Earth Unaware (First Formic War) (35 page)

“Chubs, turn our scopes on Weigh Station Four and bring it up here in the holospace,” said Lem. “I want to see what amenities await us.”

In the Asteroid Belt, weigh stations were enormous enterprises, with all manner of entertainment for miners desperate to escape the monotony of their ships. Casinos, restaurants, movie houses. One near Jupiter even had a small sports arena for zero-G wrestling matches and other theatrics. So when the image of Weigh Station Four appeared large in the holospace for everyone on the helm to see, Lem knew at once that it was nothing like what everyone was hoping for.

The applause died. The whistling ceased. Everyone stared.

Weigh Station Four was a cluster of old mining vessels and sections of retired space stations connected haphazardly together through a series of tubes and tunnels to form a single massive structure. It had no symmetry, no design, no central space dock. Retired ships had been added to it over the years in a seemingly random fashion, connected to the structure wherever there had been room. It was like someone had rolled up a space junkyard into a sad little ball and decorated it with a few neon lights. It wasn’t a weigh station; it was a dump.

Lem could see disappointment on everyone’s faces.

“Well,” said Lem, clapping his hands once. “I’m not sure which is uglier, a free-miner weigh station or free-miner women.”

It wasn’t particularly funny, but Lem had hoped to elicit at least a polite chuckle. Instead he got silence and blank stares.

Time to change the mood.

“The good news,” said Lem, smiling and trying to stay chipper, “is that your stay at this delightful oasis of the Kuiper Belt is my treat. Drinks and food and entertainment are on me. Consider it an early bonus courtesy of Juke Limited.”

As he expected, this news prompted another round of applause and whistles. Lem smiled. He had been planning to spring this surprise on the crew regardless of the station’s condition, and now he was particularly relieved that he had thought of it beforehand. He would sell a load of cylinders to pay for the expense, but again Podolski was the real motivation here. Lem needed cash to fund Podolski’s stay on the station and subsequent flight home, and he didn’t want to use any corporate account for the expenses. Giving everyone a bonus was an expensive, albeit effective, cover for getting Podolski cash.

Lem ordered the crew to dock the ship near the depository, a massive warehouselike structure nearly as large as the station itself. Here free miners who didn’t use quickships dumped and sold raw minerals or cylinders to the station at below-market value. The weigh station then sent it all to Luna in quickships for a profit. Most established families and clans had their own quickship system and used the weigh station only as a source of supplies. But the newcomers and start-ups without the full array of equipment still sold their mining hauls here.

Lem and Chubs left the airlock of the ship and stepped out into the docking tunnel. The drop master was waiting for them. He was a dirty little man in a jumpsuit and a mismatched pair of greaves on his shins who carried a holopad that looked like he had beaten it against the floor a few times. The air was warm and thick with the scent of rock dust, machine oil, and human sweat.

“Name’s Staggar,” the man said. “I’m the drop master here. You boys are Jukies, eh? Don’t see too much of your type around here. Most corporates stick to the A Belt.”

“We’re testing the waters, so to speak,” said Lem. “There are a lot of rocks out here.”

Staggar laughed—a cackle that showed a train wreck of teeth. “Snowballs are more like it. If you can get through the frozen water and ammonia, you might find something. Otherwise, this is no-man’s-land.”

“You’re out here,” said Lem. “Business must be going well for you.”

“Business doesn’t do well for anybody out here, mister. This place used to be booming, long time ago maybe, but a lot of the clans have left. We scrape by like anybody else.”

“Where do the clans go?” asked Lem. “I thought this was a free miner’s paradise.”

Staggar laughed. “Hardly. Most of the clans scurry back to the inner system, to the A Belt. They can’t take all this space or the cold. I take it this is your first time out in the Deep.”

“It’s not deep space,” said Lem. “It’s only the Kuiper Belt.”

Staggar scoffed. “Only the Kuiper Belt? You make it sound like a vacation spot. Got a summer home out here, do you, Jukie?” He laughed again.

“We’d like to sell some cylinders,” said Lem. “For cash. Whom would we speak with about that?”

“You’d speak to me,” said Staggar. “But I should warn you, you won’t get the same prices here that you’ll get elsewhere. We have to adjust to reflect the greater distance we find ourselves at. This is the outer edge. I’m sure you understand.”

I understand that you’re a crook, Lem thought. But aloud he said, “We’re prepared to negotiate.”

“I’m not promising we’re buying, though,” said Staggar. “Depends on what you’re selling. We get a lot of folks trying to pass off gangue. So if that’s what you’re intending, don’t waste my time. We don’t want any worthless crap. We may look dumb to hoity-toities like yourself, but dumb we ain’t, and you’ll be wise to remember that fact.”

“You strike me as a shrewd businessman,” said Lem. “I wouldn’t dream of conning you. I think you’ll find our cylinders of high quality.”

Lem nodded to Chubs, who had been holding a sample cylinder all this time. Chubs gently floated the cylinder in the air toward Staggar, and the man easily caught it. Staggar limped over to a scanner on the wall—apparently his mismatched greaves had a different polarity and affected his gait—and he slid the cylinder into the designated slot. In a moment the reading came back. Staggar tried to appear unimpressed.

“Your scanner doesn’t lie,” said Lem. “That’s some of the purest iron-nickel I’ll bet you’ve seen in a while.”

Staggar shrugged. “It’s decent. Nothing special, really.”

“So are you interested or not?” asked Lem.

Staggar removed the cylinder from the scanner and turned to them, smiling. “Depends. You see, I got this little tickle in my brain that I can’t seem to scratch. Why would a bunch of Jukies want to sell cylinders here? You boys have your own depository down near Jupiter.”

“Jupiter’s a long way off,” said Lem, “and I’m eager to give my crew a break. All the cash you give us will likely go back into the economy of your weigh station here. So the way I see it, this is a win-win situation for you.”

Staggar studied their faces, his smile broadening. “Well, aren’t you the generous captain.” He turned the cylinder on its side and began expertly spinning it in the air in front of him on the tip of his finger. “You’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart, is that it? Giving the boys and girls on board once last hurrah before setting out for home?”

Lem didn’t like where this was heading. “In so many words, yes.”

Staggar laughed. “I told you I wasn’t dumb, Mr. Hoity-Toit, and I meant it. A, a corporate never says what he means, and B, corporates never do squat for their crews unless there’s something in it for them.”

“You think I have some devious motivation,” said Lem, acting amused. “Did it not occur to you that perhaps I want a break as well?”

Staggar shook his head. “No, it seems to me you boys want this one off the books, am I right? Don’t want old Ukko Jukes to know you’re skimming a little off the top for yourselves. Under-the-table mining, eh? Then you can scoot on home and tell your corporate stuffies that you didn’t quite mine as much as you hoped. And everything you sell here, as far as they’re concerned, never existed, while you drop a load of cash into your private bank accounts.” He laughed. “I wasn’t born on an asteroid, boys. I know a pocket scheme when I see one.”

“Is this how you always do business?” Lem asked. “By insulting your customers first?”

“We ain’t doing business until we understand one another,” said Staggar. “You corporates must have iron balls to show yourself around here. This ain’t the headquarters of the corporate fan club, if you catch my meaning. Lot of people here won’t be particularly happy to see you.”

“We didn’t come to make friends,” said Lem. “We came to sell a few cylinders and have a decent time. I doubt your merchants will mind us giving them our money.”

“My money, you mean,” said Staggar.

“How much per cylinder?” asked Lem.

“Can’t answer that until you have an account,” said Staggar. He began typing on his holopad. “Whose name should I put this in?”

Lem and Chubs exchanged glances.

“We’d rather avoid any record,” said Lem.

“I’m sure you would,” said Staggar, “but I can’t buy without adding it to the inventory. You boys can skimp off your boss, but I can’t skimp off mine. You get an account or no sale.”

“Put in my name,” said Chubs. “Chubs Zimmons.”

Staggar looked at Lem. “Not your name, mister? Fancy clothes like that and from the way you were talking, I figured you for the captain.”

“My name,” said Chubs.

The drop master shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He typed some more. With his eyes still down he asked, “Out of curiosity, where did you boys find this iron-nickel?”

“We’d rather not say,” said Lem. “Trade secrets. I’m sure you understand.”

Staggar smiled. “I figured as much. How much of this do you want to sell?”

“Depends on the price,” said Lem.

“I’ll pay you by the tonnage,” said Staggar, “not by the cylinder.”

“What price?” said Chubs.

Staggar told them.

Chubs was furious. “That’s outrageous. It’s worth twenty times that amount.”

Staggar shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

Chubs turned to Lem. “He’s trying to rob us.”

“That’s the cash price,” said Staggar. “If you want to trade in food or fuel, I might be able to go a little higher.”

“A little higher?” said Chubs, angry. “You’re crazy if you think we’ll accept that.”

“You came to me,” said Staggar. “I’m telling you my price. You don’t like it, go elsewhere.”

“He’s right,” said Lem. “We should have gone to Jupiter. Come on, Chubs. We’re wasting this man’s time.” Lem turned and moved back toward the ship.

Chubs squinted down at Staggar. “Yes, you seem to have so much business here, why not let a big shipment like ours slip away? It’s not like you need the money.” He looked Staggar up and down, showing his disgust at Staggar’s appearance, then turned away and followed Lem back to the ship.

Lem had his hand on the airlock when Staggar shouted at them.

“Wait. I have another price in case you boys got all stubborn and annoying, which you have.”

“And what price is that?” said Lem.

Staggar told them.

“Double that amount and you’ve got a deal,” said Lem.

“Double!” said Staggar.

“You’ll still make a fortune,” said Lem. “Which, if my calculations are correct, is more than the alternative. Zero.”

Staggar glowered. “You corporates are all the same. Cocky thugs, the whole lot of you.”

“From one thug to another, I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Lem.

*   *   *

Lem had his senior officers dole out the cash to the crew. It was less than Lem had hoped to give them but more than enough for a two-day break. Because of the low price he had received for the cylinders, he had been forced to sell more than he had intended, but he didn’t worry. He still had more than enough to make an impression with the Board.

The inside of the weigh station was more attractive than the exterior, though not by much. Wherever Lem and Chubs went, merchants clamored for their attention, selling all variety of mining tools and worthless trinkets. It surprised Lem to see how many people lived here: several hundred if he had to guess, including children, mothers with infants, even a few dogs, which Lem found especially amusing since these had learned to jump from wall to wall in zero gravity. Lem soaked it all in, feeling at home for the first time in a while. He didn’t belong in space. He belonged in a city, where the energy was palpable and the sights and sounds and smells were always changing.

They found a woman in the marketplace selling men’s work clothes, and Lem bought nearly everything she had. Podolski and the two security guards might be on the weigh station for a while, and Lem thought it would be better for them to blend in and dress like free miners. He didn’t know if the clothes would fit perfectly, but since no one at the weigh station had any concern for fashion and all the clothes were baggy anyway, Lem didn’t think it mattered.

He paid the woman a large tip to deliver the clothes to the ship, and when the woman, who had a young boy with her, saw the sum of money in her hand, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she teared up and kissed Lem’s hand. Lem could see that she was poor and that the child was hungry, so he gave her another large bill before sending her on her way.

“You getting soft on me?” asked Chubs.

“It looked like she had sewn the clothes herself,” said Lem, shrugging. “Work like that should be paid well.”

Chubs smiled as if he knew better.

They found a shoemaker next. Lem guessed at Podolski’s and the security guard’s boot sizes and then argued with the man about the prices. When they left, after the purchases were made, Chubs laughed. “I think you were trying to overcompensate for being nice to that woman,” he said. “You took that shoemaker for a ride.”

“He was trying to cheat us,” said Lem.

“We could probably go back and find that woman,” said Chubs, teasing. “Your father would be thrilled for you to come home with a bride.”

Lem laughed. “Yes, my father would love a peasant free miner as a daughter-in-law. Especially one with a child. Father would be tickled pink.”

They entered the food court area, where a dozen aromas assaulted them at once: pastries, pastas, breads, stews, even a few cooked meats, though these were exorbitantly expensive. They ran into Benyawe, and the three of them took a standing countertop at a Thai restaurant. It wasn’t big enough in Lem’s opinion to call itself a restaurant—there was only room for six people at the most—but Lem preferred the privacy.

Late in the meal Chubs raised his bottle. “To our captain, Mr. Lem Jukes, who salvaged our mission and turned a profit in the process.”