Wings of Steele- The Series, page 186
part #1 of Wings of Steele Series
And nothing pointed out Rikovik's faults and shortcomings faster than visiting a real station, like Resurrection back in Irujen. Sure, it had been converted from a cruise liner, but the class, the style, the cleanliness... the difference was night and day.
Less than an hour from the gate into Irujen System, her Vulture had been greeted by a patrolling flight of armed UFW combat drones that assessed her ship before politely inviting her to visit the station. One drone escorted her ship, allowing her to communicate directly with the station while the rest of the drone flight continued on its patrol. The landing bay had been nothing short of spotless, the flight services exceptional, and the accommodations for visitors; professional, warm and friendly. Of course, as much as Cheriska would love to move Deep Black, lock stock and barrel, to a place like that; her particular breed of clientele would never venture within two systems of a place like Resurrection Station. Their business and survival often relied upon complete anonymity. So unfortunately, Rikovik's Reef, despite its societal miscreants, had a unique, shall we say, charm... that necessity dictated she call home. Of course, maybe it was time for a branch location. Certainly something to think about.
But Resurrection Station had shopping! Lots of shopping. And not the bazaar, haggle with the natives in a cave shopping; but the would you like a glass of champagne while you shop, kind of shopping. There had also been the Ecosphere - a park under a massive dome; a place that took her back to her childhood, laying in the grass, looking up at the stars. She walked barefoot across a meadow of soft grass, through swaying trees, feeling a breeze, discovering a small waterfall feeding a babbling brook that wound its way a quarter of a mile across the park. It was the closest thing to planet side she could imagine, and it only made her want it more. Spending a few days lounging, relaxing, and shopping was a necessary diversion from the confines of the Vulture, and put her mind in motion.
Resurrection Station was a bit of cultural shock to Cheriska after spending nearly two decades on Rikovik's Reef. No dust and grunge, no rust, no crime to speak of, air that smelled like, well, air. Fresh - not like poorly filtered, recycled, metal stink. She wondered if she could bottle that scent and take it with her wherever she went. Like back to the Reef. The thought of returning to that armpit wasn't an appealing one. Of course, the sky is always bluer on the other side of the planet, or so the saying goes.
■ ■ ■
Mesmerized by the swirls of iridescent color reaching across New Vanus and still basking in the afterglow of a shopper’s high, Cheriska turned her seat sideways, stretching out and kicking her feet up on the arm of the empty copilot's seat, admiring her new boots. The autopilot navigated the Vulture across the system toward the gate to Velora Prime.
“Deep Black, Deep Black to Scavenger One, are you out there?”
Cheriska reached out and without really looking, tapped the comm, the vid-screen winking on, “I'm here. What's up, Too?”
“Just checking in, seeing where you're at. How are your travels going?”
Cheriska turned the screen a little, “Fine. I'm in New Vanus.” She held up one foot, “Like my new boots?”
Too's face registered surprise, “Are they red?” she squinted. “I saw a few things come through the account...”
“It's called oxblood,” replied Cheriska, turning her foot and admiring the color, “whatever that is.”
“They're nice...”
Cheriska detected something other than appreciation, “You don't like them?”
“They're okay.”
“Hmm, maybe I should send yours back then...” teased Cheriska.
Cheriska Too stifled a hopeful smile, “You bought me a pair?”
“You didn't think I would forget my sister, did you?”
Too shrugged sheepishly, smiling, “Thanks. I can't wait to try them on...” Her expression suddenly turned serious, “What the hellion is that?” she pointed at Cheriska.
Not thinking, Cheriska glanced over her shoulder, realizing Too was referring to the sleeping creature laying across her shoulder, it's tail wrapped loosely around her neck. It had been so quiet and still, she had forgotten it was there. “Oh, yeah, it's a Love's Dragon. Isn't he cute...?”
“A what?!”
“A Breedlove's Dragon. They just say Love's Dragon for short. Remember that explorer, Dr. Breedlove? He's the one who discovered them... I forgot the name of the planet they come from...”
“Haven't some of those things killed their owners?” interrupted Too. “Eaten their faces or something?”
Cheriska waved her hand dismissively, “Thirty years ago, maybe. The original dragons were larger, more aggressive, unpredictable. He's since developed the species to be domesticated.”
“How do you develop a species?” asked Too, dubious.
“I don't know; gene splicing, altering DNA, selective breeding I guess...”
“Pretending to be the creator,” snarked Too. “That's playing with fire.”
“They took that out too.”
“Took out what?”
“Their ability to make fire...”
“They can make fire?!” exclaimed Too.
“No, not anymore,” corrected Cheriska. “They no longer have the gland that produces the gas they could ignite with their clicker...”
“Oh this is a bad idea...” lamented Too. “Clicker...?”
“Calm down. The breeder I bought him from assured me he was harmless. The clicker is a metallic bone-plate on the roof of their mouth they would scrub with a sandy part of their tongue for a spark. But without the gland, nothing happens. What I thought was fascinating is that their saliva protected their mouths from burning...”
Too rolled her eyes, “Wonderful, he can torch your face without burning his lips...”
Cheriska shook her head, “You're impossible.”
“Just remember that when he cooks your face before he eats it.”
“Stop...” Cheriska stroked his long neck, and he stretched, still asleep, gurgling contentedly, “He wouldn't do that, look how beautiful he is...”
Too's eyes widened, as the sleeping creature flexed itself, “By the Gods, he has wings? He can fly too?”
Cheriska looked indignant, “Of course. I thought that was implied. If he didn't, he'd just be a Love's Lizard. What part of dragon didn't you understand?”
Cheriska Too rubbed her temples, “Sooo many ways this could go wrong...”
“How's the shop?” asked Cheriska, changing the subject.
“Everything's fine. We sold the good engine off the Syndicate yacht you reclaimed...”
“Really? To who?”
“Back to the Syndicate. To rebuild one of the yachts damaged back when that Jax Mercury guy torched their hangar. Did you know they lost five ships? Not including the one we salvaged.”
“Do they know it was originally their engine?”
Too shook her head, “No, the boys had it pulled from the wreck and stripped down to the powertrain already. It was cleaned up and in inventory when they called.”
“Good deal.” nodded Cheriska. “It probably wouldn't go over well if they knew it came from one of their own ships.”
■ ■ ■
Cheriska woke from a disturbing dream with a start, feeling for the wetness on her face, not fully awake. The Love's Dragon sitting in her lap stared up at her with piercing green eyes, wings folded against his body. Disoriented, the dream still vivid in her mind, she examined her hand for blood. Nothing. Damn you, Too, for putting that image in my head... She had to force the dream out of her mind.
“Where you licking my face?” she wondered aloud. The Love's Dragon stood on his hind legs, his tail resting on her thigh, front feet on the breast of her flight jacket, one wing wrapping her upper arm for support as he reached up to bump his forehead against her lips. The breeder had instructed her to watch for this behavior. “Smart little man,” she smirked, “let's go get you something to eat.” He scrambled up her arm, circled over her shoulder and perched himself up next to her ear, tittering excitedly, clicking his teeth. Cheriska had already learned the difference in sound between his teeth and the clicker. “Thank you for not eating my face,” she joked, the dream fading from her thoughts. Rising from her command seat, she did a precursory check of the autopilot and progress on their route to the gate to Velora Prime. Satisfied, she headed to the ship's galley. “You know,” she said reaching back to rub his chest, “we still haven't come up with a name for you... How do you name a dragon, anyway?”
Hand feeding him and watching him closely, it suddenly became apparent to Cheriska that his coloring had changed. He had turned from a brownish color resembling her leather flight jacket, to a gray similar to the stainless galley table he was standing on. She was sure she would have remembered the breeder mentioning that. Maybe he forgot? Or maybe it something he wasn't aware of? In any case, it was fascinating. She decided it was time to review the video file her MOBIUS had received about the Breedlove's Dragons.
Full and content, he gurgled, something that resembled a quiet chuckle. Arching his back he momentarily extended his wings before settling. Staring passively at her with sparkling green orbs he instinctively click-clicked, the little burp that escaped igniting in a puff of fire.
“Oh, damn...”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CITRA 5 SYSTEM : PERSEUS
Jack Steele leaned back against the desk in his suite, his arms casually folded across his chest, the accommodations a little more spacious than the ready room off the bridge. “So we're doing what now?”
Commander Reegan, Derrik Brighton, Mercedes Huang, Chase Holt, Torn Dado and Ragnaar congregated around the chart table, Ragnaar reaching in and manipulating the holo-chart. “I recommend we make a detour; stop here,” he pointed at a planet, “on G'Naroth Sarat in Bengaloo. Amanpoor to be exact.”
Steele raised an eyebrow, Amanpoor is...?”
“A commerce port on G'Naroth Sarat.”
“Of course,” he said flatly. “And why in the middle of a pursuit would we do this?”
“We need to pick up some kind of cargo. Goods for...”
Steele's face went blank, “So we need to go shopping, Mr. Ragnaar? Is that what you're telling me?” he scoffed sarcastically. “I hardly think...”
“Bloody hell, hear him out,” interrupted Derrik, “it makes sense.”
“Sir,” continued Ragnaar, respectfully, “as soon as we leave Citra 5 we're in confirmed FreeRanger territory. We're headed to Wyandek in the Ardollis System; that's five gates and nearly ten systems deep into dark territory. We need to make some preparations before we enter dark territory...”
“Alright, Mr. Ragnaar, you have my attention. Talk to me.”
“First off, no one deadheads empty into dark territory. Ever. We need to have a respectable cargo load of marketable goods to trade or sell. We have to act like we look. Second, we need to transfer funds from our operating account to cash. Gold. About a million credits. Outfits out here don't take IOUs, they don't issue credit and they won't take transfers. Everything is cash only, off the books. Nobody wants a bribe they have to share with the FreeRanger Council.”
“Steele nodded appreciatively, “Got it. What else?”
“As capable as this ship is, we may want to look up an escort company, see if we can find one with contacts or stations in the territory. Even if it's just for appearances, having friends, even if they're paid friends, never hurts. Start them off with a retainer, even though we don't need them right now.”
Steele rubbed the stubble on his jawline, mulling over these new operational requirements. “Do all traders use hired guns?”
Ragnaar withdrew his hands from the holo-chart and straightened up, “Many, not all. Some have the benefit of a name the FreeRangers recognize. Companies that are friendly and cater to their needs are left alone for the most part. Some Captains travel in groups or convoys, some have full-time escorts. And then there are the ones that use the hired guns, as you put it. That money goes into the FreeRanger economy though, so some respect comes from the knowledge that you are already dealing with an accepted service. Quite often the fact that you are under escort contract is enough, the escort doesn't even need to be present.”
Jack's expression was dubious, “Well isn't that convenient. Sounds more like a safe passage tariff than a protection service.”
“Doesn't really matter how you look at it,” offered Derrik, “as long as it works. Right?”
Jack ran his fingers through his hair, “I suppose.” He turned his attention back to Ragnaar, “So what types of cargo should we be looking at?”
“Liquor is always a safe bet - some brands more than others; you saw that in Nelson's Point. We should be able to get whatever we want in Amanpoor. Then of course, there's parts, foods, delicacies; medical supplies; I've taken the liberty to create a list.” The big man paused for a moment, weighing his next words carefully, “And there's something else that will give us credibility... buy us considerable favor almost anywhere we go...”
Steele saw the change in his demeanor, the Lieutenant was waiting for a prompt, “What would that be, Mr. Ragnaar?”
Ragnaar cleared his throat and shifted nervously, “Dust.”
Dust. Glacier. Ice. Blizzard. It had an assortment of names; a blue-white powder that sparkled like freshly fallen snow. The premium illegal drug of choice throughout most of the known universe. So now we're going to be drug smugglers. Swell. Steele's first reaction was to say, no. In fact, hell no. But he was going to have to trust Ragnaar's experience and expertise. They were in the former pirate's backyard now. In for a penny in for a pound... He pursed his lips, the decision distasteful though he knew it was a necessary evil, “OK.” He ignored the stunned faces looking back at him and pointed to Commander Reegan, “New course; G'Naroth Sarat in Bengaloo. Look to Mr. Ragnaar for directions for Amanpoor.” He clapped his hands, “Let's get this done people, we don't have time to waste, we're in the middle of a pursuit here...”
■ ■ ■
Chase Holt hung back after everyone else left the suite, “Ok, I may be way outta my element here, Jack, but how do you expect to catch up to that destroyer if we're going on a shopping excursion?”
Jack was leaning into the holo-chart, the port of Amanpoor on G'Naroth Sarat enlarged so he could examine the detail, rotating the beach-ball sized planet with his hand. “We're pretty close to them right now. According to the integrity of the energy trail we're tracking, we're estimating they're just beyond our sensor reach. They don't know they're being pursued so they're cruising not running. We're faster than they are and we can GOD jump; they don't have that capability. We can still catch them - as long as we don't get stupid and waste a bunch of time...”
“Or Murphy's Law doesn't...”
“Bite your tongue,” scolded Jack. Changing the subject, he went back to studying the holo-chart. “According to the charts, G'Naroth Sarat is governed by the UFW, but being on the border, Ragnaar says they play the neutral card, dealing with both UFW and FreeRanger clients. I have a feeling that most of the FreeRanger clients are supplied by third party deliveries though. I don't see them venturing here and setting a ship down on a planet where they might be caught vulnerable.”
Chase peered closer at the images, circling the holographic planet with his finger, “No station, huh?”
“Not here.”
■ ■ ■
The cockpit of the P-57 was snug but relatively comfortable and it was an unlikely but convenient place for a little undisturbed solitude. Perfect for a little studying, the only light coming from Steele's holographic MOBIUS screen, the bay dark around the fighter. “MOBI, what can you tell me about the history of the FreeRangers?”
“Stand by, Mr. Mercury, synching with the ship's historical database...” MOBI's dark-haired character looked back at him with a pleasant expression, a data stream scrolling across the screen underneath her. “Files found.”
“Summarize, please.”
“Detail is limited, Mr. Mercury, but according to the corroborating information in the database, the FreeRanger concept was born on or about interstellar date; 69037.281. That is one-thousand-four-hundred-eighty-five years, two-hundred-forty-seven days ago according to the interstellar calendar. The initial concept was in flux for several decades as support grew and became more mainstream. For the first century there was no structured leadership, merely a groundswell of support and interest. It became apparent some kind of structure and hierarchy was required to keep the various factions from infighting and cannibalizing the weaker groups. In fact, the organization didn't even have a formal name until, 69154.473. They initially called themselves the Dark Raiders...”
“Is that why pirate held sectors are called Dark Territory?”
“There is no mention of that anywhere in the historical files, but reasoning suggests that is quite possible.”
“Continue, MOBI.”
“By interstellar star date, 69317.186 they were battling a public relations image crisis bordering on nightmarish, brought on by decades of overzealous freelancers and very little control over the bulk of their membership...”
“Imagine that,” snorted Jack, “they got a bad rap for robbing, stealing and killing.”
“Bad rap?” MOBI's head tilted to one side in a familiar human fashion.
“Never mind. Continue.”
“Later that year, with an organized council in place, the members were polled and a new name voted on, including set codes of conduct. The FreeRangers emerged as a cleaner, more civilized, business-driven model focused on profitability, led by a council of twenty-five members arranged in a hierarchical court. The Council President has the final vote as a tiebreaker if the council is split on a decision. The word free in the name reflects free men doing work unhindered by restrictive laws and taxes. It appears the ranger part of the name was found to be more positive than the negative connotation associated with the word raider. It was also perceived that they would police their own members to make sure their new code of ethics was followed. ”
