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“I wouldn’t say a lot. I want to start my own asteroid mining operation. That kind of start up takes some serious credits to get off the ground. For one thing, I need my own ship.”
“You could lease one.”
“Only good for the short term. I’ve done the arithmetic, and I can’t possibly turn a profit for ten years if I lease a ship. No, I’ve got to own it all, lock stock and barrel.”
“Lock stock and barrel?”
“It’s from one of the human tongues called Englits. It means I need to own it in totality.”
“I still don’t understand?”
I’d had about enough of Taylon for one day. I motion the barkeep over and settled my tab. The thing is, I’m just as bored as Taylon is. That’s part of the reason I started fighting in the cage matches. I’m a Vakutan, a born warrior.
And what good is a warrior if there are no wars to fight? War may be Hell, but the paychecks were nice while they lasted. Now with peace reigning through most of the galaxy, ex soldiers like me and Taylon have been searching for a new meaning to our lives.
Being my own boss sounds like a great idea. It’s better than being a bodyguard for some rich jerk, or working as an enforcer for organized crime. Besides, asteroid mining is a very dangerous profession. I need a little danger in my life to make me feel alive.
Funny, when I was being told to charge Ataxian positions during the war, I always dreamed of how nice it would be to have a civilian life. Waking up late, not being shot at, it sounded like a sweet deal.
Nobody told me how dull it would be, or how rudderless I would feel with nothing to fight.
I head out of the tavern into the bright sunlight. The Starport beckons from across Touchdown. There’s not much taxi service on Verdan yet, so I guess I’m going to hoof it. I had a hover bike but the engine manifold cracked and there’s nowhere on this planet that sells the part.
Needless to say if I order the part on the holonet the Erebus Collective is going to tariff the shit out of it.
“Well,” I mumbled to myself as I walked down the avenue. “Let’s see if there’s any veracity in what the human had to say.”
I could see the asteroid mining operation behind my eyelids every night when I went to sleep. It was time to make my dreams reality.
And if I had to sling cargo for a while to achieve that goal, then so be it.
Three
Olivia
Igroan as I come upon the ludicrously long line for the customs and immigration services in the star port terminal. It must be more than a hundred sapients long. And unlike me, most of them are not here for a simple holiday.
New Verdan is a colony in its adolescence, and it needs people more than anything. The EC is providing plenty of financial incentive for people to immigrate here, but the downside of that is that they have to pass through CIS first…and all of them are ahead of me in line.
“Aww, man.”
I turn to see the drunk Fratvoyan—if that’s not a redundant statement—joining me in line. He almost walks right into my hover luggage, because he’s so busy staring at the long line.
“Careful,” I say, and he stops himself at the last moment.
“Sorry. Man, can you believe this? I have to report in to the Advanced Munitions Dynamics building in an hour. There’s no way I’m going to make it in time.”
“AMD?” I can’t help but groan. “You work for AMD?”
“I’m supposed to, if they don’t fire me for being late on my first day.” He heaves a long sigh, followed up by a burp. I take a wary step back in case he throws up. “I’m going to be a diagnostic engineer.”
Fratvoyans are remarkably good engineers, mostly because their tiny bodies fit into all of the smaller spaces inside of starships and weapons arrays. Of course, their relative indestructibility helps too. I try to reassure him.
“If you call the office and tell them about the line at customs I’m sure they’ll show leniency.”
“Yeah, right. You must not ever have worked for AMD. They’re the antithesis of understanding.”
“So you say.”
