Saga of Shadows 1: The Dark Between the Stars (47 page)

S
IXTY
-
NINE

S
HAREEN
F
ITZKELLUM

Following the evacuation of Golgen, some of the skyminers went to Theroc while others headed to Newstation for transfer back to their own clans. The Kellums and Fitzkellums all came to Kuivahr.

After the traumatic experience, Shareen’s parents thought Howard should go back home to be with his family, but the young man wanted to stay with the Roamers and keep learning. “My parents won’t care. Now that I’m on Kuivahr, I can learn everything about the distillery business.” He blinked at Shareen. “Unless you don’t want me here?”

She gave him a quick hug, then brushed it off with an embarrassed laugh. “Of course I . . . we want you to stay, Howard! You were the only person who made school tolerable. Just imagine how much fun we can have here.”

“I’d rather be with you too.”

When her grandfather stood on the decks of his Kuivahr distillery, he seemed proud and defiant, even after the horrific events on Golgen. Del was a big bearded man looking out across a kingdom composed of soupy mudflats. “We’ll come back and we’ll be just fine, by damn,” he said. “I’ve rebuilt from scratch before.”

“
I
haven’t,” Shareen said, not impressed. “My whole life was centered around being a skyminer. I knew everything about the reactors and filtration chain, Golgen’s winds and cloud composition. I don’t know anything about running a distillery.”

“Roamers have to learn on-the-fly, my sweet.” Del gestured out toward the mucky plankton-rich tidal flats. “Expand your horizons.”

“Does it always smell like this?” asked Howard Rohandas. He sounded genuinely curious, not complaining.

Shareen was glad he was still here with them. The odor did seem particularly rich that morning.

Del said, “What you smell is a wealth of raw materials. We scoop up the slime, process it, and make a fortune.”

“Or at least we make a mess,” Patrick Fitzpatrick said.

Shareen’s mother was more optimistic. “By the Guiding Star, Dad, we’ll make this the most efficient distillery in the Spiral Arm. Your granddaughter’s a genius. Who knows? She and Howard might even figure out how to make a brew that’s halfway drinkable.”

Del felt the need to continue his pep talk. “Our clan ran shipyards in the rings of Osquivel, by damn, and when we lost those, we moved our operations up to the cometary cloud. When I got tired of
that,
I went back to skymining. Then I served fifteen years as Speaker for the clans. Now I’ve got this distillery.” He stomped his foot on the metal deck. “And I’m damn pleased with it.”

Patrick pointed out, “Your grandfather is saying that he hopes you lead a much more stable life than he did.”

Shareen knew they would indeed survive. Once she and Howard learned the basic distilling principles, she was sure the two of them could improve the production operations, much as they had done on the Golgen skymine.

Marius Denva, the distillery manager, said he was glad to have Del Kellum back. Puffed up, Del said, “Did everything fall apart while I was away?”

Marius couldn’t hide his teasing smile. “Actually, in day-to-day operations we didn’t notice a bit of difference. I just wanted you back as our first taster to fine-tune that special eyeballs-boiled-in-urine taste you appreciate so well.”

Shareen and Howard made plans to tour the facility, and Toff wanted to tag along so he could tease the two of them, just like a pesky brother. But when Zhett suggested that he check out a mudskimmer and cruise across the plankton flats, Toff decided that making a mess of himself in the mud sounded like fun.

Instead of showing them the engineering and mechanics of the distillery, Marius Denva suggested that Shareen and Howard first take advantage of the extreme low tide. “Have a look at the distillery from the shore. Get the big picture. You don’t often see it so high and dry.”

So she and Howard donned work boots and protective jumpsuits, then went down to the water line. It was a hazy, sunny day, and the retreating water had left a foul-smelling slurry. They stayed on the support deck, wary. Shareen bent down to dangle her fingers in the muck. The greenish brown slime, rich with plankton, had the consistency of thick phlegm. “This would suck you right down like quicksand—unless the smell itself keeps you afloat.”

The distillery towered above them on tall support legs with retractable launching chutes that could be adjusted according to the rising and falling sea level. Howard drank in the details, shading his eyes to look across the tidal basin.

The Kuivahr mudflats swirled with colors, magenta and yellow blooms splotched the surface like spilled paint where plankton species thrived in the ocean interface zone. With each lunar cycle, the waters rushed in to flood the mudflats and stir the nutrients, then rushed back out again, leaving thick layers of plankton redolent with minerals and oxidation chemicals.

Mobile Kuivahr kelp colonies were like forests that migrated from place to place; during low tide the kelp anchored its roots and burst forth dazzling green and blue blossoms. From where they stood at the base of the support walk, Shareen could see one of the transient kelp forests half a kilometer away.

Howard extended his arm. “Look—are those Ildirans?”

Shareen saw the figures waving. Two of them jumped from the kelp island and rode floaterboards toward Shareen and Howard. Ildiran swimmer kith had sleek brownish skin, streamlined faces, and large eyes with double lids so they could see better under the water. The young swimmers seemed overjoyed as they splashed up silty brown roostertails and slid their floaterboards to a halt in the slurry near Shareen and Howard. The swimmer kithmen wore shells as ornaments and short breeches woven from kelp fiber.

Shareen whispered to Howard, “Do you think they speak trade standard?”

“Of course we do,” said one of the swimmers. “We were instructed to learn it so that we could work with your facility.” He flicked water from a webbed hand. “My name is Tora’m. We brought a delivery for you.”

The swimmers opened fibrous satchels at their hips to reveal packed masses of magenta kelp flowers. When Shareen sniffed one, her eyes stung from the sour garlicky scent.

“Special bloom, this phase, very rare,” said Tora’m. “We reserve most of them for Tamo’l at her sanctuary domes. They make good medicines and treatments for the misbreeds.”

“I read about the Ildiran medical facility,” Howard said. “It’s nearby?”

Balanced on their floaterboards, the swimmers gestured off, but distances were deceptive in the tidal flats. Shareen thought she could see part of a dome protruding from the water, near the horizon. “Is that where you live?”

The otterlike creatures blinked their eyes. Tora’m said, “No, we live on the kelp rafts. But we always bring in our harvest.”

The swimmers handed over two satchels of the rare kelp flowers to Shareen, who asked, “Do we need to pay you for this?”

Tora’m didn’t seem concerned. “Maybe. Not today. Talk to someone else.”

They activated their floaterboards and accelerated away. The playful swimmers circled, intentionally spraying mud all over Shareen and Howard. She wiped at the plankton slime on Howard’s cheek, but only smeared it into a pattern of war paint. He returned the favor, which required a response from her, and soon they were both a complete mess.

When they returned to the distillery decks, Del Kellum chuckled at the two of them spattered with mud, but when Toff came in from an afternoon of mudskimming, he was so coated with muck that the distillery workers had to hose him off.

Shareen delivered the rare kelp flowers to her grandfather. He sniffed the special blooms, wrinkled his nose. “Potent. We’ll run an analysis to see what they’re good for—maybe to flavor one of the really sour batches.”

“The swimmers said these particular kelp flowers have important medicinal uses,” Howard pointed out.

Shareen said, “Do you think we could visit the Ildiran sanctuary domes?”

Del frowned. “It’s a sanctuary and a colony. Tamo’l is very dedicated, but the misfits . . .” He shook his head and patted Shareen on the shoulder. “Don’t be in a hurry, my sweet. You’re not ready for that yet.”

S
EVENTY

X
ANDER
B
RINDLE

Though Xander and Terry preferred to check new places off their planetary list, Ulio was one of their favorite stopping points. Ulio was also the place where the two had met, which made it worth visiting again for their own reasons.

OK piloted the
Verne
across open space, but as soon as they reached the active hub, Xander took the controls. The different types of ships and traders, both human and Ildiran, always made the Ulio transfer station, trading hub, and repair yard vibrant and hectic.

Xander guided them in, keeping his eyes open. Sometimes it was a strategy game just to find a place to dock in the haphazard structures. Officially, the rule was first come, first served—which sounded fair and polite, but in reality, it turned Ulio into a spaceship free-for-all.

The transfer hub had no formal administrator, political affiliations, or security enforcement. It was simply a gathering point in space for travelers who wanted something, or wanted to get rid of something. An example of organized anarchy that somehow worked.

Over the past two decades Ulio had become a place where ships could refuel or make repairs, where traders could exchange cargo, where passengers could secure transportation with no questions asked. The conglomeration of ships was like a flea market, a swap meet, a jamboree, and a trade show located in a small, unimportant system in the blurred boundaries between the Confederation and the Ildiran Empire.

Ulio had begun as an unincorporated, unregulated, and untaxed scrapyard. Entrepreneur Maria Ulio had lost everything on Boone’s Crossing when the hydrogues destroyed that colony, but she cobbled together enough money to buy some wrecked Ildiran warliners and EDF battleships after the end of the war. She got many of the wrecks for free, on the condition that she haul them away from habitable planets where they were a navigational hazard. Salvage or scrap, no one else saw much value in them.

As a first step, Maria Ulio had patched and repaired two of the hulks so they could support inhabitants, then she looked for refugees whose homes had been destroyed by the hydrogues, the faeros, or the Klikiss. Plenty of people fit the bill. She offered them a place to live, so long as they helped her repair other salvaged ships she brought there.

Even the Roamers were impressed with Maria’s operations, and so they brought other ships in need of repair. Some were fixed up and converted into space habitats; intact engine components were stripped out and used in other vessels.

Traders began to stop at Maria Ulio’s hub. A few ships simply parked there and stayed, finding it easier to sell and exchange wares at a central point, rather than flying back and forth across the Spiral Arm. Roamers brought their business as well, and word began to spread.

The Solar Navy sent damaged warliners and teams of Ildiran mechanics to work alongside the renowned Ulio engineers to observe and learn. After a while, Ildiran traders began to stop at Ulio as their giant ships did business with the Confederation.

Then, when she was fabulously wealthy, Maria Ulio simply packed up her old ship. She tasked the engineers to recheck her stardrives—which had not been operated for fifteen years—dusted off her vessel, bade everyone farewell, and simply flew off. No one had heard from Maria since, but her legacy remained. In the five years of her absence, Ulio ran itself and grew even larger.

Terry had spent most of his teenage years at Ulio. He’d met Maria several times, and the old woman took him under her wing when he arrived as a twelve-year-old, asking to help with the repairs. She gave Terry a pep talk when he asked if his handicap would be an insurmountable problem. Maria had just laughed. “Most of those ships don’t have gravity turned on anyway. You won’t need to use your legs except to fill out your pants.”

“Why would I need to fill out my pants?” he asked.

“Because it makes the pockets easier to reach. Better access to your tools. You’ll figure it out.”

She had assigned Terry to a team that needed an extra hand, and he drifted around inside stardrive engines, skinny enough to fit in tight crawlspaces; he often suited up and went outside to help patch hulls. It took his coworkers the better part of a week to notice that Terry couldn’t use his legs. . . .

Now, the
Verne
arrived at Ulio’s main hub, a pair of cobbled-together Ildiran warliner hulls that looked as if the two ships had collided and fused. By now, Xander knew which of the permanent facilities maintained artificial gravity “for the convenience of patrons” and which ones maintained au naturel microgravity. Out of consideration for Terry, Xander exclusively patronized the weightless units.

By sheer luck, a spacecraft was detaching from a docking unit just as they arrived, and Xander accelerated the
Verne
to capture the spot. Another ship raced in, and a stream of curses ricocheted through the comm system when Xander reached the dock first. “Have a nice day,” Xander said and clicked off the comm.

OK transmitted their cargo manifest: fully charged power blocks of various sizes and capacities fresh from Fireheart Station. The information went into the bidding board, which all traders could access. Many ships simply hung around Ulio and watched the board like vultures waiting to pounce on unusual items. Vagabond travelers could also put up requests for passage to particular worlds, offering to work aboard ship to avoid the standard fee, but they often waited at Ulio for a long time. There wasn’t much work to be done on a routine passage, and most captains had a compy or two to handle the more unpleasant tasks.