Chaos Quarter: Imperial Ambitions Page 9

  “You there, Ms. Vermella?” a rough voice asked.

  “Yes,” she answered, voice grim. “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Grith. You borrowed my scout ship before the battle,” the voice informed.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “I assume you’ll be wanting to latch onto me and jump out of here.”

  “You’re all that’s left miss. Me and Crag can’t do it in these fighters.”

  “Follow me then. You can tether on before we jump to Atrebar.”

  “Atrebar? Ma’am, Lupez and the other frigate are in Gwelthay, hunting pirates—”

  “I know where Lupez is. I will not be rejoining the company right away,” she said.

  “Is that a good idea miss? Their ship seems to be heading for Atrebar.”

  “I can see that Grith. But that’s where I’m going all the same. It’ll take Lupez weeks to finish clearing out that pirate nest, so you can either wait here and hope you don’t run out of air, or you can sit around on Atrebar counting horse-pies. Your choice,” Vermella explained, her voice leaving no doubt as to her seriousness.

  The line was quiet for a moment.

  “As you wish miss. We’ll follow,” said Grith.

  “Good. Fall in on my flanks and match speed,” she ordered.

  A man’s mind has got to be his own.

  —Admiral Hathrek Dotathid, Gorutrian Navy, before the “cleansing” of Sirizonia in 2498

  Genghis Khan, through violence and force, could not even conquer the whole of one of Earth’s seven continents. In establishing Atrebar the Uriankhai have brought a whole world under our control, which means that we Tuvans, who once lived under Ghengis’s rule, have accomplished more than that thug ever did. And we did it all without having to fashion anybody’s skull into a drinking cup.’

  —Ulug Khan, Kha-khan, in a speech to his people celebrating the completion of the terraforming of Atrebar, 2317

  City of Kodee Suur, Atrebar, Khanate of The Uriankhai, Atrebar System, Chaos Quarter, Standard Date 8/09/2507

  Kodee Suur was a spaceport town set in the middle of a broad valley bordered by smallish, rounded hills. It was a midsized city with several hundred low buildings, separated from the spaceport by five miles of patchy forest and farmlands.

  Rex took this all in from the top of his ship. He’d been out surveying the damage they’d taken during the fight with the Drake Company. Most of it had been superficial, with only a few shots penetrating through the armor to the ship’s hull. It was nothing some patch-steel couldn’t take care of. Satisfied, he had stopped and taken in the view.

  It was nice, enough to make a person forget he or she was in the Chaos Quarter. The air was brisk and clear; the forests, stately and evergreen; the fields, laid out in graceful checkerboards.

  And there were horses everywhere. For some reason or another, the inhabitants of this world, the only world of the “Khanate of the Uriankhai,” didn’t seem very partial to automobiles. There were some big-tracked vehicles at the spaceport for moving cargo and ships around, but the commuting seemed to be all done by horse. Even the visitors found themselves in the back of large carriages, being pulled around by teams. It struck Rex as impractical, but damn if it didn’t look manly. It had reminded him a bit of the western he’d been watching with Lucius, at first at least. But the riders here didn’t wear broad hats, and the horses were stockier and shaggier than anything he’d seen a cowpuncher ride. Still impressive though. It kind of made him wish he’d learned to ride.

  He turned his attention to the spaceport, scanning the vessels around him. There weren’t many. He’d purposely picked out a small spot. Upon reaching Atrebar’s orbit he’d had his computer skim through their networks to find him an out-of-the-way place that still was big enough to sell munitions. Kodee Suur was the place it had found. The city was the largest one this far north, but he doubted there were fifty thousand people in it. So it was no surprise that this spaceport didn’t have all that many ships in it. He could see a pair of fighters, old Europan birds a generation out of date, no doubt sold to the Uriankhai when the Europans had no more use for them. A long, rectangular transport of some sort waited closer to the terminal, being loaded with large crates. A handful of small pleasure craft, not even big enough to have jump drives, sat near the periphery. A few had weeds growing up around them.

  The low hum of the spaceport vanished, interrupted by the roar of an engine. Rex plugged his ears instinctively, and watched as a small ship touched down on the other side of the spaceport. It was maybe half the size of Longshot, and had a wasp-like shape to it, vaguely similar to the frigate he’d recently destroyed. The blue-red exhaust of its engines slackened as it neared the ground, its landing struts extending. The roar quieted, and his hands left his ears.

  He watched the ship for a second. The locals must have been familiar with it because no official-looking folks came out—no armed guards or customs types—just a single man with a tablet in his hand. A hatch on the side of the ship opened, and a staircase extended. Down the stairs came a figure, female from the look of it, but hard to make out at this distance. He could make out a red blur near her head, figuring it was her hair.

  His attention shifted at the sound of the Longshot’s ramp doors opening. The massive doors dominated the rear of the ship, extending down until they touched the ground. They formed a ramp with a gradual slope, perfect for moving vehicles on and off the ship, into and out of the cargo bay. Walking down it now were Jake and Second. The two were headed for the city. They didn’t really need supplies yet; they hadn’t been in the Chaos Quarter long enough to deplete the stocks they’d left with. But one of their secondary missions, as with the last trip out, was to gather intel on the Quarter and the people they encountered. So they were going to take a look around. He’d had concerns about letting Second out of sight once off the ship, but she was with Jake. He was good at dealing with her inquisitive brand of craziness. His massive size and metallic body also had a nice way of discouraging the predators of the universe, so he doubted anybody would cause trouble.

  As they left the ship, three carriages leaped across the terminal from where they’d been waiting. He couldn’t read the script written on their sides, but he didn’t need to. They were obviously local taxis looking for a fare. Jake and Second could’ve just taken the pickup truck in the cargo bay, but had apparently decided to do as the locals did. The spaceport became a clatter of hoof clops and squeaking leather as the horses pressed on. One, a black carriage with car-like tires, pulled ahead. The driver jerked back on the reigns, and the horses skidded to a stop. A small boy next to the driver yanked back on a break, and the carriage abruptly came to a halt before it smacked into the horses.

  “Taxi!” yelled the boy in accented English. Shortly after his cry the other two carriages arrived, screeching to halt just like the first. Soon the air was filled with shouts as the competing drivers began roaring at each other, the latecomers no doubt trying to bad-mouth the first carriage. All the while the young boy just continued shouting “taxi” as exuberantly as he could. It was the only English word in the mess.

  He couldn’t see it from 130 feet up, but he could bet Jake was smiling at the whole scene. It went on for a few minutes before Jake raised his hands up, and the trio went quiet. Jake pointed at the first arrival. The others swore loudly in their native tongue and then lashed the reins on their teams. Their taxis pulled away, heading back for the terminal.

  Jake and Second clambered up into the carriage, the light vehicle creaking under Jake’s weight. It pulled away slowly, making its way across the tarmac to a wide gravel road that led toward the city. Rex sighed, shook his head, and then headed back for the observation blister.

  It opened, and he descended into his ship. He was on the starboard side of the vessel and moved down the transverse hallway toward the common area. It was empty.

  “Where’s Lucius at?” Rex asked.

  “Sleeping in his quarters,” the computer replied. This made sen
se, as the man had been on bridge watch most of the previous night.

  “And did the locals get back to you about the missiles?” Rex continued.

  “Rake missiles are available, but they are requesting to meet with you before a purchase of this size,” the computer explained. “Apparently they have only eight missiles available at this time.”

  “All right, all right. I’ll go schmooze. Put the ship on secure mode; nobody comes on except crew, got it?”

  “Understood,” the computer replied.

  He made a quick stop in his cabin, picking up a pistol and his gray long coat. Then he walked down the port corridor, reaching the cargo bay with its metal staircase. The way that the cargo bay stairs came together from the port and starboard corridors onto a landing, then turned, and then they descended as a single stair to the cargo bay floor kind of reminded Rex of those grand stairways you saw at ritzy hotels, except his was galvanized steel, not marble or fine wood. Still, he took a bit of pride in having the fanciest cargo staircase in the Chaos Quarter. He could see himself doing a dramatic entrance down these stairs to a party below, were he to ever hold a soiree in the cargo bay. He didn’t see that happening much in this part of space, but he was sure that if he did throw such a shindig it would truly be a night to remember, at least until the booze ran out.

  He reached the door ramp and walked out into the clear, brisk air. The moment he did, he heard the rattle of reins and clopping of hooves as the taxis raced toward him. The sound came to an abrupt stop when they realized he wasn’t waiting and that he was walking to the terminal. He waved at the disappointed cabbies.

  “Nice horses,” he said. They didn’t seem to understand and just turned their teams away, disappointed scowls on their faces. He ignored it and continued on to the terminal. It was an unpretentious building with a simple pair of double doors leading inside from the tarmac. Once in he paused, a sign in front of him written in a script he had never seen. It was angular, definitely not the Latin alphabet. Luckily a short man with a long, thin mustache was waiting nearby. He came forward with open arms.

  “Mister Vahl?” he asked in heavily accented English.

  “Yes,” he said, extending a hand. The young man didn’t shake, instead he grasped both of Rex’s arms just below the elbows, shaking them and squeezing them firmly. Rex mentally shrugged and went with it.

  “Come, please. The spaceport director wishes to meet with you and discuss price. We have refreshments ready!” the man spoke excitedly.

  “Okay, uh…what may I call you?” Rex asked.

  “Cajynnyg-ool,” said the man with a crisp head nod. “Translator for the Kodee Suur spaceport.”

  “‘Kodee Suur,’” Rex managed, “…that’s the city down the road?”

  “Yes. Well worth exploring if you have the time. Most of the merchants are willing to cut a good deal for an off-world trader,” Cajynnyg-ool pitched.

  “Perhaps later,” Rex said. “My main concern is rearming, and if your spaceport has the missiles, I am willing to pay a good price.”

  “Right this way then,” said the man, gesturing him down the hallway to his left. They started down, passing an assortment of people. One stood out. It was the woman from the ship that had landed. The Uriankhai, generally speaking, were rather short with light-brownish skin, narrow eyes, and black hair. This woman was relatively pale—her skin, a light tan. She was crowned with fiery-red hair and sported a curvy figure.

  She flashed him a small smile that he returned, but did no more. He and Cajynnyg-ool continued on until the end of the hall. They turned right, moving through a security door into a smaller, narrower corridor. They followed this way and then came to the spaceport director’s office.

  It didn’t look much like an office. A small table dominated the center, supporting a bowl of steaming white liquid. Behind it a man rose in greeting. He was older than the translator, his head balding, the remaining hair streaked with gray.

  “May I present Oj-songu, director of Kodee Suur spaceport,” Cajynnyg-ool announced.

  The man nodded formally and extended a single hand, apparently knowing the Commonwealth tradition. Rex took it and then decided to go for gusto. He released the hand and grasped the man at the elbows as Cajynnyg-ool had just done to him. For a split second, Oj-songu looked surprised and then smiled, clearly impressed by his attempt to honor their ways. Oj-songu motioned to the small table, which was surrounded by cushions, and then spoke in his native tongue.

  “He asks you to sit and help yourself to some airag,” said Cajynnyg-ool.

  “Airag?” asked Rex, kneeling.

  “Our local drink, fermented mare’s milk. Once we have had our fill we can begin negotiations,” explained Cajynnyg-ool.

  Drinking before business, thought Rex as he took the bowl that was offered. He didn’t know if that should make him like this planet more or be more on his guard. Either way, it was a pretty pleasant welcome for the Chaos Quarter. With a respectful nod to his host he took a deep draft and then passed the bowl to Oj-songu. He did the same and then passed it back. In the background he heard a sizzling sound, faint, coming from behind a door on the back wall. A young woman emerged and said something to the two men.

  “Ah, good. The khuushuur is frying. It shall be ready shortly,” Cajynnyg-ool said.

  Rex raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Drinking and fried food before business—he had the feeling this was going to be a long, and slightly fattening, negotiation. Though as he took another long drink of the airag and felt a weak buzz set in, he decided there were worse things in the universe. So he smiled, nodded, passed the bowl back to his host, and settled in for the long haul.

  ***

  Kodee Suur spread out around them. It was mostly brick and concrete, decorated according to local tastes. It didn’t smell particularly good, Jake noticed. The cause was obvious: the horses. They defecated pretty much anywhere they pleased on the street. Strangely enough, the only motorized vehicles he saw were small carts with trailers behind them, moving continuously up and down the streets. The drivers would occasionally stop, scoop up the horse dung, throw it into the trailer, and then move to the next pile. Jake got the distinct feeling these people weren’t that high on the social scale, but given the amount of shit on the streets, they certainly had job security going for them.

  Their taxi rumbled on toward the central market. It seemed the logical spot for a visitor to go. It wasn’t hard to find the place. Horse traffic, and the smell of dung, picked up dramatically as they got closer. The market itself looked like a park—a vast green ovular space in the middle of the city. A few trees rose above it, but it was mostly open; or it would be if local merchants hadn’t come in today and set up shop. Now the field was a choked mass of humanity and horse flesh, people jostling against each other to get from one place to another. The taxi slowed to a crawl, the driver shouting out profanities in Tuvan, the language of the Uriankhai. Translucent script scrolled across the bottom of Jake’s field of vision: his computer’s running translation of the man’s words. They weren’t pleasant, and they seemed to have no effect on the masses around them.

  Seeing this, Jake had an idea and opened the door of the carriage. He stepped out and instantly people backed up, their eyes wide with amazement. Jake smirked and motioned Second to follow. She got out, her head darting about, bird like, as she took in the surroundings. Jake strode toward the front of the carriage, the amazed locals keeping a distance, clearing a nice path in front of him.

  “Thanks for the ride,” he said in English. His computer repeated the words in mechanical Tuvan from a speaker at the crook of his neck and shoulder. He flipped the driver a silver bit, more than enough. The man nodded approvingly. His child waved excitedly and shouted “taxi!” The boy certainly got a lot of use out of his one English word. Jake waved back, winked at the kid, and then headed for the market. Second followed close behind.

  They loitered, taking long minutes at each stall to see what was being sold. Jake
had seen a fair share of marketplaces in the Chaos Quarter, and this one wasn’t much different than the others. Anything you could think of was for sale, along with a few things you didn’t want to think of. One stall sold fancy silk garments, the owner gesturing and shouting about elaborately embroidered kaftans. Next to him a man sold more run-of-the-mill clothing, his main product being the ubiquitous blue jeans. Jake honestly couldn’t remember a planet where there weren’t some people wearing them. Not far away a man sold lamb and beef sticks he grilled on a brazier. Near that was a very popular stand selling military-grade rifles, in front of which a trio of women sang in a guttural, throaty growl.

  They picked their way through, in no particular order. Second, as she often did in new situations, just stared wide-eyed at everything around her. Her head jerked from shiny thing to shiny thing, taking in each. She paused in front of a stall selling clothing, her eyes fixed on a jacket. It was a rich, red felt, trimmed in dark minks furs, and closed with shiny brass clasps. The woman manning the stall saw her interest and began chattering away in her native tongue.

  “What is she saying?” Second asked.

  “She’s talking up the jacket,” Jake replied.

  Second looked at the jacket, the lady, and then shot a quizzical look at Jake.

  “How can talking change the elevation of the jacket?” she inquired.

  Jake smiled and said, “I mean she’s trying to convince you how good the jacket is.”

  “I know that it’s good,” Second said. “I would not desire it if it was not. I do not understand why she would feel the need to talk about it.”

  “It’s sales, Second. Some people need to be convinced they like something before they buy it.”