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  Thus, anytime corovon was discovered in a system it was exhaustively recovered. Gorovan estimates put the Hellis asteroid field at one-­third depletion, meaning that more than 60% of the corovon it was thought to contain had yet to be harvested. Bandit mining operations were constantly trying to loot the field, and Gorovan had established and maintained a significant defense force for their mining operation . . . which the Resolute met 100,000 keets out from the station.

  A small security corvette, barely two keets long, moved out to challenge them and, upon receiving Jalia’s confirmation code for the shipment order, swung about on its plasma engines and paced the larger freighter five keets to port.

  It escorted the Resolute all the way into the station, which stood over thirty keets tall and five wide at the center, but widened up to eight keets at the top and bottom, giving it a bit of an hourglass shape. The commercial docking ring was around the center, with the loading bays for the harvester probes at the knobby ends.

  Jalia was soon contacted by station control and assigned a docking port. Two other ships were already present on the ring, attached nose in. The Resolute also had a forward docking port, and Jalia lined it up with the stubby spoke that was her target. Large, crab-­like arms were arrayed around the spoke, making for a more visible point to dock with.

  The freighter adjusted its course with puffs from its maneuvering thrusters and gently inched its way forward. The ship’s slow drift brought it underneath the umbrella of the upper half of the station and above the lower half, cutting off all view of the stars even though the ship was still two keets out. Jalia resisted the urge to use her mag lids to get a closer look at the docking area because it would do no good. The bridge displays were camera feeds and not windows, so her own vision magnification would be of no use.

  Instead she pulled up the mooring beam targeting program and zoomed in on the docking pylon. Sure enough, two small spheres were visible, one just above and one just below, attached to metallic struts which no doubt led to the superstructure of the entire station. Jalia activated two forward mooring beams, getting a latch on each sphere, then added one more for good measure. With the three beams secured, she began slowing her ship’s speed and making attitude adjustments, saving precious fuel that would have been spent on the navigational thrusters.

  Slowing to a creep, the freighter approached the grey/white docking pylon, still bleeding off approach vera with every second. Eventually the proximity warning sounded and Jalia increased power to the mooring beams while setting the auto-­distance function. Within a few seconds they stopped the ship cold a few meters off the airlock. She tied in the docking program with the mooring beam controls and the ship moved forward and to starboard, kissing up against the cushioned docking ring.

  With the tentative lock established, the docking arms pulled down all around the ship, gripping the Resolute’s blunt nose with eight magnetic locking pads. With the hard dock connection in place, a very short umbilical reached out and made contact with the freighter inside the soft ring. The airlocks interconnected, verified atmospheric and gravity match, then released their safety protocols.

  Jalia finished a short conversation with station control and turned in her seat to face Ivara.

  “We’re cleared to start off-­loading cargo immediately. I don’t let the dockworkers onto my ship, so we meet them halfway. They’ll have empty cargo sleds waiting on their side of the airlock. It’s up to us to move our cargo onto their sleds. If someone tries to come on board, stop them . . . gently,” she emphasized.

  “I understand,” Ivara said, standing up and following Jalia to the Resolute’s cargo holds.

  The ship had seven holds in total, with the primary running the length of the ship, bow back to the engines on the ventral half, and the other six holds were sectioned off on the dorsal half, sandwiched between the crew compartments and the engines. An accessway skewered the ship and connected to the forward and lateral airlocks. The primary docking bay sat just below this internal open area, with ramps leading up at several spots.

  With the supplies for the mining station needed to be off-­loaded first, she had loaded them last, so they sat near the front end of the bay just a few steps off a wide ramp that led directly to the forward airlock.

  Jalia and Ivara arrived at that entrance, coming down from above, with three of the other Cres meeting them there. Orrona was standing guard over their precious cargo and wouldn’t be helping in the off-­load.

  “Two pairs, two lifters, just like I showed you,” Jalia ordered as she walked over to the airlock controls. The Cres sealed their envirosuits and boarded two machines stowed in the accessway’s walls.

  Jalia keyed open the airlock, and the wall at the end of the accessway ground open. There was a slight wind as the atmospheres mixed, and a foul stench drifted in. The Junta wrinkled her nose and tried to ignore it. Unfortunately her heightened senses fought her on that one.

  The Resolute’s airlock was a bit smaller than the umbilical from the station, so Jalia deployed a retractable ramp from within her ship’s hull. It stretched out flat to the accessway, then once fully elongated hinged downward and made contact on the station’s floor with a muted thud. In the distance down the length of the docking pylon, several hoversleds were approaching with a single individual leading them.

  Jalia glanced back at the Cres, hidden beneath the helmets of their envirosuits, as they maneuvered two of the walkers down the interior ramp and into the primary hold with their spotters following. After a few hours of practice the Cres had gotten the basics down and she trusted them enough to let them work on their own, not that she had much choice. Her time was going to be spent co-­overseeing the transfer with the Gorovan rep.

  To that end, she lithely pranced down the cargo ramp and met the Elari when the sleds finally arrived. The first two turned their sides toward the ramp while the others made a single file line against the side of the pylon.

  “Greetings, Captain Vas Kella,” the lumbering biped announced with a booming voice. “I heard a ship blew up. Glad I am that it was not yours.”

  “News travels fast,” Jalia said, looking up at the much taller, four-­armed alien.

  “Indeed it does. Fortunate we are that our cargo was not in that ship.”

  “Half of space travel is luck,” Jalia said as one of her walkers plodded into view at the top of the ramp with a silver rounded cube in its padded grips.

  “True, true,” the rep agreed. “Just heard that a convoy of Orroca trade ships attempted the jump between Iras and Exeei. One of six arrived outsystem, breaking past the star. A third of its drive pods had been obliterated by debris. It’s a wonder the ship arrived at all.”

  “I hadn’t heard that,” Jalia admitted, feeling a bit sick to her stomach. “You lose any cargo?”

  “Gorovan did, but none of it was for this facility.”

  Jalia shook her head. “I really don’t know why ­people keep trying to make that jump. The spacelane just isn’t clear. It’s dangerous enough on the primary lanes.”

  “You know, I heard a story from a Perlaxian cargo hauler, can’t remember the name. Their captain said long ago the Humans used to clear the spacelanes, and ever since their demise the lanes have been filling up with debris, even the primary lanes.”

  Jalia nodded. “I heard that too. I don’t know if it’s true or just wishful thinking on the part of spacers. I don’t have a clue how you would clear cubic wesks of space.”

  The rep laughed, and Jalia felt the floor beneath her feet reverberate slightly. “If you ever do, cut me in on the deal and we’ll each buy our own planet!”

  “No kidding,” Jalia said, laughing agreeably as the first walker passed in front of them and lowered the silver crate onto the edge of the hoversled perfectly, then rose up and strolled past the other walker, bypassing each other on the ramp.

  One crate down, 178 to go . . .
>
  JALIA STAYED WITH the rep during the entire off-­load, chitchatting and verifying each crate before the hoversleds moved them on into the mining station six at a time. Most of the inventory was machinery and foodstuffs, with a bit of higher end tech thrown into the mix. Routine stuff, low priority, but still essential to the operations of a station that housed 400,000 personnel and over 20,000 drones. Each had to be supplied with provisions, and any logistical delay meant credits lost for Gorovan, which was why they paid a fair price for the transfer of basic cargos, including a 15% bonus if delivered within a predetermined time span.

  The transfer of credits had to be performed in the main docking office, so once the off-­loading was complete Jalia left the ship in the hands of the Cres and ventured on into the station.

  A part of her felt wary about leaving her ship in their hands, but for some reason she trusted them, though she admitted it was partly because she had the ignition codes required to activate the engines and navigation system. She just hoped they hadn’t been able to pluck those from her mind with their telepathy.

  Was it need that was prompting her recklessness? Or was it the thought of 98,500 credits that was encouraging her risk taking? Ever since she’d bought the Resolute with clan Kella’s credits she’d been extremely meticulous about every aspect of her job to minimize the risks involved. Now she was walking away from her ship, leaving it in the hands of ­people that, to be honest, could kill her and take her ship on a whim.

  What in the freaking galaxy am I doing?

  Jalia had that thought pestering her all the way into the main docking office. She wasn’t the only one there, a short line had been formed that fed into three reception stations. On the walls of the oval-­shaped room were graphic displays, lighting up the spartan workspace with brightly colored advertisements, news reports, and entertainment broadcasts. Jalia glanced through the screens casually as she waited in line until her eyes crossed a display screen that amounted to a bulletin board.

  Several notices were posted, but the most recent was a fugitive alert warning from the Vernera, citing a Cres combat unit upwards of twenty strong that had attacked the jumpship and was currently at large. Gorovan was offering a reward of 500 credits for any information leading directly to their capture.

  Jalia ground her teeth together. News traveled fast indeed. It was a good thing the Cres had opted to wear the envirosuits she had in stock. Any of the dockworkers or the rep could have identified them, reported in, and had a security team storming her ship by now.

  She stepped forward into the leftmost prong of the line, two positions back from the ser­vice booth.

  There were probably a handful of mercs on the station too, she figured, that might make a run at her ship on their own if they knew the Cres were there. Gorovan, or whoever they were working with, would probably pay more than 500 credits if someone actually delivered the Cres to them. That, and their sheer stupidity, would be enough for some to try to take on the Cres despite their reputed combat skills. Jalia was beginning to realize that she was going to have to keep her passengers permanently out of view or this whole operation was likely to blow up in her face.

  It was workable though, she reminded herself. Aside from the credits, she respected the Cres and wanted to help them. As long as they kept their collective heads down they should be able to pull this off. Still, she wanted to get out of the system as soon as possible, but it would be a few days before that became a reality.

  Jalia stepped up to the booth and handed her cargo transfer slip, signed and sealed by the docking rep, to the female Presca attendant. Her thin black tongue flicked forward, tasting the air in a sign of satisfaction as she processed the bill of transfer. Jalia provided her account identification number and the credit transfer was logged in the station’s computer. The attendant processed a thin data chip and gave the hard copy proof of receipt to Jalia, who nodded her thanks and walked off, slipping the chip into one of the hidden pockets in her strap jacket.

  With the 2.6 credit transfer into her account logged onto the Gorovan adjunct of the intercommercial banking system (ICBS), the data was immediately transmitted to other networked ICBS databases within the Hellis System. A copy was also loaded onto the Vernera and every other present ship that carried a data cache module.

  While the Resolute and other smallt ime shippers didn’t carry a module of their own make, most of the larger corporate-­owned vessels did and all were paid a modest fee to do so. Each time they transited between star systems the data they carried would be uploaded into the ICBS and other data networks’ local-­system hubs, updating the accounts according to the timestamps.

  With no means of interstellar communications other than courier ships, account data such as Jalia’s would take time to travel throughout the network, but usually the data transferred between systems faster than the owner of the account could, so overdrafts and other inaccuracies were rare for individual account holders, but in the case of megacorporations other accommodations had to be made. Often a regional account was established for each star system, but in some situations, the ‘good faith’ rules had to be used.

  Interstellar bankers accounted for possible frauds in their credit reserves, so system crashes were virtually unheard of, but their army of accountants often had to track down and rectify discrepancies. Their zealous pursuit of any infraction, no matter how small, usually kept ­people from trying to game the system. Eventually they would be caught and forced to pay penalties and/or face imprisonment, but some still tried, plus there were some inaccuracies arising on their own, due to the update lag.

  It wasn’t a perfect system, but it functioned.

  Hard currency was still used, and had she requested it the mining station could have paid her in such. Standard Gorovan policy was to keep a substantial amount of credits and mics on hand at all their larger installations. Many of their customers in less developed systems and societies used the uniform currency in lieu of data transfers, then exchanged the metallic/polymer chips for their local currencies either at established ICBS facilities or ad hoc. The black markets functioned on the latter, and made up more than half the economies of all but the most advanced races/systems.

  Gorovan went where the business was, so a great deal of their transactions required hard currency.

  Jalia kept a small amount onboard her ship, but nearly all her business transactions were made through ICBS accounts. Normally on days like this she and her crew would hit the local entertainment facilities, do some shopping or get a bite to eat other than prefabricated ship rations, all of which they’d pay for with mics. This trip, however, there wasn’t going to be any downtime, which she knew might arouse some curiosity but that couldn’t be helped. She had a bad feeling and had already decided to leave the station as soon as physically possible, which meant that right after Jalia got back from the funds transfer they were debarking.

  The wide umbilical attached to her ship was deserted when she arrived and the cargo ramp was still deployed with the airlock doors open. Jalia jogged up the ramp and stepped inside her ship, already starting to feel better, but with a sense of urgency nagging at her. Marren suddenly appeared to her left, still wearing his envirosuit, face shield and all, causing her to jump half a meter away out of reflex.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, catching her breath as she glanced around. “Where were you hiding anyway?”

  “We have a situation,” he said, ignoring her question. He glanced down the side ramp into the main cargo hold.

  Jalia’s face tightened and she hit the ramp in a hurry. The male Cres stayed behind to guard the open airlock, disappearing from view once again.

  Chapter 6

  IVARA MET JALIA in the now empty forward section of the primary cargo bay. The two women stood approximately in the center, with a small holographic map emanating between them from the palm of Ivara’s hand.

  “How did you get this?” Jal
ia asked.

  “We hacked into Gorovan’s information net, and from there we got into the local planetary nets.”

  “Using what?”

  “Some equipment we brought. Their computer systems are primitive compared to ours.”

  “Did you use my ship?” Jalia asked, mildly accusing the woman.

  “No, they can’t track the hack back to you,” she said, sensing Jalia’s worry.

  “Good,” Jalia said, placing her hands on her hips, “because I really don’t want to burn any bridges with Gorovan. I do a lot of work for them.”

  The Cres nodded. “We understand. We also have no wish for them to be able to track this vessel, or you. Secrecy is the only weapon we now possess.”

  “Alright,” Jalia said, pushing that line of thought aside. “What do you suggest we do now?”

  Ivara glanced down at the small holographic device she held in her hand. It displayed the jumpship they’d arrived on, now surrounded by mercenary warships. Reports indicated that the vessel had already been boarded.

  “We wait and watch,” she said coolly. “If other ships begin fleeing the system, we go as well. Until then, keep to business as usual.”

  Jalia wasn’t convinced. “Can you identify which mercenary unit that is?”

  “There are three. Trevari’s Raiders, Nevax, and the Great Death Head. The Raiders arrived via private jumpship three kips ago. According to traffic history, Nevax arrived here two cycles ago to provide security for Teesenel, and the Great Death Head apparently has an enclave on Neevet.”