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Authors: Cary Caffrey
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to trade.
The Merchantmen.
These brokers of goods were not aligned with the Merchants Guild or with the Federation of Corporate Enterprises. They considered such stilted bureaucracies an annoyance, an impediment to true free trade.
"Black marketeers," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "You should not trust these men, Ms. Novak."
Sigrid agreed. "I'm not sure we have much choice, Captain."
"With all due respect, Ms. Novak, the smartest course of action is to go in, take what you need, and leave. If you happen to injure a few along the way, I'm sure no one will mind."
"Steal?" Sigrid asked. She found it hard to believe the captain would advocate such a plan.
The captain favored her with a knowing look. "Anything they have to sell is already stolen. Besides, when one considers the sums they will demand of us… Now that is thievery."
Sigrid wondered at the older man. She rather liked Captain Trybuszkiewicz, even if pronouncing his name left her tongue twisted and numb. He hadn't always been a freighter captain. In fact, he'd been a commodore in the Kimuran Naval Forces, commanded an entire cruiser division of his own. But all that had changed when the Council had orchestrated the coup against the Lady Hitomi. They had intervened in her affairs, taken her company, her world. Captain Trybuszkiewicz had been one of the first to defect and join with her. It had taken little effort to convince his own crews to follow. These same men and women now crewed the four aging transport ships in service to New Alcyone. Their devotion and dedication to the Lady Hitomi amazed Sigrid. Only their professionalism and attention to duty impressed her more.
"You don't like them," Sigrid said. "These Merchantmen. "
"At my age there are few people I like. Fewer that I trust. I trust only that these people are not worth the spit I use to polish my boots. You must be mindful of them and always keep your hands on your purse."
"I don't have a purse." It was true. Sigrid had never carried a purse or a handbag.
The captain smiled.
"We're approaching the transfer station," the helmsman reported.
Captain Trybuszkiewicz nodded. "Slow to 42,000 kph. Signal the dock master. And don't let me hear any nonsense about traffic delays. I want priority docking."
"Aye, sir."
Sigrid moved toward the forward view port, eager to catch her first view of Konoe Station. It was much smaller than Vincenze, much simpler in its design. It didn't appear much larger than the orbital lift platforms in Panama. Few ships were in orbit; the small outpost appeared a cold and friendless place, a dull metallic disc drifting alone in the barren wastes of deep space.
"What on Earth are those?" Sigrid asked. She spied several vehicles moving quickly amongst the sparse traffic. Too small and too fast to be pilot ships or tugs, they danced in and around the waiting ships, the flares from their thrusters making them look like fireflies in the dark.
"Are they service vehicles?"
The captain laughed, his broad shoulders shaking, causing him to wheeze and then cough. "You'll find no service vehicles at Konoe Station, Ms. Novak. These things—they are the toys of children, boys."
"Joy riders," Andrzej Topa explained; he was the ship’s chief engineer. "Troublemakers and layabouts. They take old maneuvering thrusters—engines, anything—strap seats on them, blast themselves to oblivion… Menace to navigation, if you ask me."
Sigrid looked closer, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."
But he wasn't. Sigrid zoomed in with her optical module and scanned the speeding vehicles more closely. The chief was correct. She couldn't believe it; she'd never seen anything like it. These joy riders were insane. The vehicles appeared as nothing more than acceleration couches strapped to rocket motors; the men piloting them wore only pressure suits with no other protection against the elements. They seemed to be racing, performing laps around the station, using ships as
The Merchantmen.
These brokers of goods were not aligned with the Merchants Guild or with the Federation of Corporate Enterprises. They considered such stilted bureaucracies an annoyance, an impediment to true free trade.
"Black marketeers," Captain Trybuszkiewicz said. "You should not trust these men, Ms. Novak."
Sigrid agreed. "I'm not sure we have much choice, Captain."
"With all due respect, Ms. Novak, the smartest course of action is to go in, take what you need, and leave. If you happen to injure a few along the way, I'm sure no one will mind."
"Steal?" Sigrid asked. She found it hard to believe the captain would advocate such a plan.
The captain favored her with a knowing look. "Anything they have to sell is already stolen. Besides, when one considers the sums they will demand of us… Now that is thievery."
Sigrid wondered at the older man. She rather liked Captain Trybuszkiewicz, even if pronouncing his name left her tongue twisted and numb. He hadn't always been a freighter captain. In fact, he'd been a commodore in the Kimuran Naval Forces, commanded an entire cruiser division of his own. But all that had changed when the Council had orchestrated the coup against the Lady Hitomi. They had intervened in her affairs, taken her company, her world. Captain Trybuszkiewicz had been one of the first to defect and join with her. It had taken little effort to convince his own crews to follow. These same men and women now crewed the four aging transport ships in service to New Alcyone. Their devotion and dedication to the Lady Hitomi amazed Sigrid. Only their professionalism and attention to duty impressed her more.
"You don't like them," Sigrid said. "These Merchantmen. "
"At my age there are few people I like. Fewer that I trust. I trust only that these people are not worth the spit I use to polish my boots. You must be mindful of them and always keep your hands on your purse."
"I don't have a purse." It was true. Sigrid had never carried a purse or a handbag.
The captain smiled.
"We're approaching the transfer station," the helmsman reported.
Captain Trybuszkiewicz nodded. "Slow to 42,000 kph. Signal the dock master. And don't let me hear any nonsense about traffic delays. I want priority docking."
"Aye, sir."
Sigrid moved toward the forward view port, eager to catch her first view of Konoe Station. It was much smaller than Vincenze, much simpler in its design. It didn't appear much larger than the orbital lift platforms in Panama. Few ships were in orbit; the small outpost appeared a cold and friendless place, a dull metallic disc drifting alone in the barren wastes of deep space.
"What on Earth are those?" Sigrid asked. She spied several vehicles moving quickly amongst the sparse traffic. Too small and too fast to be pilot ships or tugs, they danced in and around the waiting ships, the flares from their thrusters making them look like fireflies in the dark.
"Are they service vehicles?"
The captain laughed, his broad shoulders shaking, causing him to wheeze and then cough. "You'll find no service vehicles at Konoe Station, Ms. Novak. These things—they are the toys of children, boys."
"Joy riders," Andrzej Topa explained; he was the ship’s chief engineer. "Troublemakers and layabouts. They take old maneuvering thrusters—engines, anything—strap seats on them, blast themselves to oblivion… Menace to navigation, if you ask me."
Sigrid looked closer, her eyes wide in disbelief. "You have got to be kidding me."
But he wasn't. Sigrid zoomed in with her optical module and scanned the speeding vehicles more closely. The chief was correct. She couldn't believe it; she'd never seen anything like it. These joy riders were insane. The vehicles appeared as nothing more than acceleration couches strapped to rocket motors; the men piloting them wore only pressure suits with no other protection against the elements. They seemed to be racing, performing laps around the station, using ships as
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