Chaotic Futures, page 7
Claudia offered.
Peña and Sven grinned at each other. Axis Crossing worlds were tracking their movements. That meant that business interests in the sisters were accelerating. Their plans were working.
Claudia’s mind was working.
Claudia fist-pumped the air. Then calmly, she sent,
When the connection ended, Peña held her arms out, and Sven came to her. As was their new custom, they did no more than hold each other, content to be close.
The pair’s traveler landed at the Naiad shuttle pad, and they exited the ship via the gangway. As they progressed through the shuttleport, Naiads paid Peña compliments. They were no more than tips of the heads and murmurs of, “citizen,” but they were affirmations of the sisters’ new statuses.
Peña and Sven headed for the conference room next to the council’s chambers. Along the way, the greetings to Peña remained the same.
Sven connected to the TM partners via their slates.
Courtesy of Peña, the partners’ slates filled with details about the outpost contract and its purpose.
Then the slates received a synopsis of what had transpired under the protectors’ watch.
“Look at the last summary,” Simona encouraged her companions. “We should publish a series on Darmian, starting with the landing of the protectors, the suits, and the sisters. The progression will end with our sisters helping to repair the injured citizens.”
“This will be a powerful series,” Gemma enthused. She regarded the frown on her brother’s forehead. “What’s wrong?” she queried.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Brandon replied. “It’s an observation.”
“Share?” Oscar encouraged.
“Think who called us, and how it was done,” Brandon hinted.
“You’re right,” Gemma spoke up, snapping her fingers. “Our slates were connected simultaneously, and we heard from Sven. However, he couldn’t have known that we were in a meeting. Yet, only Brandon’s slate was allowed to activate audio.”
“Could he have that level of control and capability with his implant?” Oscar asked dubiously.
“Doubtful,” Brendan replied.
“Then what’s the answer?” Oscar pressed.
Brendan laughed good-naturedly. “I don’t know. I just thought it was unusual.”
“You shouldn’t pose questions that you can’t answer,” Oscar grumped.
Brendan continued laughing and thumped his friend’s big shoulder. “To work,” he said. “How do we divide the effort?”
Peña and Sven found the council assembled in the conference room.
“Greetings,” Peña said to the councilors so as to include Fillery in the conversation.
“Greetings,” Claudia replied. “I’ve shared your efforts in Helgart with the other councilors. Let me offer my congratulations again.”
“Thank you,” Peña said, taking a seat at the other end of the table, while Sven sat next to her. “What are your requests?”
Peña and Sven received a list from Claudia’s implant.
“Are these in order of priority or some other factor?” Sven inquired.
“Costs. Lowest to highest,” Ramiro clarified.
“I believe there is some misunderstanding,” Sven responded. “We’re interested in projects that generate returns. We don’t have the credits for the materials, but we can supply the labor. In return, we’d like a profit-sharing agreement.”
“Sven, you’re talking as if you’re speaking for the sisters,” Fillery said. “Will you be doing the labor too?”
Fillery thought she was being clever, but the stares of the other councilors said she was rude. Worse, Peña regarded her as if she was insignificant. Despite Fillery glancing in other directions, Peña’s gaze never left her.
When Claudia spoke, neither of the pair responded, and Peña continued to focus on Fillery.
Sven sent, which made Peña privately share her laughter.
Then Sven scanned the councilors’ faces. “We’re here to understand how the sisters can work with Naiad toward the benefit of both parties,” he said. “I think comments or questions of a personal nature should remain out of the conversations.”
“Completely agree,” Claudia replied swiftly. Then James, David, and Ramiro echoed her sentiment.
Fillery was left to ponder the degree of her misstep. By the other councilors’ expressions, she might receive a censure or worse. It dawned on her that her animus for alien bots had led her to insult a Naiad citizen. Worse, Sven was a partner of a sister, who had achieved citizenship.
“Let’s examine your projects, and see which of them might be of value to us,” Peña offered.
“I’ve one question before we start,” James said. “How do we monetize these projects?”
“The citizens have slates and accounts, which gives them an easy means of purchase,” Peña replied. “As well, the Naiad government has the right to recoup the costs of expensive projects that benefit the citizenry.”
“You mean charge our people for the use of these new structures?” David sought to clarify.
“According to records from Earth, this was often the way that those citizens who benefited the most from the new structures paid for the extensive capital outlays,” Peña explained.
“It needn’t be on a continuous basis,” Sven clarified. “The council can set the amount it wishes to recoup. When that threshold is reached, then the service is free to everyone.”
“Our labor costs will be part of that calculation,” Peña finished.
The hours rolled past, and a midday meal was served. Between bites, the councilors and Sven kept talking. Peña minimized her comments to prevent intervening in the meal.
The final projects totaled seven, but they would be built over the course of the next five annuals.
The most urgent priority was for a new dome that would greatly increase the space for agricultural production. Thermal energy would power the internal processes. The two lower levels would have hydroponic gardens, but it was the upper level that had the council excited.
The upper deck would be exclusively reserved for fruit trees. With the establishment of the Helgart dome and its gates, the Liberation and the Transcendence had received fruit trees from Earth and other planets and planted them in their gardens.
Citizens who had boarded the HS Transcendence had raved about the fresh fruit available, in messages to family, friends, and the council.
The council chose to keep the cost of the fruit affordable. As such, it would take nearly nine years to recoup the expense of the dome. Despite that length of time, Peña readily accepted the contract.
After the meeting, the pair made their way back to the Trident.
Peña detected the tiniest of shifts in Sven’s gait, and she analyzed what she’d said from his point of view.
Peña’s blast echoed through the traveler’s main cabin. The SADE who piloted them smiled.
Peña didn’t wait for Sven’s reply. Instead, she sent energy to her synth-skin lips. Then she pressed her warmed lips to Sven’s temple. “Silly human,” she whispered, which made Sven grin.
6: Dangerous Elevens
WOOT PLANET
IMPERIUM SPACE
With help from Frieda and her sisters, the Dwerve warship was nudged into an orbit around the Woots’ larger moon.
With a deck-by-deck investigation completed by ten sisters, a plan was formulated about how to repair the monstrous ship. Incorporated into the plan was how the sisters could benefit from the process.
The ship’s foundry was to be relocated to the moon.
First, the sisters chose to tunnel into the moon’s rock and use the foundry’s heat to warm the tunnels, venting the excess to the surface. Then the equipment was ready to be moved.
Much of the warship’s damaged materials was cannibalized to create the new parts. As soon as the basic steps were in place, the sisters investigated the inner asteroid field to hunt for the metals they required.
For the Dwerves aboard the warship, they had heat, air, food, and water, which allowed the population a reprieve.
Many Dwerves who were badly injured during the brief fight died later of their wounds. Those who lasted until the foundry was set up on the Woot moon were on the mend.
In the first cycles after the agreement was brokered with the sisters, Eshtitor noticed two individuals shadowing him. After a meal, another pair would relieve the first pair. He was tempted to confront them, but he had an idea why they were there.
After a midday meal in the captain’s quarters, Eshtitor gazed across the table at Quanitine. “Are my shadows your doing?” he inquired.
“I know for certain that the remaining elevens are intent on removing you,” Quanitine warned.
“They can do that by requesting the population submit to a vote to remove me,” Eshtitor replied. His remark was met by a stony stare.
“That pair isn’t as dense as my lover pretends to be,” Quanitine fired back. “Those elevens know that the citizens view you as having saved their lives.”
“After nearly getting them blown into space dust,” Eshtitor pointed out.
“Can we deal with the immediate future and not the past?” Quanitine asked irritably.
“How can you be so sure that the elevens are planning something detrimental to my health?” Eshtitor said too casually. The moment the words passed his lips he knew he’d misspoken.
“These aren’t rumors,” Quanitine declared hotly.
Eshtitor held up his hands in surrender. He’d never seen Quanitine so angry with him, and he leaned into his chair to review their conversation. She was adamant that he was in danger. There was only one reason that he could think she would be that sure. “You’ve got someone close to the elevens,” he surmised.
“It took you long enough to come to that conclusion,” Quanitine replied, leaning into her chair.
“You could have said that at the start of our exchange,” Eshtitor grumped.
“I needed to see how obstinate you might be about protection,” Quanitine returned.
“How did I do?” Eshtitor queried, with a toothy display of canines.
“You exceeded my expectations,” Quanitine deadpanned.
Eshtitor thought to tease his female, but her expression said she wasn’t in the mood for banter. “If I asked you to withdraw my shadows ...” he started and left the question hanging. When Quanitine didn’t reply, he dropped his head, admitting acceptance of her efforts.
Soon, Eshtitor became comfortable with the presence of the soft footfalls of the shadows behind him. He had to admit they weren’t really intrusive.
The sisters who worked on the ship, which was mostly in the evening after the planetside farm work, had noted the captain’s minders. Immediately, this had been shared with Frieda. In turn, she asked Cyan to speak to Bedoah.
After securing the milking livestock in the barn and corralling the others, Cyan, Bedoah, and two other sisters strolled toward Withern’s humble house. Bedoah would eat and sleep there, content among the Woot females.
The single traveler would collect most of the sisters and make for the Dwerve foundry or the warship.
“Bedoah, did the captain have protection before the fight?” Cyan asked.
“Protection?” Bedoah inquired quizzically.
“Individuals who would follow him and keep him safe,” Cyan explained.
Bedoah laughed heartily until she started hiccupping.
The group had reached the porch, and a Woot female extended some water to Bedoah.
Taking some sips to relax her throat, Bedoah replied, “I’ve seen the captain on the mats. He doesn’t need protection.”
“Explain mats,” Cyan requested.
“There are bays where many Dwerves go to exercise in the evening,” Bedoah explained. “There are mats to cushion falls as opponents grapple with each other.”
“What would you think if I told you the captain has two protectors following him every moment that he’s outside his cabin?” Cyan inquired.
Bedoah paused and eyed the sister. She’d come to respect the sisters’ forthrightness. In fact, she’d come to depend on it. “There must be trouble,” she mused. “More than likely, the captain wouldn’t want it, which means it’s probably Quanitine’s doing.”
“Is she worrying needlessly?” Cyan offered.
“I don’t know the captain’s female well, but I’ve heard that she’s a levelheaded individual,” Bedoah replied. “She must know something.”
Cyan linked to Frieda and shared the conversation with Bedoah. In turn, Frieda informed those working on the warship to be aware of the captain’s movements via his device.
In the evening, four burly Dwerves, who were lured by the promise of privileges, met with the captain’s adversaries.
“This must go down late after midday meal,” the obnoxious one said, as he served the four assassins some of his private stock.
While the assassins sipped appreciatively on the precious liquid, the supporter detailed the captain’s usual route to the engine space. “The captain always checks on the generator and engine control progress before evening meal,” he explained. “There are few individuals back there, and there’s but one wide corridor back to the elevators to reach the upper decks.”
“We know the area you’re talking about,” one of the sixes replied. “It’ll be easy to catch the captain between us.”
“Make it quick. Don’t play with him,” the angry one directed.
“We’ve seen the captain’s bouts,” another six said. “He has strengths and weaknesses. We can take him, especially with four of us.”
When the sixes finished the drinks, draining every last drop, they left to prepare for their attack.
The supporter put on gloves, carefully picked up the four poisoned drink glasses, and washed them. Then the elevens checked their devices. There would be plenty of time for the sixes to finish the captain before the poison took hold of them.
On the afternoon of the following cycle and on a lower deck, the assassins ducked into a service room. Cabinets lined the walls. They were filled with engineering coveralls. One six donned the coveralls of a supervisor, while the other three dressed as a work party.
It was easy for the sixes to lay their trap. The target corridor was clear, but its bulkheads were buckled and the adjacent port spaces were messes. They picked up equipment and pretended to be hard at work.
Eshtitor checked his device. Quanitine would be serving their meals in his quarters soon. He hurried to an elevator and dropped down to the engine level. Walking briskly down a corridor, he passed two Dwerves at work, and, soon after, he passed another pair.
At the end of the corridor, Eshtitor accessed the panel to the engine control room, and the hatch slid smoothly aside. There’s one repair done, he thought.
Eshtitor chatted with the chief engineer, Maktrich, about the progress. He was disappointed to hear that they still only had the one engine. However, the foundry’s number one priority was the chief’s list for new parts.
“How about the generators?” Eshtitor inquired.
“Same as they were yesterday, Captain,” Maktrich replied. “I appreciate all the attention, but I would counsel patience. The sisters are working fast, and we should see numerous parts coming our way within a quarter annual.”
Eshtitor shrugged his wide shoulders. He turned to leave and paused. “Chief, why are crews working on corridor bulkheads. Those shouldn’t be our priorities.”
“No one is assigned to internal bulkheads, Captain,” the chief replied. “Where did you see them?”
Eshtitor hitched a thumb in the direction of the corridor leading to their location. Then the chief and he shared quizzical expressions.
“How many did you see, and how were they dressed, Captain?” Maktrich asked anxiously.
“Four of them, working in pairs. They’re wearing orange work coveralls,” Eshtitor replied.
“That’s the color of a fire suppression team,” the chief supplied.
