Trawler Trash: A humorous space opera (Reassembly Book 2), page 15
Sensing the shift in the room’s temperature, Doc scrambled to downplay the topic. “Oh, very little. Simply that the attack was unprovoked, and that great King Rambar lost his life. It seems no one is beyond the Zelnads’ reach.”
Their salads gone with the exception of Voprot’s, the servants reappeared with even larger plates and revealed their contents in the same fashion. It was a bird with four wings — presumably the same flocking birds they marveled at as they flew to the compound. A grainy stuffing spilled forth from its body cavity. It actually looked and smelled quite delicious, but they hadn’t struck Geddy as game birds.
“Yellow-crested caricoot marinated in dark ale with wild cesave stuffing,” announced Nandra with an elegant wave of her hand, oblivious to the fraught conversation in progress.
“Is that what my daughter told you? That it was the Zelnads?” spat Bransel.
“Well, I … um …” Doc glanced over at Oz, and Komfeti exchanged a dark look with Bransel and Nandra.
“The truth, Dr. Tardigan, is that we don’t know who bombed the palace or why,” affirmed Komfeti.
Geddy wasn’t always good at reading people, but he knew a lie when he heard it. If Oz knew, they knew.
“But who would’ve done it if not the Nads?” asked Geddy.
Nandra cleared her throat and smiled pleasantly. “Surely this isn’t a conversation for the dinner table. Please, luxuriate in the delicate flavors of your …” The tink-tink of utensils drew Geddy’s attention to Denk, who was shoving forkfuls of the bird into his face. Voprot’s plate was already empty. The women across the table all looked like they might barf. “… caricoot.”
“I don’t know what this is, Mrs. Nargonis, but it sure eats good,” Denk said with his mouth full, bits of bird stuck to the sides of his fuzzy little face. He hadn’t heard a single word of the charged exchange.
Komfeti locked eyes with Geddy. “The Zelnads would never attack us. If anything, they’d come to our rescue.”
“What?” Geddy asked. “Why?”
“Because they’re our customers,” Bransel replied. “And very good ones. Other than overcharging for novaspheres, we have nothing to fear from them.”
— Temeruria is in bed with the Zelnads?
The entire crew stared at him as though he’d unwittingly spilled some awful secret, but was utterly confident in his assertion. After a moment, his face softened with understanding.
“Judging from your expressions, it seems you’ve bought into the narrative that the Zelnads are some kind of ‘evil empire,’” he said, supplying air quotes.
Geddy barked a laugh. “Narrative! That’s rich.”
Oz’s father bristled. “You disagree. Please, edify us.”
— Walked into that one, genius.
— Shit.
“They’ve been buying up tukrium for decades, but no one’s ever seen more than a ship or two. A few weapons here and there. Where’s it all going?”
Bransel gave an indifferent shrug. “Temeruria refines and sells the strongest metal in the galaxy. What becomes of it after that is no more our concern than a baker to his bread.”
“Speaking of bread, could someone pass the butter?” asked Denk, not slowing down in the least.
“It doesn’t concern you that a secret society with unlimited funds is buying nearly all the tukrium in the galaxy? That they control the novasphere supply?”
“We know all we need to about the Zelnads,” Bransel explained. “They don’t cause trouble and they pay their bills on time.”
“Uncle Rambar didn’t trust them,” said Oz gravely. “Maybe neither should you.”
“Says the girl who supposedly went off to fight them,” Nandra hissed, silencing her. “Tell us, Osmiya, about this Zelnad scourge you ran off to defend us all against? How many did you and the Xellarans kill?”
“It wasn’t like that.” Oz stared at her mother over the tops of her eyes.
“Then what was the point? And now you’re a glorified … trash collector,” she said, shaking her head in disgust. “In a flying junkyard with three men and whatever that is.” She pointed directly at Voprot.
— Well, this is going off the rails.
When it came to details about her past, Oz was a cipher. As far as he could recall, she’d never spoken of her life on Temeruria, her family, or her time on Xellara. Did she fear this same judgment from others? These people were nightmares. If she couldn’t muster her own defense, someone would have to do it for her.
“First of all, there’s only one moron on my ship, and you’re looking at him. Second, your daughter is the best fighter I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot. And she’s also selfless, and kind, and perceptive.”
Geddy stole a glance at Oz. A corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“Yeah!” Denk said, hitting his fist on the table. “And she knows right from wrong.”
“Which is more than I can say for you people,” added Geddy. “She’s the glue that holds our ship together. Besides the actual glue, I mean.”
“The un-flyable ship from which we are presently extracting a pirate harpoon?” Bransel sneered.
— So much for asking them for money.
— No, not looking good on that front.
“That’s not the … look, I appreciate the help. I do. But all this …” Geddy gestured around him at the high ceilings, the piles of food, and the muffled clank of pots from the kitchen. “This was built with Zelnad money. And I don’t want any part of it. Starheart out.”
Geddy stood so abruptly his chair toppled and the pointy tip at the top snapped right off. Without bothering to right it, he strode toward the door.
— Starheart out?
— It felt right in the moment.
— You know you can’t really go anywhere, right?
— It’s the principle of the thing, Eli. It’s the principle.
Denk and Voprot follow suit.
“Voprot out, too.”
— It actually worked there!
Tardigan dabbed at his mouth as he rose. “Perhaps there are people in this world who deserve more shame than I. Good evening to you.” He still took the time to re-fold his napkin and push his chair back in.
Bransel, Nandra, and their guests were dumbstruck by such a rejection of their hospitality. Their heads swiveled to Oz, who was still in her chair. As Geddy reached the door, he stopped and looked back at her, giving a nod to remind her of their earlier conversation. He wasn’t much for giving advice, but Oz had been right to leave this place. A deep rot had taken hold just beneath its bucolic veneer, and none of them should have any part of it.
“Some things never change,” Oz said, getting up herself and quickly wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
Nandra rose, indignant, ringing the bell violently. “Osmiya, you are a princess of Temeruria and we are your family! Return to the table at once!”
Oz spun back toward her just short of the door. “I’m no princess, and you’re not my family.” She nodded over her shoulder toward Geddy and the crew “They are.”
“Your ship will be ready by first light,” Bransel called after her. “I suggest you be on it before the welds have cooled.”
Oz spun and threw a fork she’d concealed in her hand, so quickly and accurately that it was already stuck in her father’s bird before anyone saw what she did. Bransel stared incredulously down at the fork, then back at her.
“You want to know how many Zelnads I’ve killed? So far, none. But the night is young.” She marched through the door and down the hall.
“Does this mean we’re not staying for dessert?” Denk asked, falling in after her.
Geddy patted him on the back and sucked in air through his teeth. “Afraid so, buddy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
NAD IT UP
The morning after their contentious and troubling meal with the Nargonis clan, they were escorted back to the spaceport by Bransel’s personal pilot/babysitter. The workmanship on the hull patch allowed the hold to pressurize, and that was good enough for Geddy. The sooner they were out of there, the better.
Once they cleared Temeruria’s atmosphere, Denk pulled up the coordinates for Old Earth and started searching for the longest vector he could find. With just five blue balls, every jump had to be perfect.
To know the location of the Penetrator but not go straight to it was torture, but his most pressing responsibility was to the crew. With a little luck, they’d return from Old Earth with a cargo hold full of valuable salvage and one helluva story to tell.
He lay on the bed in his quarters, drumming his fingers on his chest as he stared up at the corner of the ceiling where dust had collected, suggesting air slowly escaped through it. Whether that was by Ghruk design or a sign of the ship’s deteriorating condition, he couldn’t be sure.
— You’re sure this is the right play?
— No, but it’s our best shot at a big score.
— When do we go to Aku?
— After this. You heard Zereth-Tinn — the Nads are looking for me. As far as I’m concerned, they’re on our schedule now. Besides, we can’t just show up on Aku empty-handed.
— What are you talking ab–
A gentle rap came at the door.
“Come in, Doc.”
Tardigan poked his head in. “How’d you know it was me?”
“You’re the only one polite enough to knock.”
He entered and plunked down on the chair in front of the fold-down desk and gave a sheepish grin. “Old habit, I guess.”
“I dunno about you, but I’m glad to be back in space. Oz’s family was a nightmare.”
“Actually, Captain, that’s what I came to discuss.”
Geddy sat up in his bed and propped up his pillow to lean against it. “Oh yeah? What’s up?”
He heaved a sigh. “I’m very concerned about their business dealings with the Zelnads.”
Having been part of many shady business deals himself, Geddy was less shocked by Temeruria’s opportunism than the others likely were. Funny how fast principles went out the door once piles of money entered the equation. Their posture might be different if they knew what the Nads were up to.
“You and me both, Doc.”
“How familiar are you with the Triad?”
“Familiar enough to know how it led to the Ring War and the tukrium shortage.”
The Triad was a centuries-old trade partnership between Kailoria, Ghruk, and Aku. They were positioned in a nearly equilateral triangle around the Exiod Ring, an asteroid belt with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of tukrium. Back then, Temeruria only mined what they needed for their own modest fleet.
Ghruk handled the mining side of the operation, Kailoria refinement and processing, and Aku shipbuilding. For decades, Aku’s biggest and best customer was the Alliance, itself a trade and defense partnership between twenty-one worlds that included the Triad and Earth 2.
At some point, however, the demand for tukrium inexplicably skyrocketed. These new buyers appeared to be from both Alliance and non-Alliance worlds with no clear thread to connect them besides a seemingly endless stream of money.
As the price of tukrium rose, however, so did tensions. Alliance planets suspected one another of building a secret army while the Triad struggled to meet demand, accusing each other of graft and corruption.
No one could pinpoint exactly when hostilities began. All anyone knew for sure was that it got ugly fast. The Alliance tried to mediate the Triad’s dispute, which helped them come to an accord — that they should leave the Alliance.
As the Triad descended into a full-scale conflict, the Alliance decided on a military intervention. The Triad suddenly found themselves fighting both each other and a well-equipped Alliance. The death toll was staggering. World after world broke ties in protest, and the Alliance quickly began to crumble. Its leadership went into exile, and member planets divided the Alliance’s assets amongst themselves.
The Triad planets were never the same.
“Then you also know that tukrium became extremely scarce after that,” Doc continued.
Geddy nodded. “When I was growing up, tukrium ships were practically tourist attractions. The only tukrium thing we had was a chef’s knife, and Mom kept that under lock and key.”
“The collapse of the Triad would’ve thrown a wrench into the Zelnads’ plans. They must’ve scoured the galaxy for a new source.”
“You mean Temeruria.”
“Right, but they’ve always been a pacifist society. King Rambar never would’ve sold to the Zelnads. Especially not if he suspected a military buildup of some kind.”
The late King Rambar, Oz’s uncle, had been killed in the palace attack about twenty years ago when she was still a kid. Her account of why was much easier to believe than Bransel’s and his cronies. “So clearly, the Nads were responsible.”
“That is one possibility.”
Geddy locked eyes with Tardigan, his face grave. Could Oz’s father have had a role in taking out his own brother, the king, clearing the way for unrestricted trade with the Nads? Having met the guy, it didn’t seem like crazy talk. If it turned out to be true, Oz would blow a fuse.
“You think Bransel had something to do with it?”
“And possibly Sky Marshal Komfeti, especially if the palace was bombed from the sky.”
As hard as it was to picture, it made sense. Temeruria was part of the Alliance but on account of its isolation had only traded with a few of them. What if its collapse decimated their economy? A king who refused a lucrative deal on principle might easily have become a target.
“Have you shared this with Oz?” Geddy asked.
“Not yet.”
“All right. Let’s keep it that way for now. I need her focused on the–”
Denk’s frantic voice cut him off, distorted and scratchy from the dented little speaker in the upper corner of the room. “Guys, you’d better get up here. We’ve got company, and it ain’t pirates.”
Geddy sprang from the bed and followed Tardigan out the door. Morpho and Voprot came through the airlock doors at the same time. They joined Oz at the back of the bridge. Geddy was about to ask the obvious question, but the front display said it all.
A heavy freighter the size of a city, flanked by two destroyers and a dozen fighters, was headed straight for them. He didn’t recognize the design of the freighter, one of the biggest he’d ever seen, but he sure as hell recognized the warships. He and his old buddies used to call the destroyers schnozzes on account of their pyramidal shape.
“Zelnads,” Geddy muttered.
“They just came out of a jump,” Denk said apologetically, his face ashen. “What do we do?”
— They’ll know it’s us!
— I’m not so sure about that.
— Why?
— As far as they know, I’m still on Thegus. What about you? Can they detect you?
— We’re too far away. Plus, right now, it’s you they want.
“Nothing,” Geddy answered Denk.
“They’re here for tukrium,” spat Oz, her expression as dark as he’d ever seen it. “Tukrium my own father is happy to sell them.”
Geddy glanced furtively at Doc. Her anger made all the more sense in light of his theory, as did her decision to leave and never come back.
The screen’s border flashed yellow, and Denk pivoted his chair, terror filling his innocent black eyes. “They’re hailing us.”
When Geddy hesitated, Oz seemed to sense why and stepped forward. “Let me do the talking. Apparently, they’re buddy-buddy with Temeruria now.”
He hated the idea of her covering for him, but it made the most sense. “Good idea. But be nice.”
Voprot was resting on all fours in the shadows, gawking at the whole scene. Geddy stepped behind him, keeping out of sight. Oz smoothed her jacket and drew herself up before giving Denk a tight nod to activate the comm.
The face that appeared on screen was a square-jawed Zorran-turned-Zelnad with short-cropped white hair and an expressionless face. Pointy cheekbones protruded from his deep orange skin like he habitually fell asleep on a beach, with concave cheeks and a mouth a little too small for his teeth.
“For Sale Make Offer,” he said, his voice even and authoritative. “You are impeding an established trade route.”
“Trade route?” Oz said in a defiant tone. “It’s fucking space. You obviously just came out of a jump.”
— Uh-oh.
— On second thought, she may not be in a good headspace right now. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about how this’ll go.
“Move your vessel,” he said gruffly.
Oz didn’t flinch. “Or what?”
The lieutenant was taken aback, like he’d never imagined being questioned. As much as he didn’t want trouble, Geddy couldn’t help but grin. Everyone’s fear of the Nads was based on their far advanced technology and mysterious motives, which really were excellent reasons, but that didn’t mean everyone had to lie down for them.
The Zelnad cocked his head and said the obvious. “Or … we will run into you.”
“I’ve got a better idea. How about you change your course?”
Denk, who was already wound tight, looked as though he might compress into a diamond.
— Where’s the popcorn when you need it?
— Do you take anything seriously?
His face hardened. “Put your captain on screen.”
“He’s on the shitter. Now look, there’s got to be at least, what … half a kilometer between the freighter and the destroyers? That’s plenty of room for us to slip right past.”
Promisingly, he hesitated. “Scanning your military capabilities.” He glanced at a display to the side, frowned, and gave it a confused tap. “You have … no military capabilities.”
She shrugged. “We're pacifists. As you know.”
“What is a Temerurian doing with a Ghruk ship?” he asked.
“What’re we, on a date? How’s about we take a tiny jog to the left so we can both get on with our day?” she said, arms crossed.
— I hope we are never on the receiving end of this.
