Pursue the Past: Samair in Argos: Book 1 (67 page)

              Mairi just laughed, putting one hand to her forehead; Rory put a hand to her elbow to help steady her.

              Tamara smiled.  “Leave him alone, Mairi,” she said, trying hard not to laugh.  “The boys want to get some new clothes.  I hope that they can clean up nice.”

              “Where are you off to?” Mairi asked her, once she managed to recover from her fit of hysterical laughter.

              Now it was Tamara’s turn to chuckle.  “I’m off to get a few new clothes myself.”  She waved her hands to indicate her clothes, which were nothing more than a shipsuit and a pair of boots.  “I don’t have any civvies, not after what happened at Yullankla.”  That story had made its way around the ship in less than an hour.  Somehow, pictures of the three women (the two humans and the lupusan) had found their way onto the computer network, showing them bloody, battered with torn clothing, wearing metal restraints and being marched aboard the shuttle.  Once they started appearing, the mirth of the crews was unmatched.  The three growled their ire at seeing the pictures, but no one was willing to delete them from the database.  Even when Tamara went in and tried to purge them, some quick thinking soul had gotten in and copied them to some sort of external drive and within two hours of her sweep of the ship’s database, the pictures kept popping back up again.  Throwing their hands up in disgust, the three had decided to just ignore them.  This was a difficult task, as the pictures popped up on displays, datapads and console screens at seemingly random times.  Tamara suspected Stella’s involvement, though she didn’t scold the AI.  She was sure she could see a twinkle of mirth in the AI’s eyes whenever they would speak lately.

              The interior of the station looked much like the hangar bay: well used and slightly dingy.  There was a distinct metallic odor that pervaded as Tamara walked along the corridors, the two other women from cargo just ahead of her.  It looked exactly like what it was, a well-worn station that had been around for over three centuries.  The crew had apparently made repairs and patches when needed, with her critical eye (and assistance from her visual implants) she could tell where components had been swapped out, new plates installed among other small repairs.  But it was clear that disrepair was beginning to overtake their efforts.  Either they didn’t have replicator support, or else the station administrators didn’t believe that a full overhaul was worth the expense.  On the
Grania Estelle
, the Captain had authorized such an effort because his ship was literally on its last legs.  The station must be doing decent business, but not bringing in enough to justify the pay for all of the labor needed for work gangs to get the overhaul done.  Perhaps there were some sections that were getting the attention now and it was deemed unnecessary for the connecting corridors.  Tamara decided she would look into it.  Perhaps the Captain could work out a deal to sell them replicated parts.

              The lift reached the Promenade levels, which were lined with shops of all types, arrayed in what looked like various “districts” as the identification panels on the bulkheads indicated.  There was a weapon district, the garment district, library, even one with the quirky “gadget district” moniker.  Tamara and her companions headed for the garment district, determined to find a new stock of civilian clothing, but the engineer had a desire to check out a few of the other places.  One never knew what one might find sifting through the various items for sale.

              Tamara stepped into one of the electronics shops about an hour later.  She had found several new outfits for herself, spending what little cash she could on new clothing.  She wasn’t big on fashion, comfort was more important in her mind, but she had to admit, she did look good in what she’d bought.  She had rented a locker and stowed her packages there, so that she didn’t have to lug them around with her while she went “fun shopping”.  Clothes were a necessity and while she had indulged herself a little, what she was really interested in would be more likely found here.

              Once inside, she looked around.  Shelves were stacked with various items from floor to ceiling in the narrow space.  She noticed a few power nodes, drained, from what she could tell, but they looked to be in good condition.  Nodding, she continued on, looking at the various items.  A lot of what she saw here was reconditioned, and very little of it actually interested her.  The replicators on the ship could make better stuff, frankly, though it was interesting to see what was here. 

              “Can I help you with something?” a male voice came from the far side of the shop.  Tamara looked up to see who had spoken.  It was a human, a big man, with dark hair, wearing a standard coverall, with a fuel pump in one hand and a rag in the other, wiping it clean of grease.  He was wearing a pair of goggles, which shielded his eyes.

              She nodded.  “I’m really just looking, but I’m always looking for something good.”

              The man grunted.  “I’ve got a lot of this and that, ma’am,” he replies.

              She raised an eyebrow.  “What, you’re not going to ‘pretty lady’ me?”

              He grunted again.  “Ma’am, the only pretty I care about is the pretty of your money.”

              Now Tamara chuckled.  “I like that attitude.  Well, so long as you’re not trying to sell me junk for overinflated prices.”

              “You seem to have a good eye.”  His tone was flat.  “I saw you checking out my wares.  You won’t find crap in my store.”

              She looked at him more closely, her implants scanning him.  “I’m not the only one with a good eye.  That’s a serious prosthetic you’ve got on there.  I like the goggles.  You ashamed of people seeing what you really are?”

              “Now, that
is
pretty,” he commented, setting the pump down.  “You got yourself some prosthetics too, I see.”  Tamara’s implants indicated that she was being scanned.  The man’s eyes had been replaced with cybernetic implants, with a wide range of abilities, detailed scans seemed to be one of them.  A handy trait for someone who would be working on fixing machines.  “Some
old
prosthetics.”

              “Are you calling me old?” she asked, pretending to be offended. 

              It didn’t fool the merchant.  “Your implants certainly are.  Wow, those are ancient.  Over two hundred and sixty-eight years old.”

              “Good eye,” she replied.  “Yeah, these are Republic Navy implants.”

              He nodded.  “Haven’t seen anything like that around here.  But I doubt you came in here looking for implants.”

              She shook her head.  “No, not really.  Though if you happen to have any, I’d be interested in taking a peek.  My crew is getting itchy for some and I can’t make them.”

              “Chief Engineer?” he guessed at her rank.

              Tamara shook her head.  “Engineering Third Officer.”

              “So you said you’re not really looking for implants.  What
are
you really looking for?” he asked, interested.

              “Replicators,” she replied, crossing her arms under her breasts.  “Anything class four or above.”

              The man chuckled.  “Haven’t had working replicators on this station for quite some time, ma’am.  Had a bunch once, even a class seven, if you can believe it.  But that was back in the Republic days.  A few were stolen, the rest were either broken or they just stopped working.”  He paused, thinking.  “I think the last one we had, a class five, broke down about forty or so years ago.”

              Tamara nodded, a small smile on her lips.  “I don’t suppose it’s still on the station.”

              “Matter of fact, it is,” he said.  “Up on level three, ring section.  In the back of hangar bay twenty-two.”

              “Thanks,” she replied.  “I think I’ll wander that way later.  But for now, I’m looking for new designs for an L-type heat exchanger.  The ones we have on our shuttles wear too easily.  Had to replace them twice in two months.”

              “An L-type?  Yeah, those were notorious for their short shelf lives.  Let me think.”  The man nodded to himself.  “Your best bet would be to yank the whole system out and replace it with a modified class-F.  I have a few things that might interest you.  Come over here and we’ll take a look.”

              “So how are we looking?” Eamonn asked, entering Taja’s small office.  She was seated at her desk, her terminal activated, datapad in hand.  She looked up as he entered and smiled.

              “Hey,” she replied.  “I was going to call you in about an hour.  But the prelim figures from the sales are good.  We’ve got a twenty percent return over projections on those ingots.  Profits on this run are going to be great.  Shares are too.”

              He smiled at her.  “That’s what I like to hear.  Any chance they might be interested in a more permanent arrangement?”

              Taja shrugged.  “I’ve asked around and I’ve gotten a few bites, but nothing to write home about.  Nothing yet.  The station is reasonably self-sufficient.  And while there’s a good amount of industry here, so far no one’s willing to trust us.  But once they see the goods keep pouring in from our holds…” She trailed off.

              “Good.  Keep at it.  I’d like to try and set up some sort of permanent run based around here.  If someone here is willing to pay us to stay in the vicinity, I’d like to do that.”  He sighed.  “Give us a sense of permanency rather than this endless, less profitable wandering.”

              Taja smirked.  “Yeah, I hear the crew likes it here.”
              “Bars and brothels,” he replied.  “For the males and females, it seems.  There’s also things to do, people to see, stuff to buy.  Everybody wins.  And since other ships are coming through here all the time, better chance of hiring on new crewmen if people decide to leave, or if we decide to get another ship.”

              “You’re really thinking about doing that?” she asked.  “Build another ship?”

              “Moxie’s convinced me,” he replied.  “Nothing as big and grand as this old girl.  But maybe something small.  Something along the lines of the
Emilia Walker
.”

              “I can’t believe you keep talking about them,” Taja said sourly, setting down her datapad.  “They screwed us.  Or more precisely, they screwed you.”

              “You don’t believe they’re going to show?” he asked, smiling.

              She gave him a look.  “I
know
they aren’t. And I just checked the bridge feeds, so I know they didn’t just show up so you could trick me into betting with you.”

              He held a dark hand to his chest.  “I’m wounded, Taja.  Truly hurt.  It also appears I’ve become predictable in my old age.”

              “In your dotage,” she replied, smiling fondly at him. 

              “Good thing I have you around to help me lace up my boots.”

              “Good thing.”  Then her smile faded.  “You really do think they’re coming, don’t you?”

              He sighed, leaning against the desk, looking over at her.  “I want to, Taja.  I really do.  I want to believe that there are some good-hearted and like-minded souls out there who really are interested in making a few credits together.  If we can band together, we can get more contracts.  Hell, we can get contracts.  Earn a reputation for our collective work and even be able to line our pockets a bit.”

              “But a light freighter like
Emilia Walker
can’t haul nearly the amount of goods we can.”

              “No, but what they can carry, they can get it to where it’s going faster,” he countered.  “Which means they’ll be more likely to get high value goods with even a priority or two on the bill.  If we’re both based from here, we could make three runs to other systems in the time they could make five or six.  The individual shares would be smaller, but taken as a whole…”

              “And if it’s known that we’re working together and that both of our ships are in good repair and that everyone gets paid, others might want to join.”

              He nodded.  “That’s right.  That’s really what I want.  Joining together as a group will keep people like those bastards on Hecate from pushing us around.  Though we’re going to need someone to run this whole affair.  I certainly am not going to do it.  I’m a ship captain.”

              Taja smiled, though there was steel in her eyes.  “Don’t even think about dumping that on me,” she warned.  “If you think I’m staying behind while you go gallivanting, well, you would not like the conversation we’d have if you left.”

              He raised his hands in surrender.  “Don’t worry, love.  You stay with me.”  His communicator beeped.  Pulling it out of his pocket, he flipped it open.  “Yes?”

              “Captain, we have an incoming comm from Commander Samair,” Kutok’s very precise voice answered.  “It’s on an encrypted frequency.”

              He frowned, now deeply concerned.  “Trouble?”

              “I don’t know, Captain,” the comm officer replied.  “She just said she needed to speak with you immediately.”

              He tipped his head to the side.  “All right.  Are we secure?”