“Some organizations are flooding the market while others are trying to hoard and kickstart a shortage. We might pull an ocean’s worth of ink-rock from a frontier world, fight off claim jumpers every step of the way because the juice is paying top rate, and by the time we get it to an exchange desk its worth less than what we spent to get it, only to be a fortune the next day after we sell it. Everyone is feeling the squeeze, from prospectors to even the registered factory planets. When you have no idea what your goods or labor are going to be worth tomorrow, you get fierce about the pay today.”
“It’s chaos out there and everyone has guns,” growled Samuel as the trio came to stand at the bottom steps of the cabin that he and Sura had built together.
“On the button, Samuel, on the button,” nodded Dar as he rested one arm on the pedestal that held up the porch, leaning on it so he could kick one leg out and affect a more casual pose. “Used to be we only had to fight for our scores on the rare occasion, but now there’s enough competition it’s worth the cost to keep a few trigger men full-time. Yanna hates it, says its only gotten worse since she started, and you know her, Sura, she’s been with the Rig longer than even I have.”
“Are you building up to a catch?” asked Samuel, suddenly feeling as if Dar wanted more than he’d indicated during their initial communications aboard the Praxis way station.
“No catch, just transparency, and I didn’t want to scare you off, because the Rig is your best chance. You were shaken up when we spoke Samuel, cashing out and ghosting off a paradise like Longstride is a desperate move. I know you’re tired of fighting.” spoke Dar as he looked at the cabin, and then back to Sura, “You’ve both been fighting all your lives, for this slice of the good life. Whatever it is that you’re running from, in order to leave this, I know it has to be as bad as it gets.”
“I told you no disclosures,” said Samuel, and Dar nodded.
“I don’t want to know what’s coming for you, Samuel. I gave you and Sura my word that you will have a place with us, no questions asked, but you have to know what you’re getting into before you come aboard,” insisted Dar as he slowly looked from the cabin to the still steaming hull of the Rig Halo, and then back to Sura specifically. “The line between being prospectors and being pirates has gotten blurred.”
“So you got yourself some mercs because they’re a necessary part of the process now,” concluded Samuel, his voice low as he fought the urge to clench his fist. “You need men like Narek.”
“Men like my husband,” breathed Sura as her shoulders fell slightly, and Samuel could see her eyes begin to mist up.
“Everyone on the Rig knows how to shoot and fight, some better than others, but none of them are professional killers.” Dar sighed as he looked at Samuel, then offered his hand to the homesteader. “You said you were ready to take up the torch for the Rig, and indeed we have much need of another skilled set of hands. But when the time comes, and I promise you it will, we’re going to need your rifle too.”
Samuel wanting nothing more than to draw his revolver and punch a hole in Dar’s chest. The captain had assured him that the prospector license was the extent of their work. He’d experienced, briefly, life aboard the Rig, and Samuel knew he had to take the man at his word. There wasn’t much choice in any of it, though Samuel had made it clear that he was not interested in being anyone’s trigger man again. Dar had lied, but now that the captain had all of the Hyst’s money, their belongings and even their son aboard the ship, there was little to be done about it. Samuel knew deep down that he was prepared to do anything to keep his family safe, and Dar knew that just as plainly, in fact, it appeared he was banking on it.
This is the job.
Samuel took Dar’s hand and shook it, forging their bond even as he felt his connection to Hyst Valley cut to the quick. Not since he’d signed his contact in the Reaper recruitment office had he felt such a shift between the time now and the time that had come before. Sura’s hand slid across his shoulder, and the marine felt a kind of strength returning to his limbs.
“Welcome to the Rig Halo,” stated Captain Dar as he released Samuel’s hand and then bowed to the couple before turning to walk towards the ship, “We dust off in five minutes.”
Sura and Samuel stood quietly for a few moments, holding each other by the hand as they looked at their cabin. Soon the wind picked up and the Rig’s engines began to roar as the pilot started his takeoff procedure. Sura leaned in and kissed her man, then led him by the hand away from the cabin and towards the starship.
“Come on, Samuel,” whispered Sura with a smile, the sort that was resilient and genuine even if weary from burden, a Grotto smile that the marine felt she’d always found a way to make beautiful.
“Let’s go home.”
3. TERMS OF AGREEMENT
“You know what my favorite thing about space travel is?” crackled the voice of Paul Lovat across the recovery channel.
The atmospheric interference and precipitation distorted the sound of it making it difficult to pick up on the nuance of the man’s words. Trask had long ago accepted that when Lovat opened his mouth it was generally in an attempt at cheap humor. The lead enforcer chose not to respond and continued to scan the streets below as he toggled the ocular specs of his helmet in an attempt to adjust for the acid rain that fell in driving sheets. Perched as he was, atop one of the sturdier buildings in this wretched shantytown, he had a good vantage point for observing the primary thoroughfare of intersecting streets and alleyways below.
“No bad weather on a starship,” continued Lovat, plunging ahead with his commentary despite the fact that neither Trask nor Aeomi had deigned to respond, something that was also a common occurrence. “Like my friends keep reminding me, no clouds stationside.”
Trask finally gave a chuckle at the use of a common phrase thrown about by the table girls that Lovat usually spent most of his modest paycheck on in between enforcement actions. The young man at least had the stones to be open about his lifestyle, and Trask had to give him that.
Humor was not something the citizens of Grotto were known for, and neither was being particularly libertine when it came to sexuality and romance. Lovat was not the average Grotto man, however, and Trask supposed the job of enforcer took all kinds, so long as the job got done.
The veteran bond agent had to admit, as his wrist-mounted analytics pad chimed a gentle reminder that the acidity of the rain was only marginally within tolerable limits for human exposure, that he’d have preferred conducting a recovery stationside.
Trask looked over the area, taking in the full sight of the rain-soaked settlement simply known as Drill Post 47, in keeping with Grotto corporation’s penchant for categorical simplicity when it came to naming people, places, and things.
The Post, as it was called by the locals, had been one of several boomtowns to spring up on this lonely planet, hanging in a wide orbit around a sun that was on its last billion years.
Freelance prospectors operating on a Grotto contract had discovered pockets of mordite gas underneath the rocky surface, sniffing it out with ground exploration instead of the orbital scans of the salaried surveyors who had already passed over the planet decades before. Grotto corporation immediately raised a mining colony expedition and sent several thousand settlers along with all the equipment they’d needed to exploit the gas. The corporation opened up private contracts, and sold claims to anyone willing to pay, so while Grotto natives mined what they could multitudes of other would-be colonists from across corporate space flocked to the planet hoping to make a quick fortune.