Of Islands and Velvet Nights

I guess I have a couple of more story "noses" to post -- stories I started and abandoned this past summer (2017) because I either found that I wasn't motivated enough by them or I hadn't a plot that seemed to justify them. (I should note that this is a first draft and not proofread. You've been warned.)

Without future ado, here is: 

Of Islands and Velvet Nights

Chapter 01

01

'Good morning gang,' I sang out cheerfully with a wave of my umbrella as I strolled into the Exports Section of the Bureau of Trade, Department of Statistical Studies of the Island of Larrendia Governmental Office. 'The sun is high, the sky blue, the breeze balmy, the birds cheerful, and our workweek is in its last gasp. What do you say we take our morning break early and savor this wonderful morning as it should be savored – out of doors, and in the shade of LeVara's Cafe with his best Janvar bean caf? The reports can wait an hour.'

This proposal was met with a few mumbled 'Mornings.' A not unexpected response. Unlike me, none of them had fathers who were the High Ministers of a Larrendia province, which may've allowed me a certain latitude, that my office mates did not dare to share.

'As the junior member of this department, I bow to your judgment, though I can't help but think you will regret these golden days of our youth spent between these walls.'

Verra, looking up from desk no. 3 said, 'The chief was just in looking for you.'

I glanced back to the big, slowly ticking, wall clock over the doorway – 9:11 – I was well within the margin of error. 'Strange. Did he actually expect to find me at my desk at nine – on a beautiful morning like this?'

Mansean, who manned desk no. 5 across from mine, shrugged and without looking up from his papers, said, 'Or any other morning. Nevertheless, he was here and seemed very eager to talk to you.'

'Ah.. If wishes were wings, we'd all fly. Did he mention why he was so eager for my company? It's not like him.'

'No. He just told us to tell you to report to him as soon as you decided to show up.'

'Hmm. That's rather curious, don't you think, friend Manse? Almost sinister. Well, we'll all know soon enough, I suppose. But not before my first cup of caf,' I said, flinging off my hat and slipping my umbrella into the waste basket next to my desk before digging out my cafcup from the piles of papers that littered it.

The big, dented cafpot was to be found on the incandescent heating plate on the table beyond the long double row of filing cabinets at the far side of the room. I carefully poured myself a steaming cup of caf and inhaled a lungful of it warm, fragrant steam as I returned to my desk to settle into my creaking chair.

'He did said you were to see him straight away,' said Bengton from the desk next to mine, that being no. 9.

'As I shall, Beng. My heart's all a'flutter. It is an honor not to sneered at. Rest assured I shall attend to him directly, for as you can see, I'm diligently blowing on my caf to cool it to a drinkable temperature. However, facing the Chief without a cup of caf in me is not to be contemplated. Not at 9:13 in the morning. I must have all my wits about me during any confab with the Chief. He'd expect nothing less.'

'I'm sure that's what he feared,' muttered Masesan without looking up from his work.

I raised my cup in salute, and then took a tentative sip of the steaming caf and then stared at the fat, consular envelope with its dreary port of Entrevan, Caraffa, shipping report on my desk, ironically bright and cheerful looking in a shaft of sunlight slanting in through the tall frosted glass windows behind me, and sighed. 'We must all take a little rough with the smooth.'

02

I knocked on the Chief's door ten minutes later and waited for the growl to enter.

He growled and I entered. 'Morning Chief,' I said brightly, with my forced carefree cheerfulness fortified by my cup of caf. 'I understand you wish to see me.'

He growled something about 'not really' but waved me to the chair before his desk.

As I settled into the chair he said, 'You're still not married, are you, Croftoy?'

'Ah, not that I noticed, Chief. You'd certainly have been invited to the ceremony.'

'Engaged? Any children to support?'

I was fogged, but answered, 'No, No. Do mistress' count?'

'No.'

'Not that I have any of those either. Just curious. What's with all these questions, sir? Updating my personnel record?'

He glared at me. 'Yes, in a way. Yesterday I received a memo from the Island Governor’s Office instructing me to select one of my staff for immediate reassignment. They want someone who is young, fit, smart, and unattached for an unspecified position. You're as close as I can come to those requirements. You're unattached.'

'I'm young too,' I added helpfully.

'True, but even if you were 120 you'd still be ideal,' he growled.

'What sort of position are you offering me?'

He slid an envelope across the desk towards me. 'This may, or may not tell you. I wasn't told, though I expect you'll find that it's off-island work of some kind.'

'A consular post?'

'I doubt it. Consular posts are not handed out in sealed envelopes, nor do families matter. No, I expect it's some manner of field work.'

'A spy?'

'Island governments do not employ spies, Croftoy.'

'No sir, of course not. We all serve the Throne.'

Of course we did. That fat consular envelope was from our “spies” in Caraffa's port of Entrevan, though they were official members of the Larrendian trade mission. And while the Ministry of Trade and the Department of Statistical Studies used these reports to provided a sorts of assessments to aid Larrendian business interests in all the other major islands – they were our nominal reason for existence – we also provided political assessments based on these economic reports to the Island Governor's office as well. The Islands of the Founders were all one under the Founder's Throne, but that did not preclude rivalries between the islands and consequently keeping close tabs on them.

'Well, I don't think this is a Throne appointment either. No, the urgency of the appointment and lack of background strongly suggests that the powers and principalities above us want to get you out of sight as quickly and as quietly as possible. And provide deniability to those of us who have push the paper along.'

'Sounds fascinating.'

'That's your youth and inexperience talking. If I were a betting man, I'd say you're bound for some steaming hot, pest-ridden little port in the Savage Islands where the bugs are as big as your fist, lizards as long as your arm doing nothing more than counting ships and hoping that things do not get out of hand between Caraffa and Dariana – or you could be dodging bombs as well. Better you than me, Croftoy.'

I leaned back in my chair. It is remarkable how three years of pushing Trade Consular reports across one's desk can warp your outlook. I still actually found the prospect rather pleasing. 'Why, thank you, sir. Shall we see where it is?' I asked picking up the envelope from his desk.

He shook his head, 'No. I don't want to know. I wasn't told because I need to be able to deny any specific knowledge of what this involves should the Throne should suddenly wake up and decide to take notice of what's going on. Open it only after you've left.'

'And when will that be?'

'Kaysan should have you termination papers for this department filled out and ready for you to sign on your way out. Clean out your desk and be gone by noon. Say nothing about this appointment to anyone. Just say I sacked you, for the Founders' know, I've plenty of excuses. Or make up any old excuse why you're out on your ear that you might think people will buy. No one will believe you anyway. The important thing is that we want as few people as possible taking notice of it. The people you work with must be told something but otherwise try to slip out unnoticed.'

'Surely, I'll be greatly missed. Why the outrage, once word gets out…'

'Put it in a memo, Croftoy. And file it.'

'You know best, Chief. Though, I say, you're going to have to scramble to put together a farewell party for me.''

He sighed. 'We'll party after you're gone, Croftoy. And let me make this absolutely clear once again – you don't want to be greatly missed. You want to simply disappear, as unremarked as possible. Let's not tip off any Throne or other Island agents in the Bureau of Trade, if we can help it. Keep it simple and short your own sake. If you're going to find yourself in the field, you don't want to leave a trail from this office behind you. While it's considered ill manners to kill spies, if the secrets are deep and dark enough, well… the rules can be bent. And if you do end up in the Savage Islands, turning up dead will hardly raise an eyebrow. Some of those lizards are poisonous. Now get out of here.'

I nodded and climbed to my feet. 'Right. 'Well, then, I guess this is goodbye, Chief.'

'Yes, I guess it is,' he said with a slowly broadening smile added, 'Why, damnme, it is. Goodbye, Croftoy. And good luck,' he added, extending his hand.

'Thanks, sir,' I said, as we shook hands. 'I've enjoyed working for you.'

'The first lie of your new career, Croftoy. You can find your way to the door, can't you? Or do you need some help?'

'On my way, sir. On my way,' I said, slipping the envelope of secrets into the inner pocket of my coat.

It was only after I signed my termination papers and was walking along the long sun and shadow checkered corridor to the Export Section office that I began to wonder if I had a choice in this reassignment. You would think I would, though it was hard to pinpoint any spot in the brief conversation were the point could've been raised. Too late now, of course. As I arrived at the Export Section's door, I paused, considered what I needed to do. I didn't think there were any Throne agents in in the Export Section, but I decided that I'd best follow orders.

I entered and briskly walked to my desk, followed by nine pairs of curious eyes. I pulled open the top drawer of my desk and collected the two Cryth & Silfer pens that constituted my personal belongings and slipped them into the inner pocket of my coat alongside the letter. I had not set down deep roots in the Export Section over the last three years. There was the cafcup, but I'd pass along to my replacement. He or she would need it.

'Well, what did he say Croftoy?' asked Maseson, looking up.

' I'm afraid I have some bad news for all of you. News you'd best take this sitting down,' I began, looking about the room. 'Good, I see that you're all seated, so I can come right to the point. The Chief and I had a frank and open discussion, the result of which has been that I have collected my personal effects and now must bid you a tearful goodbye.'

'You mean to say that you've been sacked?' exclaimed Maseson.

'I suppose I could dispute who sacked who, but in the end, it is not worth disputing. The bottom line is that I must take leave of you, now, today, and without a farewell party. However,' I added pulling out my pocketbook and drawing out a few bills, 'I will leave these bills with Mase here for you to drown your sorrows after work today. And a word to the wise – make it after 17:00, and not a minute earlier…'

'This is a joke, isn't it Gil?' asked Verra. 'You can't have been sacked for being 11 minutes late.'

'That may've been the final grain of sand that sunk the barge, Verra. But I'm sure the cause goes much deeper.'

'What will your father say?' asked Bengton.

'I must confess, that I am not all that eager to find out.'

'I mean to the Chief for sacking you.'

'I doubt that he's any more eager to find out than I am. But, I suppose that we all must take the rough with the smooth,' I replied, setting my hat on my head and drawing my umbrella from the waste basket. 'I have enjoyed my time in the good ol'Export Section and slaving alongside all of you. I shall miss you all.'

I then proceeded to circle the room shaking each of my office-mate's hands and exchange good luck, goodbyes in turn.

I finished with Verra, how didn't let go of my hand. 'I think we deserve the truth, Gil,' she said, watching me closely. 'After three years, you're one of us.'

'I am, and I shall miss all of you. I do not know what the future holds for me, but it is just possible that I may drop you a note or two. However, I have been sacked, and I trust that will be the beginning and end of your speculation outside of this room.'

Verra gave a searching look, and then nodded. 'Right. We will expect clear, complete and elegantly written reports.'

I nodded. 'I have told you all I know. But I hope to send you a line from from time to time.'

As I opened the door I turned about and looked about the office one last time. The narrow room, with a single row of ten desks, set in facing pairs, running down the middle, had been my home away from home for the last three years. A double row of filing cabinets filled the back of the room where our hard work went to die. On the wall behind me were the rolled up wall maps of the Islands of the Founders and the twelve major islands. Tall frosted windows lined both sides of the office. They opened to a small courtyard or light well between the office wings – the Larrendia Government Offices Building had been built before the Throne had introduced incandescent lights to the Islands and it still largely relied on the sun to illuminate its workings. On bright, sunny days, such as today, the office almost looked pretty – the muted shafts of sunlight falling through the floating dust motes to the rich wood desks and piles of cream colored papers. Almost.

Nevertheless, I found myself genuinely sad to leave, much to my surprise.

I raised my hat in salute, and finding no words, for once, turned and left.

03

My cheerfulness partially returned as I put the Government Offices behind me. The tree shaded streets of Larran where busy with shoppers and clerks running errands. Pedal and oil-engine vans and carriages drifted down the wide streets, dodging the clanking street-rail carriages that ran down the center of the major streets. I stopped at LeVera's Cafe for a second cup of caf and a sweet roll. It had been an eventful morning. I spent my time over the caf, watching the people saunter past me. They had a purpose, while I found that I felt like I had actually been sacked, a mixture of freedom and anxiety as all the implications began to sink in. I needed a purpose, and the stiff envelope in my pocket proved too tempting to ignore.

It seemed safe enough to open it here, so I slit the envelope with my pocket knife and drew out its contents. It contained exactly two items. The first a ticket for a sleeper compartment on this evening's night rail service to Evertre, which I knew to be a small city on Larrendia's western shore. The second was a single sheet of paper with a machine-written instruction to call at 10 Kimartha Street at my earliest convenience. I was to ask to see one Lint Berian. And when asked who I was, I was to state my name and say I was from Perner Wenyand; my old Chief. And that was all. When I had stared at the sheet of paper and ticket long enough to recognize that I could gleam no more from them, I slipped them back in the envelope and the envelope back into my inner pocket.

All in all, the lack of information made my problems, save one, pretty easy to solve – a few brief notes to friends – a new job, big rush, fill you in later – would suffice. It would suffice for father as well. I'm sure he could find out more, if he cared to. It would, however, not suffice for Relae. Thinking about Relae I realized that perhaps I could've used a second cup of caf during my interview. The more I thought about Relae the more I realized that I might have been too hasty – too carefree – during my interview with the Chief, and the less I was looking forward to our standing dinner date for fourthday. The night rail would not depart until 22:55, so I'd have no excuse for not seeing her. Not that I didn't want to see her, it just that, well, it was going to be iffy.

I boarded the outbound street-rail carriage at the Veytana Street Market that would take me to Larran's suburbs and the family's city/country villa where I lived. At 10:10 in the morning the carriage had a distinctly different clientele then it did at 17:15 when I usually rode it homewards. At 17:15, my fellow passengers were city-men and city-women dressed correctly in our beige, grey, or black business suits. We swayed in sync with the rolling gait of the carriage as we read the news sheets or talked in quiet tones of business and society as the carriage swayed down the long street. The 10:10 the passengers were far more gaily dressed and far more lively. Banter and gossip flew back and forth, up and down, the carriage. Instead of leather portfolios, they lugged baskets and string bags filled with produce and bakery from the Veytana Street Market. Nevertheless, they were bound for the very same suburban villas, where they were employed as domestic help; cooks, maids, and the odd yard-and-garden man pressed into shopping service. And, like the city-folk, one by one they abandoned the street-rail carriage, at every stop as it clanged and squealed it way down the shade-dappled Veytana Street towards the outer most fringe of Larran proper.

I was one of the last to leave, a few blocks short of its turnaround terminal. Our villa, Meadow Garden, lay two blocks off Veytana Street. It was a not all that large, wood-built foursquare house set in a not all that large garden lot, completely unremarkable for its location – the homes of prosperous Larran business men and government officials. Its bamboo tiled roof was painted sky blue, and the dark green painted two story veranda that circled it was trimmed with gilt and draped with flowering vines. From the shadows of the veranda, its full height window-doors glimmered between the rarely used storm shutters and varnished wood panels.

I walked up the flower lined walkway and entered the cool, dark wood paneled entry way. 'I'm home!' I called out, just to give the staff fair warning. Who knows what they do at 10:30 in the morning, with the master gone?

'What are you doing home, sir? Is everything all right? Have you come down with the fever?' asked Mai, hurrying out from the kitchen. She was our housekeeper and the person in charge when the important family are not in residence.

'I'm fine. I've been given a new assignment, and the day free. Include me in lunch. I'll dine with you and the staff in the kitchen, no fuss.'

'Yes, sir,' she nodded, and made no fuss. She'd known me all my life, and I'd been residing at Meadow Garden for the last three years, since coming down from the university, so we had a very comfortable understanding.

I changed into some casual clothes, and wrote my notes before lunch in my room. After lunch I turned my attention to packing. I'd little in the way of suitable clothes for equatorial pest-holes if I was indeed bound for the Savage Islands. I had rather avoided pest-holes, equatorial or otherwise as a rule. Of course, the pest-ridden equatorial posting was just speculation, but if it wasn't an equatorial pest-hole, what was it? In the end, I packed a light wicker portmanteau with just the necessaries for few days, and some casual, holiday clothes. Once I knew more about my assignment, I could purchase a suitable wardrobe. Later, after the afternoon shower, I wandered out to in the gazebo to do some thinking about Relae.

While she is not, by any stretch of my imagination, my mistress, we did enjoy a dear, free, almost casual friendship – a sweet, understated friendship that I fear I'd taken too much for granted. We had made no long term plans – save that perhaps that we would make those plans sometime – we were too young to bother with them now. However, the normal trade consular posting was five years, and I could hardly expect my posting, whatever it was, would be significantly less, so suddenly we weren't too young, but making long term plans in the few hours and in the face of a five year separation, was too much to ask of her, even if she did care for me more than what she let on – or I had let on about her. What I would say, and more to the point, what she would say this evening I found impossible to guess.

04

I called at the front door of the MarDarr's villa, not quite three blocks from Meadow Garden. Her parents owned MarDarr's Market Place, a large general merchandise store in Larran. Relae came bounding down the stairs as soon as I was shown into the dark, twilit hall, in slacks and a light coat.

'You look wonderful, my dear,' I exclaimed. She did.

'Hello, Gil. Right on time,' she said, giving me her hand and her cheek to kiss. 'Were should we go tonight?'

'I don't want to share you tonight, so I thought we could find a cozy booth in the little Silfara restaurant, The Sizzle Pot, on the corner of Veytana and Bley Street. It's close enough to walk to, and I have some news to tell you along the way.'

'Oh? News, you say?' she said archly, grabbing her umbrella and hat. 'Good news or bad?'

'Bad,' I replied.

'Oh,' she said giving me a sharp look, but said nothing until we had reached the pavement and turned towards Bley Street. 'Tell me.'

'I had a rather interesting interview with my Chief the first thing this morning. He called me into his office and said that the was looking for a handsome, debonaire, dashing, brave, and resourceful fellow without wives and children to support for a special posting…' I began and went on to describe my morning's interview.

'So, publicly, I've been sacked, but in reality I've been transferred to a different branch of our department – though exactly what branch, or where I'll fit into it, or be posted, or for how long, has not yet been made clear to me. All I know is that I have to catch 22:55 night rail to Aulia tonight.'

'Tonight?'

'I'm afraid so. Not by choice, I assure you.'

We walked in silence for a few minutes after I'd finished.

'You were being your usual flippant, casual self, in all this, weren't you?'

'Ah, I'm afraid so.'

'Playing the fool, and ending up as one.'

'It would seem so...'

'Did you even think to ask for more details?'

'There was no point. The Chief didn't know anything more than he told me. He wasn't told. It's all a matter of deniability should the Throne ever get wind of it or care enough to inquire.'

'And you didn't think to ask for a few days to consider it?'

'No. To tell the truth, it never occurred to me.'

'It didn't? Isn't that the usual procedure when offering someone a new position? Especially one that might involve an off-island posting?'

'Well, yes, I'm sure it is, but perhaps not for this type of posting. In any event, it didn't seem to come up in the conversation.'

'And of course you just played along, as if it was all a joke.'

I couldn't really deny that. 'Looking back, it would appear so. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly. It was, like 9:30 and I had only one cup of caf in me. It just sort of went the way it went… I suppose I should've had a second cup of caf, but I couldn't keep the Chief waiting that long.'

'And there you go, making a joke of it all again.'

'Sorry.'

We walked in silence for half a block.

'And you never thought of me – of us – at all?' she asked, at last. The nub of the issue.

'Ah, well, I did ask if a mistress counted as a dependent that might disqualify me for the post – they don't,' I began, in a weak attempt of humor that it wasn't appreciated,. I hurried on. 'But of course, you're not my mistress. You're my friend. My best friend, really. And given the nature of the assignment, and the way it was presented, friendships where neither here nor there. I guess at the time, all I thought about was that I was being offered a chance to escape years of pushing papers from one side of my desk to the other. And a chance for a little adventure. To see something of the islands. To do something in my youth that I'd not want to do when I was older and knew better.

'The truth is, Relae, I don't think I was ever given a choice. There was never even the hint that this was anything other than orders that I was expected to obey. Chief made it sound like it had to be someone from the Statistical Studies Office, and given all the requirements of the assignment, I was likely the only one who fit all the requirements.'

'There must be sixty people in the different departments. Certainly you can't be the only one who's under 40 who's not married.'

'You're forgetting smart, dashing, handsome, and debonair.'

'You're making that part up.'

'Well, it was implied. The thing is, if it had been a regular trade consular posting, all that wouldn't matter. Age would be no bar and families would go along. But you can't take a family to some little pest-ridden port on the fringe of the Savage Islands. And I had no excuse – that the Chief would accept – to decline offer.'

'If that thought had ever crossed your mind.'

What could I say? I said nothing. The sun was leaving us for night – its last red-gold rays were gilding the tops of the trees, but the blue twilight was deepening under their arching branches. I glanced to Relae next to me. Her eyes were on the pavement, her face grave – or angry. I waited for her decision.

'So, what do expect of me?' she said, after a long pause.

'I expect that we will continue to be the best of friends, though it will be very different with me off somewhere for possibly years. I expect nothing more of you. Friends for ever.'

'So “us” doesn't matter that you're leaving…'

'Of course it does matter, greatly – but seeing what I've gone and thoughtless done, I can't expect anything more that friendship. I would hope for more, but...well, we – or I, anyway – thought we had years yet to decide if we were more serious than that.'

'We're already lovers.'

'With a wink and a nod. We were playing – you made that clear. No commitments, no strings.'

'I thought you were someone I could trust,' she said softly.

'And you can. I was a fool this morning. No excuses. And I beg your forgiveness. But I ask you, if I had kept my wits about me and said I needed the two free days to consider the posting, would you have made it a choice of you and us, or what could be seen as my duty to our island?'

'Duty! Oh, come off it, Gil. You want to be this secret agent or whatever. It's not a matter of duty.'

'And I want you as well… certainly as a friend, and, well, I guess just as a friend for now – it would be terribly unfair to expect more with the prospect of being gone for years.'

'Exactly.'

'I find I regret that, Relae, for what it's worth.'

She walked in silence for a while.

'You were a chump this morning. And I have to admit that I am rather hurt to be an afterthought in your life. But I suppose you're not entirely to blame. I was in no hurry either to settle things between us, much less settle down. A few years apart is not a terrible blow to any cherished plans of mine. I'll just have to find someone else to feed me supper on fourthday, and do other things with,' she added with a sidelong leer.

'Yes, of course. We've our youth to live, not to mope about. However madly jealous I'll be, I'll not let it turn to bitterness.'

'Oh, you'll be jealous, that I can assure you.'

'No more than I deserve. I am truly sorry, Relae. I was a chump. I wasn't thinking clearly. And I feel terrible that I didn't think of us. I was caught by surprise, and five minutes later, I was signing my termination papers…'

'Oh, never mind. We'll just be friends, but no promises beyond that. Do we have an understanding?'

'Yes. I could ask for nothing more. You're free. I make no claims beyond friendship. Perhaps the separation will make our hearts grown fonder. I know it's making mine already.'

She stopped and looking around. We had the orange-lit street to ourselves, so she stepped close and we kissed.

'Are you hungry?' she asked softly, watching me after she had gently pushed me away.

'No,' I said, heart pounding.

05

We made the rail station with 10 minutes to spare, and the proper platform with five to spare. The great rail shed platform was largely deserted – small clumps of travelers saying their goodbyes, just as we were. We stood in the vague strip of light cast by a rail compartment window and kissed one last time.

'Damn, damn,' I muttered when we parted. 'You are being so cruel.'

'Revenge is sweet.'

'Oh my, it certainly has been... I was such an idiot.'

She smiled. 'And handsome, debonaire, dashing…'

'Not to mention, brave and resourceful…' I added helpfully,

'But an idiot.'

'Your idiot,' I said and pulled her close again, kissed her one last time, briefly, and then lifting my portmanteau, and the warm box of steamed buns we had stopped to pick up along the way, I turned to board the rail carriage.

I took three steps, and then turned and walked back to her.

'I love you, Relea,' I said.

'That's unfair, Gil,' she said softly, but blushed.

'I know. But I need to say it to you in person, Relea, not write it in some sad, lonely letter. I probably have loved you for such a long time, that I took it for granted and, well, there seemed no reason to say the words-- we understood each other. I know it changes nothing. I just don't want you to wonder.'

She just shook her head. 'Get on the train, and try very hard not to be such an idiot.'

I managed to find my compartment, and lifting the window, waved and called out goodbye to Relea just as the rail carriages started, hesitated, banged and started again into the night.

Chapter 02

01

I opened the box of steamed buns and selected one. I took a bite. I had been an idiot, and a fool, and there was nothing I could do about it. I didn't know what lay ahead, but I knew now what I was leaving behind. Too late. Refusing this posting was not in the cards. She'd not take me back if she thought I bowed out, even for her sake, but I needed to get back before I faded from her memory. I'd a feeling that my two priorities were mutually exclusive.

Damn.

I turned off the compartment's light to watched the tree shaded, dim, incandescent-lit streets of Larran march by, one by one, until they ended and the countryside began – black, blue and silver in the light of several million stars, the silver stream, and Corath, the smaller, silver moon. Black clumps of woods, lined silver fields, fence lines, roads, and dark houses in blue shadows slipped by, and by, and by, sometimes unseen, hidden behind my tumbling thoughts, my regrets. Still, I didn't feel like sleep, and so I watched the rolling landscape slowly grow brighter as Darmeth, the big gold moon rose, out of sight from the east, over the fang-like mountains of the Central Ridge that guarded the great dome of Mount Larrenda. Sometime after midnight, I began to catch a glimpse of the sparkling ocean as the rail line approached the western coast to skirt the volcanic line of mountains, some still smoking, that divided the island of Larrendia in two.

I may have dozed, the last hour or two, since I was startled by the knock on the compartment door when the attendant announcing that we'd be arriving in Evertre in a quarter of an hour.

You don't want to arrive in Evertre at 4:47 in the morning. Well, you don't want to arrive anywhere at 4:47 in the morning, but the deserted platform, dim, cool, and smelling of hot oil-engine fumes, was anything but inviting. I was the only one to debark, but there were several clumps of 4:47 people huddled on the platform to take the rail on to Larrenda's second city Aulia, its southern port, two hours down the line. Fortunately, the Station Hotel had a sleepy-eyed clerk on duty – the 4:47 from Larran was not a surprise – and I was able to secure a room.

I awoke, much refreshed around 9:30, a nice, lazy, fifthday time and climbed out of bed by 10:00 – too late for the hotel breakfast, but with the tourists out and about, I was able to secure one of the bathrooms on the floor to bathe. I donned some casual, touristy clothes and stepped out into the bright Evetre morning. I quickly found a cafe with a plaza on one of the terraces that overlooked the city and its holiday cottage suburb that fell to the old volcanic crater that was Evetre Bay, not more than a long league away. I sipped my caf and nibbled on my sweet roll and considered my next move as the sun warmed scent of the ocean played around me.

Having been unceremoniously herded to Evetre, I found I was in no great hurry to report to no. 10 Kimartha Street. To begin with, I'd have to find Kimartha Street, which, I admit, I wasn't going to do sitting in the sun on the SeaView Cafe's plaza. But even if I didn't order a second cup, which I did, the scouting expedition would likely not turn up the establishment much before noon, and I expected the interview to far more extensive than the one that landed me here, so I decided that my earliest convenience would be sometime after lunch.

Fortified by two cups of caf, I set out to explore Evetre, a town of two story wood buildings is built on a series of long, terraces climbing the slope of the West Guard. Each terrace consisted of a single broad, building lined avenue. Short, steep cross streets linked the terraces. The long, lowest terrace was a broad street market crowded with shoppers – natives and tourists. I asked a fruit vender where I could find Kimartha Street. I was told that it was six block south – one of these short cross streets. Of course no. 10 Kimartha Street was just short of the top of the town, and I was feeling it in my legs when I puffed past, a dark, narrow, building leaning up against the lava-stone terrace wall. It was only wide enough for a doorway and a dirty display window, empty save for dusty spiderwebs. The sign over the door said, in peeling paint,” Fouson & Song Trading Co.”. They looked to have peaked in prosperity about the time my father was playing with blocks in the nursery.

I puffed past it with nothing more than an incurious glance and continued up to the terrace in search of a restaurant for lunch. And to catch my breath. I found an unassuming restaurant that through its front windows seemed popular with the natives and enjoyed a leisurely lunch in its quiet, shady back terrace that overlooked the rooftops of the terrace below to provide a view of the town and cottages that spread out to Evetre Bay and the ocean behond.. I lingered over a desert cup of caf until after 13:00, and if I give you the impression that I was rather reluctant to present myself at no. 10 Kimartha Street, you wouldn't be far from the truth. I needed to clarify what I would, and would not accept in this posting. I couldn't throw the whole thing over – Relae wouldn't stand for that, not after having accepted it, however thoughtlessly – but I wanted answers, full and complete answers. And I decided that I wasn't going to commit to an open ended assignment. If it was to the Savage Islands, I'd think two years would be more than enough. With that decision, I drained the last of my caf, and rose to meet my fate.

02

I stepped up to the door of no.10 Kimartha Street and pushing the latch handle down, pushed open the door. There goes my last chance of giving this a miss, I thought, and stepped into the dim, narrow front room. It was bare except for an ancient looking counter that ran the width of the room. A young woman sat in a chair beyond it reading a book.

The young woman looked up and gave me a rather guarded, “Good afternoon.'

I beamed at her, 'It is indeed. It's a shame you can't be out and enjoying it. Working on a free day…' I shook my head sadly.

'How can I help you?' She seemed unreceptive to my sympathy.

'I'm here to see Lint Berian.'

'And who should I say is calling?'

'One Gil Croftoy, in person. Perner Wenyand said I should look in.'

She put down her book and picked up the single folder from the small desk beside her and opening it, gave it, and me a long look.

'If that's my official imagebox print, it doesn't do me justice,' I remarked casually, catching a glimpse of my imageprint in the folder.

She closed the folder, and stood. 'Wait here,' she said, and with a brief knock on the door behind her, stepped in. She certainly hadn't seemed inclined to banter – I suppose having to work on a free day depresses the spirit. I then reminded myself, once again, to get serious and keep my wits about me – this time. For once.

When she returned, half a minute later, she walked to the end of the counter and raising the shelf said, 'You can go in.'

I stepped by her with a polite smile and into another bare room dominated by large desk. This time I was greeted cheerfully by a youthful looking fellow who hurried around the desk to shake my hand.

'Welcome to the firm. I'm delighted to meet you, friend Croftoy! I'm Les Berian, managing director. Please excuse our rather threadbare appearance. We're just borrowing this office. Here today, gone tomorrow. All a game, of course, but the powers and principalities want results, but without leaving their finger prints.

'I'm delighted to meet you sir,' I said shaking his offered hand respectfully, reminding myself not to fall into bad habits.

'Have a seat, Croftoy. Glad to see you found us.'

'Thank you, sir,' I said and took a seat before the desk as directed. And then waited for Berian to settle in as well.

'You're the fellow from the Statistical Studies Office,' he said, waving the folder his receptionist had brought him.

'My fame proceeds me, I see,' I said. 'I only learned of this posting yesterday morning.'

'Yes, it did. And I must say that I couldn't have asked for someone more qualified if I had ordered you up,' he said brightly, with a broad smile that suggested that he had. 'I expect you have a lot of questions. So feel free to ask any question, friend Croftoy. I think I can answer most of them.''

I nodded again. 'Yes, I do. My Chief claimed not to know anything about this posting.'

'He didn't – though he knew, of course, how the game is played. You never know – just when you think the Throne has grown blind, bang! You find yourself being asked by a coldhearted Agent of the Throne to explaining all sorts of uncomfortable things. Being able to say “I wasn't told.” with a clear conscious is a blessing. Knowing only what we need to know makes all our lives simpler.'

'Not necessarily,' I said. 'In any event, I believe that its customary when offered a position, to describe what that position involves – assuming you know what it involves,' I added, with a smile, hoped would've made Relae proud, had she been here with me. 'So perhaps you might began by outlining the job I've been posted to, and afterward, if I have any questions I'll ask them.'

He laughed. 'Just so. Forgive me. I forgot that they just doped this on you out of the blue sky. All this is second nature to me. Right. Let's begin at the beginning.

'The powers and principalities of our dear island have grown increasingly curious, about what Caraffa and Dari are up to in the Savage Islands. We know, of course, that they are rapidly developing oilnut plantations on many of the northern most islands, including the big islands of Garda and Desda, as you diligently recorded in your reports of imports and exports.'

I nodded. Our trade mission consuls on the other major islands send long lists of imports and exports compiled from public records to the Exports Section of the Bureau keep on top of all the current trade patterns. The Island Government of Larrendia also looks over our shoulder to see what the other islands are up to. I covered Caraffa exports and so I knew that they were exporting shiploads of construction equipment – blade tractors, power shovels, drags, heavy lorries, and other earth movers to the Savage Islands to clear the vast swatches of jungle for oilnut trees to meet the ever growing demand for oil fuel. Larrendia was too far north to play much of a role in this expansion, much to its chagrin.

'And like you, other sources of information have caught hints of something else going on as well.'

'Are you referring to the Throne's (Caraffa) Sea Defense Force's recent policy of hiring cargo ships to carry what seems to be heavy construction equipment listed only as naval supplies and with no stated destination?'

'And the fact that the turnaround time for those ships is too short for them to be delivering their cargoes to either of the big islands of Garda or Desda.'

'Suggesting they are building something – a base or harbor – on some unknown island for some unknown reason.'

'Exactly. Though we have a fairly good idea what island they are delivering those items to.'

'You do? Where?'

'To their naval base on Crater Harbor, Panida.'

'But that's a long established base on a long settled island. Even if they were expanding it, they'd not need as much equipment as they seem to be acquiring. And it is my understanding that the island is fully developed. It's been reclaimed for well over a hundred years.'

'True. However, Pandia is not their ultimate destination. While we have no permanent observers on Panida – yet, we do have a few reliable correspondents who call on that port, sailors and island traders. From their rather infrequent reports, we have reason to believe that the merchant ships in question discharge their cargoes at the naval base on Panida where the construction equipment is transferred to Sea Defense transports for delivery to their ultimate destination.'

I considered that for a moment. 'Pandia certainly fits the turnaround schedule. But why? Why not send it direct to its destination?' I asked, and then answered my question after a moment more's thought. 'Because they want to keep that destination secret.'

'That is what we think. So secret that they will not risk sending their own transport ships back to Caraffa to pick up these cargoes. Sailors talk, and they don't want them talking where they might be overheard by people like us. Our own Sea Defense people have determined that the Caraffa Sea Defense ships operating in the Savage Islands have not returned to their home ports in Caraffa for over two years. They now seemed to be based out of Panida.'

'So what are they hiding?'

'We've no idea, not even a guess, save that it's deeper into the Savage Islands – beyond Garda and Desda. It's going to be our task to find out what their secret is.'

'We're going beyond Garda and Desda?

He smiled, 'I hope not. We're hoping that we can discover the secret on Panida. I assure you I'm no more eager to get deeper into the Savage Islands than you are. But I'll get to the practical details in a minute. There is one other aspect of the mystery that I want to briefly mention. We'll go into all the details on the voyage out.

'It's no secret that Caraffa and Dari are fierce rivals in the Savage Islands, racing to develop the oilnut plantations on Garda and Desda in order to ultimately control them, even after the Throne decides to admit those islands into the Union of Islands. With the ever increasing demand for oil, those islands are going to be rich, and both Caraffa and Dari want the oil to flow through them. Now there are rumors that that rivalry involves the Throne's Sea Defense ships of both those islands. Ships of TSD (Caraffa) and TSD (Dari) are rumored to be battling each other in the narrow sea between Garda and Desda. Captain Contre, our ship's captain, has, himself, observed at great distance what appeared to be a gun fight between the armored cruisers of those two branches of the Throne's Sea Defence. He had observed the ships early in the day, and shortly after sunset, observed flashes of what seemed like gunfire just over the horizon. Of course they could have been chasing off native raiders, but it would be very unlikely that the native raiders would have attempted to take an armored cruiser, so…'

'Caraffa and Dari are waging war against each other? And the Throne does nothing?'

'Well, not war, perhaps, but naval skirmishes – knife fights deep in the Savage Islands with armored cruisers and the like. And yet neither island lodges formal protests or files their grievances with the Throne… Clearly, or at least as clearly as our very limited intelligence allows us to see, there's something in the Savage Islands, something so…rich, powerful, or dangerous, that they may be willing to kill each other to obtain, while keeping it such a deep dark secret that they'll not even risk bringing the ships involved back to their islands. All we know is that they both want whatever it is, and neither has any intention of sharing it with the rest of us or the Founders' Throne itself.'

'And, as I said, it is our job to find out what they are hiding.'

'How are we going to do that?'

'With basic, boring, intelligence work. We are going to set up shop – an actual shipping business, in fact, on Panida and then we'll keep our eyes and ears open. We have an island trader that we'll send around the islands north of Garda and Desda to extend our eyes and ears, and perhaps, in time, establish some outlying business offices closer to the scene of action, if it looks promising. I'm quite sure that the islands are ripe with rumors, and that if we work diligently and intelligently, we can shift the truth out of them, in time without ever venturing beyond them.'

I'm sorry to leave you in the lurch, but here is were the manuscript ends...

Yelling at the Sky

I watched Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 after it arrived on Netflix. Watching it vividly brought to mind all the things that annoy me with science fiction. And so, with all those annoying things in the movie in mind, I thought it might be fun to rage at the sky, and list some of the things that annoy me when reading.

I should start by stating that the flaws I’m going to highlight are my issues. You can never please everyone, and shouldn’t try, so if I don’t like something, it’s my problem, not the author’s. I’m not saying anyone should do anything differently. Indeed, all the stories I’ll cite are highly rated and very popular, far more popular than any of my stories will ever be, so clearly the problems I encounter are of my own making. I’ve just become too narrow and inflexible in my old age, I guess.

The fundamental problem with so many science fiction stories is that they fail to engage me so I can’t simply roll over the flaws that I notice along the way. If you like something enough you can overlook plot holes and all sorts of little errors. But if you don’t and don’t expect to like it any better if you continue reading, the flaws turn into deal breakers. I’ve never been shy about quitting a book I'm not into once I determine that it’s not going to get better, which is why library books (or free books on Amazon) are my usual choice of books. To find those books I will often read the free sample from Amazon. I usually quit reading most stories without ever getting to the end of Amazon’s free preview.

So what discourages me from reading further? First, there's a sense of “been there, done that.” The stories sound too familiar – minor variations of ones I’ve read before. Now I’ve certainly borrow old ideas for my stories, so it isn’t just that they they’re not completely original, it’s that they seem to be generic examples of every other story of their kind. There’s no promise of originality. The deck chairs have simply been rearranged. This may well be by design, since most readers know what they like, like what they know, and avid readers seem to enjoy familiar stories that they can slip right into – hence the many, many series books. Indeed, new writers are often encouraged to write series after reading the best of their chosen genre and then imitate those books right down to their covers.

A second sticking point for me is what I see is carelessness in constructing the story. For example using plots that are no more coherent or logical than what’s used in the movies or TV show – stories that are basically used to stitch together visual scenes and only work if you don’t think too much about them. Another thing that annoys me is laziness in imagining the future. Often the future – or what little glimpse we are given of it in the story – seems very superficial, often it’s just like today, except for a few futuristic items.

I’ll cite some specific examples below, without naming the books or authors since I’m not really reviewing their stories, and have read only the first chapter or two for most, so it's hardly fair to judge them on what I have read. And well, they may have grown into their craft by now, so I’ll leave them and their stories unnamed.

The first category of stories that annoy me are thinly disguised fan fiction. Stories that were clearly inspired by movies or TV show.

One such story opened with ship emerging from a hyper-space gate of some sort. It describes the ship appearing through the game growing ever bigger as it emerges -- one vast ship. I could easily picture the scene – I’d seen it as the opening sequence of the first Star Wars movie. To make the connection even clearer, on the bridge of this ship was a great hulking guy dressed in full space armor giving the orders. And when one of the officers questioned the legality of the great hulking guy’s orders, the great hulking guy went over and broke his neck. Within a page or two, the story is both familiar and so over the top that I couldn’t read it any further. I  mean, who goes around breaking subordinate's necks on a whim? (Except in the movies.) No wonder he has to wear space armor all the time…

And then there are the Star Trek knock-offs, which usually have the captain of the warship seated on the bridge with his XO and other officers standing around at their post waiting for him to bark out orders to them. Sometimes, just to shake things up, the captain is an alcoholic, and hung over, while facing the inevitable first crisis that the story opens with as a hook.

And then there are what I call the “UPS trucks in space” stories. Stories based on the Millennium Falcon/Serenity type of ship. Beat up, down and out, and yet they somehow eke out a living hauling a few boxes or crates from planet to planet, star system to star system. Oh, maybe their "smugglers." The economics of the premise boggle me. I read one story that had just such a ship (owned by two down and out ex-military personal from the “Alliance” of course) with its ramp down in a space port, waiting for a few passengers to show. One passenger shows up, a doctor of some sort, with a suitcase that he won’t let anyone else touch. Deja vu! No, wait a moment… Ah yes… a scene lifted almost directly from Firefly.

Apparently avid readers, don’t mind these similarities. Indeed, it might well be plus for readers since they can fill in all the blank spaces in the story with images from the source materials. I really don’t need bad imitations of TV shows and movies which never fail to annoy me in the first place with all their plot holes and stupidity needed to set up the cool scene they want to shoot. One example comes quickly to mind from Firefly: a gun battle siege of a whore house in which people get killed, when they could’ve used the Serenity to chase away the bad guys, which they did in the end, anyway.

Speaking of stupidity, the Firefly clone story I mentioned above has an opening scene set in a space ship junk yard. This space ship junkyard was, for reasons that I can not for the life of me imagine, located in a pitch black cave! A cave, mind you, inhabited by cannibal-rapist walking around with flash lights. I don’t know how these cannibal-rapists make their living in a pitch black space ship junkyard cave – maybe it was a popular make-out place or something, but there they were. Even more baffling is how they got all the space ships into the cave – they had to fly them in (and out), I guess, which would seem to suggest that the entrance to the cave would be rather large and let a lot of light in, but WTF, maybe they’re all the size of UPS trucks. Who knows? I guess the author just wanted a “scary” scene to begin the story and didn’t care if it make sense or not. After all, that’s what they do in the movies. And well, many thousands of readers apparently didn’t care either. The very next scene in the book is the space port scene I mentioned above. There is no mention of how they got the ship out, nor any description of the space port itself. World building not even on the scale of the original Star Trek series plywood sets. Maybe that’s were Firefly comes in. Just fill in the scene from the TV show.

Now, not all stories could be traced back to their TV and Movie origins. Some just bugged me because of their stereotyped heroes. Square jawed, six feet plus, chick magnets. devil may care, contemptuous of authority. Jerks. Now I might have enjoyed this type of story when I was 15, but not now. Being old sucks. And some seemed to have been written by grouchy old men with a chip on their shoulder. I don’t like those either.

Next up in list of peeves is laziness in imaging the future.

For example, having the hero going to a recruitment office in the local strip mall to sign up to serve in the interstellar army. Really? Strip malls will survive into the age of interstellar travel?

Or going to the flying car rental agency to rent a flying car (and being turned down as "looking" too young to be able to drive). The hero then had to rent a ground car to drive around town to all the space ship junkyards to find a space ship to buy. It seems that the distant future on distant worlds isn’t all that much different than here and now.

Or cracking a joke involving shag carpets and rec rooms (ca. 1981) in the distant future on a distant planet. Or having your “brown-skinned man” say “… just wait until you taste my barbecue...” Yikes. He makes his own sauces and everything as well. Or having the “Mafia” as your interstellar criminal organization.

Or having a story line about a character getting to taste a real meat steak (or was it a hamburger?) from a real cow when they arrived on a planet named… Well, you guessed it, “New Texas”.

Or how likely is earth to have a nuclear war, invent faster-than-light ships, colonize 70 planets, and fight a war with them in the next 140 years? Why would anyone set a story like this in 2147? Or mention that “they’re in a box traveling several times the speed of light...” and later say that they’ve traveled 20 light years in 20 days, which, if my math is correct, means that they would have to travel at 365 times the speed of light.

Or have as story where a strange ship (likely a pirate, but I didn’t read that far) was sighted 10 miles away(!). When it closed to 7 miles, the captain turned out all the guards to defend the ship. Those are sailing ships on the ocean distances, for Jupiter’s sake!

And then there are issues that simply revolve around writing style. I like first person narratives, or if third person, a narration that follows only one character closely. I don’t care to view the story from a god-like height, following the characters that the author has set on their collision course with destiny or death. I dislike stories that jump back and forth in time or points of view. These seem to be very popular these days, but for me, they raise a red flag – it’s as if the author suspects the story would be boring if told straight, so they slice and dice it to make it into a puzzle, and hopefully more interesting. An extreme example of this was a story about a ship’s representatives meeting some natives – but the author, like a bee in a garden, flirts hither and yon, about the town, the marshes, with perhaps some history thrown in, looking in on the meeting just every now and again for a few words before flirting away again. Made me dizzy.

Or starting every story with a violent action scene, even it it comes from the middle or end of the book, or is not even part of the story, just to have an action “hook” to get the reader into the story. But what the heck, I guess it works.

You get the idea. If the book engages you, you’d roll over these things without noticing them. But since I’ve not bought into the story, they stick out like sore thumbs. And since these thoughtless, clueless, or careless mistakes are in the first couple of pages, they don’t seem to bode well for the rest of the story. Oh, well. I’m not out any money, so nothing’s lost.

As I said at the beginning, it’s all my problem. My tastes in books have evolved and grown too narrow, or too demanding, to enjoy wide swaths of contemporary science fiction, despite the fact that there is an order of magnitude more to read than there was in my youth. The upside of this dilemma is that instead of reading, I spend my time daydreaming stories of my own, which have none of these annoying features ;)

Villain and Botts (Chapter 02)

Villain and Botts 

Chapter 02 The Game

We talked again over breakfast.

'Having spent the last six years kicking around the Alantzia system, it seems the logical place to begin,' he said between bites.

'I have been downloading as much available datat as I could find in the data libraries of Amartra about the Alantzia star system; its five major planets, 47 dwarf planets and 200 and some inhabited asteroids, and their main export products,' I said.

'Excellent. However, the data is like outdated, superficial, and incomplete. These First World planets pay little attention to the Alantzia. As I'm sure you discovered, the interstellar trade to Alantzia worlds is miniscule compared to the in-system trade. Did you even find a dozen boxes to Alantzia?'

'Yes sir. In fact I placed a bid on one 12 consignment shipment. The Sergi & Martivar Mining Chartered Trading Company just put the cargo out to bid. Eleven boxes and one suspended animation box for their Alantzia Depot on Cavishtar. It seemed to exactly fit our needs, and I felt that by acting promptly, we might land it – subject, of course, to your approval. I hope I did not overstep my duties, in doing so. I have the bid, here,' I added, calling up the bid on the owner's desk were he was breakfasting. I was fairly sure I hadn't. But then, my experience with humans was almost entirely second hand.

He gave it a quick once over and wagged his tube-spoon in my direction. 'Excellent, Botts. That's the spirit. Cavishtar is an industrial moon well off the beaten tracks, but we could probably get an ore shipment out of S & M Mining to one of the Five Worlds. If they reply in the positive, send the contract over to me to sign.'

He talked about Cavishtar and the Alantzia while he finished his breakfast. And then settling back he said, 'If we're to be partners, Botts, you need to be brought up to speed on the big picture.'

'Yes, sir. I would appreciate that. However, I should remind you that I am your robotic servant, not your partner.'

He waved that off with his empty tube-spoon. 'I didn't spend 70 million credits on a robotic servant, Botts. Nor did I spend it on a machine to merely pilot my ship. Not entirely, anyways. I spent it that level 10 mind of yours –with its vast memory, its ability to control every aspect of the ship, and its ability to acquire far more data than I could ever hope to amass or put to use. No, we must look on this as a partnership – each of us, and Ayesha too – contributing our talents to the common cause. That cause is to eventually make a billion credit profit. However the more pressing need is to earn a 100 million credits in the next two years in order to pay off the balance of credits I owe on the Entrada. And then, after that, the 100 million my dear father loaned me as part of the Viseor game. There's no time limit to pay off that loan, so we can let him sweat for that 100 million.'

'Am I right in supposing that this is what is called a “tall order,” sir?'

'Well, that rather depends. Two years, a fast ship, our two brains, and a bit of good luck, and we should be able to do it without breaking into a sweat.'

'Yes, sir.' But I couldn't help thinking that he was rather optimistic – calculating the likely – indeed, optimistic profits on an 18 box freighter over the course of two years. I hope he'd done the math as well.

'It's all part of the game. Though I was born a Viseor, my father being prime owner of the Anatheia Crown Line. The Anatheia Crown Line is, in turn, one of several dozen assorted shipping lines, shipyards, export firms that are owned by members of the extended family. However, to get into the ratified levels of the family, one must earn one's way in. Whether you care to or not, is pretty much up to you – but the family does have a hollowed out asteroid pleasure park of our very own for the use of the elite families. I spend time there in my youth. Now, however, I must become be a successful Viseor to use it. And to be a successful Viseor, I must earn a billion credits – almost – on my own.

'I don't quite have to start from scratch. I was given a business education and I've just completed six years of apprenticeship under the tutelage of my Uncle Zenbar. My father and I do not see eye to eye on many things, so he shipped me off to Alantzia and paid Uncle Zenbar to take me on. As it turned out, I didn't see eye to eye with Uncle Zenbar either. To be perfectly candid, Botts, I was considered rather indolent. But what the blazes, Uncle Zen was making good credits off of just having me underfoot, as an unpaid crew member, so I figured that since I was pulling in pure profit – for him – just by being there, I didn't feel too motivated to add to his fortune further. Besides, the various positions I occupied in his Alantzia Five World Line during my apprenticeship were of no great significance – I was a mere spaceer, pilot and mate – with no great scope for enterprise. Don't know quite what he expected. Well, I suppose that I didn't act appreciative enough. In any event, I earned my pilot's ticket and then my masters and got to became familiar with the ins and outs of the shipping trade for the Alantzia system, as viewed from the bottom. But, then that is reputed to be were you'd best begin learning anything. We'll see.

'Having completed my apprenticeship, my father loaned me the standard 100 million credits for the game and turned me out into the cold cruel Nebula to make a success of myself and the name I bear.'

'And you spent 70 million of that on me, sir?' I was beginning to appreciate my worth, but I seemed an extravagance for young Viseor.

'Exactly. I was able to pick up the Entrada from the Star Flight Line for 20 million down, the balance plus interest, 100 million, is due in a bit less than two years now. The Star Flight Line is owned by a Viseor cousin of mine, one of the ones I get on well with, and she was willing to bend the family rules just a little to let me have the Entrada for only 20 million down after I outlined my plans to her. She's a bit of a gambler herself, and earned her billion in less than ten years, so she was willing to trust me for the balance of 100 million – for two years, anyway.

'I then sold the 18 sleeper boxes the Entrada came with – there's no market in the Alantzia system for a 2,00 box tourist ship – and used the proceeds to refurbish her crew quarters to accommodate up to 28 awake passengers in addition to 24 sleepers. I also had additional fuel tanks installed in no.1 hold, to increase our range and/or speed, together with a turret anti-meteor system since the Alantzia system is a very dirty system, thick with asteroids, meteors, and dust. And being more drift than Unity once you put the five planets astern, it pays to have a very good anti-meteor system that can do double duty as an anti-missile system as well.'

'Can a 12 box ship in the Alantzia system earn 100 million credits in two years? My data suggests that is highly unlikely, though I have little data from the Alantzia.' The Alantzia system was the furthest system from the First Worlds, and the least developed. Relatively little attention was paid to it by the great First World systems of Anatheia, Avalee, and Artinday which supplied most of my operational data.

'Not by hauling cargo – though with our engines we can haul three times as much of it as any similar planet trader. But no, we'd have to be very lucky to earn anywhere near that amount by hauling other people's boxes – if we wanted to stay legal, anyway. But what I plan to do is to make that 100 million credits by trading on our own account. Oh, we'll have to earn some credits hauling cargo, and hopefully, passengers, awake and asleep, but the key will be keeping our ears open for the first whispers of a shortages or a strikes – crop failures, big resource rushes, and the like, where the first and fastest ships in orbit with the goods will make a killing. This is why I picked up an express courier ship like the Entrada. With it and our ears on the ground, we can be first and clean up by supplying the need ourselves, be it boxes of rice or boxes full of sleepers bound for a new strike. We won't need more than 12 boxes, and usually one or two will fit the bill.'

'I see. Though I must confess, sir, that even with your plan, I don't see the need for me.'

'First off, let's drop the “sir.” Call me “Vis.” All my friends do. We're partners and I consider you one of my friends as well. And while it may strike you as a little needy on my part to buy a friend, I assure you I have my reasons.'

'Thank you, sir – Vis. I assure you that you can count on my full support. I will do all I can to help you earn 100 million credits in two years, though, as I said, I don't see what that is.'

'First,' Viseor said, holding up a hand and touching each finger with the other as he counted the points. 'With you and the various service bots I don't need a human crew. With only Ayesha, I'd need a three person crew to keep an eye on our various specialized service the bots, in order to qualify as a Guild ship. I want the edge that a Guild rating brings in landing cargo contracts. Of course, without a human crew, I get only a Guild-equivalence rating, but that's good enough. I don't have to deal with Guild rules, a payroll, or find a crew that could and would work with me. And one I could trust.

'Secondly, you can get the most out of the Entrada – speed, fuel, and course efficiency wise – all of which helps the bottom line.

'Thirdly, with you as my crew, I'm free to operate as I please, without having to worry about… Well, Guild rules, and about word getting around as to how I operate. Not that I plan to do anything illegal, mind you, but well, we might find ourselves sailing more as, well let's say, a drifteer, rather than a Unity Standard Guild ship. Now, if I had a human crew, I'd need people I could completely trust – not too proper, but not too drifteer either, so that I'd need a pair of eyes in the back of my head. That ideal crew may exist in the Alantzian, but it would likely take years to find them. With you, I have one from the start.'

'I should point out, sir, that I have very rigorous programing designed to prevent me from deviating from Unity Standard law. Sentient machines going criminal appears to be a great concern to humans.'

'Aye, especially now, with all the whispering going on about a secret Machine Directorate and its program for machine liberation. That has the Unity authorities rather on edge. However, as a sentient machine, I think you will learn as we go along where Unity Standard law ends, and the lawless drifts begin…' he gave me a significant look.

'I will endeavor to be a flexible as my program allows.'

He slapped me on my shoulder. 'That's the spirit, Botts. One for all, all for one! I don't expect you'll have to bend your programming too much, too often. But I can trust you, whereas Alantzian spaceers would always be an iffy thing since, take it from me, they are more than half drifteer in their outlook. Trustworthy, play-by-the-Guild-rule-book types are not only hard to find, but might not fit all that well with our business. And then too, I don't want word getting out about our operations – and spaceers talk in their cups.

'I seem to have lost count of my points, but I'll just add, that I have great confidence in you and that level 10 mind of yours. I'm sure that once we arrive in the Alantzia system and you get a feel for the trade, you'll have ideas of your own as well.'

'My level 10 computing unit is at your complete disposal, sir. That goes without saying. You own me, after all.'

He waved that aside. 'That was the only way of acquiring your services, Botts. It was not a matter of choice. As I've said, consider us partners.'

'Yes, Vis.'

'And lastly, just so that you understand that I'm not the complete fool my father and Uncle Zen think I am, I should tell you that sentient machines like you are not only very heavily taxed, but that their manufactures are strictly limited in the numbers they can produce. As a result, there are long waiting lists for many types of sentient machines. I was able to acquire you only with the help of my cousin's company. Without her pull, it would have taken a decade to acquire you. Sentient machines are in great demand, especially in the drifts, as they can not legally be exported to the drifts. So, while I assure you that I've no expectation of ever having to sell you, I could. A multi-function sentient machine like you could easily fetch 100 million credits in the drifts. So you see, you're credits in the bank for me. My cousin, who is no fool, sold me the Entrade with the understanding that if I, if we, Botts, should fail to earn the credits we owe her in two years, I could raise them – while still having a ship to earn more.

'I mention this not as an implied threat, or as some sort of lame motivational gimmick, but in the spirit of transparency at the start of our partnership. I've no intention of ever selling you, and have every intention of paying off the Entrada within two years and be holidaying in the Viseor pleasure park within a decade or two. But we have our work cut out for us.'

I nodded, 'Yes, we do. And I am eager to get on with it.' I found myself eager for the fray. And strangely confident in Viletre Viseor. Clearly I was in for a ride. But I was up for it.

Viseor signed the S & M Mining contract seven hours later, and we began taking on cargo 30 hours after that. He left the job to me, and I relished it. I was now certain what I was feeling was happiness.

Chapter 03 Cavishtar

01

'Would you be terribly hurt, Botts, if I crawled into a sleep pod for the rest of the voyage? I don't think I have enough stories of my youth to fill 337 days. I had planned on spending them… Well, you know. Lessons learned and all that. And since you're perfectly capable of looking after the ship, I'm thinking I might as well make the journey 320 days shorter… You can wake me up if you get lonely, or if you have any questions…'

'An excellent idea, sir. As you say, Ayesha and I can manage the ship. I can do it in my sleep – in a manner of speaking. I can switch to a full automated mode and put my sentient consciousness in hibernation, should I find the voyage too tedious. However, I have a great many reference files in my memory that I would like to go through, and I would like to oversee the routine maintenance of the ship's mechanical systems, so that I expect to keep busy the entire voyage.'

We were seven days out of Amarta and accelerating at 1 gee, and would be for several weeks to come. I had a long list of items that I wanted to work on during the voyage with the help of the various service bots. Nothing pressing – but I wanted my ship to be in better condition upon its arrival than it was upon its departure. The Entrada was a good ship, and it was my first.

He heaved himself off the chair and said, 'Right. You have the ship, Botts. Do not hesitate to awake me for even the slightest question. She is my responsibility, ultimately, so if any non-routine decision has to be made that you feel more comfortable with me making, wake me. Otherwise, wake me when we're two weeks out of Cavishtar.'

'Aye, sir.'

'I've a sleep pod in my cabin. Tuck me in, Botts.'

I kept busy the whole voyage. And while Ayesha was not really sentient, if dealt with on the human interface level, she would give you that impression. And she did have 236 years worth of voyages in her memory that I could tap to get to know my charge even better. The voyage passed quickly.

02

'An uneventful voyage, Botts?' asked Viseor upon being awoken.

'Aye sir. We did, however, detect two meteors during the voyage. Neither where in close to our course, but close enough to require their destruction, per Union standing sailing orders.'

'We must all do our part to keep the space lanes clean. Though those two missiles do put a small chip in our profits. Oh, well, we can sleep with a righteous glow tonight of a deed well done'

'Did I do the proper thing, sir? It seemed to be required by law.'

'As it is indeed. You're more less scrupulous ship captain might have left them to the next ship, but we're not that type of ship, are we?'

'Are we? Which is to say, should I bend the rules the next time and not detect them?'

'No, no, Botts. Follow the rules. If and when we have to bend a few rules, it will be for more than the cost of an anti-meteor missile or two. Now, let's fire up the synth-galley, I find I'm starving. And after that, the parts printers. We have work to do.'

'Indeed, sir? And what would be that?'

'Over breakfast, Botts, over breakfast. First things first.'

'Ah, that's good,' sighed Viseor over a mug of real caf. 'Even the synth-food tastes good after a long nap. Now to business. Our first order of which is to manufacture several darters.'

'Darters? Darters are illegal on Unity worlds, and Cavishtar is a Unity world.'

'Theoretically. In practice, not so much. The Five Worlds of the Alantzia are pretty Unity Standard, though rather primitive by First World standards, but the rest of the lot are more drift worlds than Unity ones. The entry inspectors will not officially see a non-lethal darter, and Cavishtar has hundreds of landing fields were there are no official entry inspectors, so anything goes. We'll manufacture several of both, just to be on the prudent side, though we'll take down only non-lethal ones. The question you have to ponder while I finish breakfast is do you want to carry a standard darter, or build a special one. It might be cool to have a darter pod attached to you wrist, so that you could just point your finger and fire…'

'Sir? Do you expect that to be necessary?'

'You never know, Botts. Best be prepared for every contingency. Remember now, you're dealing with humans, not machines.'

'Yes, sir.' I was already finding dealing with just one human very different than with my machines.

'And the next thing for you to ponder is what type of clothes you think you'd like to wear downside.'

'Clothes, sir?'

'Yes, clothes. You can run around the ship stark naked, Botts, if you care to. This is liberty hall, and all that. But downside I think it's best for you to wear clothes.'

'Why? I am unaware of any sort of taboo about robots “stark naked” as you say.'

'Oh, there is none. It is simply a matter of keeping as low a profile as we can while downside. Walking alongside an elegant white robot will attract attention, Botts.'

'Is there any need for me to go downside, sir? I would be as close as your com link.'

'Botts, you're a machine being. I know that you'd be far more comfortable just working with the machines of the Entrada, but you live in a nebula populated by 800 billion humans. If I was far wealthier than I am at present, perhaps I'd buy sentient ship masters to run my ships. But I'm not. I spent 70 million credits to buy a partner, a right hand man. And for this job, you're going to have to learn all about us humans. And you can't do that referring to files. You'll have to live amongst us to learn about us. So I want you by my side when I go downside.'

'Yes, of course, sir. I accept your point. I have adjusted my thinking accordingly.'

'Excellent.'

'Though I still fail to see the need for wearing clothes. I will certainly fool no one. And well, I fear that they might make me look… Well, a little ridiculous, sir.'

'Exactly.'

'Sir?'

'First off, you will fool no one who gets close enough. But you will fool the many who don't, so that you won't likely create a scene everywhere you go with me. Secondly, yes, you will look slightly ridiculous. Indeed, we might see that you do. It's all in a good cause – yours and mine's safety, Botts.'

'Sir?'

'Do you recall what I said about your worth – and the fact that Cavishtar and most of the planets of the Alantzia are more drift than Unity?'

Ah. A circuit clicked. 'Of course, sir. You feel that walking about with such an expensive…'

'And desirable'

'Machine, might prove too great a temptation to ignore suppress, and that someone might attempt to steal me?'

'In a word, yes.'

'I believe I could defend you and myself. I am constructed of D-matter, and can operate several times faster than humans.'

'That is a great comfort, Botts. But it is better to avoid trouble when you can. What I propose is to treat you as a non-sentient level 7 servant; valet and bodyguard bot. They are common enough amongst those with credits to spare, and I intend to pass myself off as one with credits to spare. And by dressing you up as some floppish manservant, on a whim of mine, it would serve to keep your bright light hidden in the drifts, so to speak. We'll get farther being underestimated than taken at what I hope is our true value.'

'Yes, I see that sir. I will, of course, comply completely to your wishes.'

'I think, Botts, that you will enjoy playing a role. It is a very sentient thing to do. I don't know if you had a chance during the voyage to read through the crew's fiction library that came with the ship…'

'I must confess that I have not yet surveyed that collection.'

'I would suggest that you give it a read before we arrive. You must discount just about everything as being over sensationalized, an exaggeration, since the library contains mostly popular fiction of, shall I say, the most imaginative kind,, but it may give you some ideas as to how to play your downside role. We've got two weeks to work out our act.'

'I shall attend to the task immediately.'

'No hurry. And there's no reason to rush through them all in one go, either, as I know you can. Take your time. Read them at a pace. Perhaps you might learn to enjoy them. I recommend that you start with the Captain Bright Starr stories. He has a sentient machine partner named Vastly. Hopefully we won't encounter any Bright Starr type adventures, but we might still want to loosely adopt their modus operandi when it comes to our partnership. And think about what types of darters you want. You'll have pockets downside, so anything goes.'

'I will give it some thought. Though perhaps I would have a better idea what is required after reading Captain Bright Starr and Vastly.'

'You can't go too wrong with Cap'n Starr and Vastly, Botts. I grew up reading them.'

I feared that was true. Still, it promised to be an interesting life. I found that I was willing to sample an interesting life. Not, of course, that I had a choice in the matter.

03

We arrived in Cavishtar orbits 337 days out of Amartra, right on schedule. The Quarantine boat arrived shorty after our arrival and the med bots' inspection was brief, seeing that there was only one human (awake) on board. The sleepers in the holds would be inspected downside. The Trade Control boat arrived as the Quarantine boat was leaving. Viseor met the inspector at the starboard fin access lock and conducted him to the cargo control room where he had me open all the cargo access covers so that his bots could inspect the boxes and seals, comparing them to our bills of laden to make sure nothing had been done to them during passage. The S & M Mine lighters were already alongside when he finished, and our cargo was quickly cleared.

Well, I have the story set up, if I ever come up with an unique idea for their first adventure(s). I also have the ending -- the nose and the tip of the tail, It's just the dog of a story that's missing.