced at his watch and saw he needed to hurry to take care of Pōkole’s feeding. The orca just got hungrier and hungrier as he grew. But as they left Second Octal and entered their ship again, he got a second to talk to Doc where his mom couldn’t hear.
“Kluup comes from halfway across the galaxy,” he said. “How did you get a chance to try it before?”
“I lied,” Doc said and winked. Terry gawked. “You two were being such candy asses, I had to say something.”
“You could have poisoned us,” Terry said.
“Naw,” Doc said. “If you look closely, the autochef had Human digestive requirements programmed. The meat was compatible.”
“It could have been wrong,” Terry mused.
“Yeah, maybe. But sometimes you have to take a chance in life, or what fun is it?”
* * * * *
