For the Throne - 2. Isis 5

“Incoming call from Sol de Noche Space Control on Isis 5,” reported SAI.

“Receive,” replied Posh as he finish putting on a pair of dark red pants and a cream colored shirt.

“You are entering Isis 5 subspace, please provide your CARTID,” a female voice sounded through the ship.

“Alpha nine eight four,” replied Posh as he slid his feet into a pair black leather combat boots. He had gotten his Cartel Pilot’slicense or CART IDwhen he had first learned to fly. Although there was little chance of the renegade government imprisoning him, recognizing their authority in the Dead Zone was an important political gesture.

“Posh Abbot of Alteria, what is your transport ID number?”

“Six Sigma Alpha nine two four.”

“You are cleared to land in hanger ninety-five. Enjoy your stay.”

SAI landed the ship without incident as Posh walked into the pilot’s cabin. The metal android sat in the control seat motionless. Covered in dull black metal, lights across its head and chest twinkled showing the internal activity.

“Ship status?” he asked, shrugging on a long khaki trench coat and wide brimmed hat.

“Pneumonic drive functions are operating properly, fuel cells are at forty percent. Shell status is one hundred percent and food supplies are down by ten percent. You should eat more,” stated the almost human voice of the android.

“I asked for the ships status SAI not mine.” Posh glared at the ceiling knowing that SAI neither cared nor took offence to dirty looks or insults.

“Your weight is down by one kilogram and your muscle mass is up by ten percent. Increased muscle mass requires more fuel.” The androids matter-of-fact tone and logical response reminded him of his mother, Pashta, and he was struck with a wave of homesickness. Maybe after this run he would visit.

“Refuel and perform diagnostics while I’m gone.” His account would be debited the costs that SAI needed to make any repairsand recharge the fuel cells.

SAI opened up the bay door and a wave of heat pushed into Posh sucking all the air from his lungs. Even through the shelter of the hanger, the intense heat of the planet’s dual suns was barely tolerable. Pulling a pair of gloves out of his pocket he put them on, although the extra coverage was uncomfortable, the instant sunburn on unprotected skin would have been much worse.

One hundred and fifty years ago a small religious sect had acquired the rights to Isis 5, a small planet just inside the Imperial Alliance side of the Dead Zone. Barely habitable, the plant’s two suns flooded the surface with constant light. When attempts at terraforming the desert planet failed miserably, the group decided to compromise their principals for the autonomy in favor of their religious freedom. They invited the Cartel to establish a Space Control Center and set up the outpost of Sol de Noche. Although the settlement had originally been founded for religious reasons, it had since become a haven to black marketers, political outcasts and scavengers. It wasn’t the best place stock up on supplies, but it was ideal for trying to find a client or two looking to transport something.

When first established, the town had resided on the surface of the planet, now only the Space Center’s hangers were visible. The planet’s entire population resided within an extensive trench large enough to house the megalithic temple created for the town’s founding religion and complex spires of apartments which provided the outposts shops and residences.

Posh looked down the ramp that led down to the cities depths. Although the temperature near the surface was stifling he knew that it would drop to near freezing as he descended into the town’s depths. The pinnacles of the outpost’s buildings rose up forty stories from the deep sandstone channel, their peeks climbing to just below the surface. Only the wealthiest citizens could afford the cooler ground level apartments and most of them stayed in their shaded oasis, while the poorest residents existed on the upper levels, contending with the unbearable heat. Ramps crossed the buildings connecting the class levels to shops and eateries which broke up the apartments. Basket gardens hanging outside windows broke up the monotonous sand colored scenery, cascading trails of green and rainbow colored fruit and flora over the sun-bleached buildings.

The entire population of the town existed on the west side and center of the trench. On the east, a temple to the Gods and Goddesses of the original population jutted out of the cavern’s wall with ornate carvings. Pillars surrounded the courtyard where prayer services for the town’s religious population were held.

Posh stared at the temple before crossing a bridge to the Golden Pool, an eatery set up for transporters and their potential clients on the second level from the surface. Oil lamps cast small pools of light though the shaded room and a trio of musicians played somber music. Taking a seat at a small table on the far end of the room, Posh slipped out of his jacket and hat before sitting back to see who would show up.

A pretty waitress with bluish-white skin and cobalt dreadlocks slid up to the table. Her smile showed sharp pointed teeth and Posh couldn’t help but wonder how a Tanger ended up waiting tables here in the middle of nowhere.

“What Mara get you?” she said in a purring accent that reminded him of a jungle cat he had seen in a private menagerie of a Homeland aristocrat.

“What’s the special?” he asked.

“Nothing Mara would eat,” she grinned. “You want the stew and a pitcher of Alteran Firewater.”

“Sounds good. “ Firewater was a light alcoholic beverage that wouldn’t leave him drunk, by her suggesting it she proved she knew he was here to do business. He took a closer look at the waitress before asking, “Dare I ask what’s in the stew, Mara?”

“Meat and vegetables,” she stated plainly. The look on her face dared him to ask what kind of meat. Shaking his head to fight back asking, he laughed.

She had just left the table when three men Va’terran walked in. Gold masks covered the tops of their face and the hoods of iridescent cloaks covered their hair in traditional Va'terran style. His waitress glanced at them as she walked to the back to get his order. Two of the three took a seat near the door and the third walked over to where he sat.

“I seek transport,” the tall man said standing on the other side of the table.

Posh stared up at the golden mask, sea green eyes shown through the eyeholes and momentarily he thought of Jayden’s greener ones. “Where to?” he asked as the waitress brought back his plate of stew and pitcher of Firewater.

Pouring two glasses she set one in front of Posh and the other in front of the Va’terran. Posh tentatively took a bite of the stew. It was savory with the rich flavor of meat and vegetables, there was a touch of pepper and something else he couldn’t place. He was glad he hadn’t spoiled the meal by insisting on knowing what type of meat was used. Drinking deeply from his glass, another wave of homesickness struck him. He made a note to call Ashe before he left the planet.

Rather than answering him the Va’terran placed a Contract Tablet in front of him showing a space map with two points marked. Posh looked at it and set the tablet back on the table. “I won’t go to Outpost 20. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

“Oh I think you can Viscount Posh Abbot.”

“What?” he hissed in surprised. He hadn’t expected the Va’terran to know his name much less his title. Taking a breath he calmed himself, he’d been taught that Va’terrans were a suspicious people who kept to themselves as much as possible. It was reasonable that the man had known who he was before coming to him.

“Sire, we mean no harm. We respect that Outpost 20 has extensive security precautions in place due to their position against the Imperial Alliance. If time weren’t of the essence we would follow their processes, we have nothing to hide. Your position is unique though, because of Altera’s relationship with them, you are one of the few who can fly in and out without going through their extensive permit process. We are prepared to compensate you for your assistance.” Pausing, the masked Va’terran pulled out the chair opposite of Posh and sat down. Taking a drink of the Firewater, he fixed Posh with a stare. “We wouldn’t ask it of you if it were not an absolute necessity.”

“If you know who I am, do you also know why I am telling you I won’t go there?”

“We are aware that you lost your spouse there.” There was a pained sympathetic look to the Va’terran’s eyes that he had not been expecting.

“I just…” Posh stammered looking for the words that would express his pain. The Va’terran scrolled through the Contract Tablet to the pricing page and set it down facing him before he could finish his thought. Posh picked up the tablet staring at the amount. “What is so important there that you would be willing to part with this many credits?”

“Unfortunately that is information I can’t discuss until we are in a more secured location.”

“Well do I at least get to know your name before I sign a contract with you?” He looked down at the amount again. Eighty million credits, he looked back up at the Va’terran. You couldn’t buy a Contract without putting out the money up front. He paged back to the map page to see if he had read their destinations correctly. The three Va’terrans were buying passage for two stops. One was for a place he said he would visit again and the other stop would take the three of them home to Va’terra on the other side of the Dead Zone. All of this for more credits than the Alteran treasury held.

“My name is Adar.” He looked uncomfortable giving his name, as if he were holding something back. Once again his green eyes reminded him of Jayden. Scrolling to the signature page he looked over at the two by the door. He could tell they were soldiers and by the way they were watching the man sitting across from him, more than likely there were his guards. Only a few types of people needed protection and he wondered how far up in Va’terran society his new passenger was.

He placed his hand on the tablet and allowed the scanner to read his hand print. ‘Contract confirmed by Posh Abbot’ shown in green letters on the signature page. Pulling his Credit Wallet out of his coat pocket, the number 80,109,859 registered in his account. To see that many credit to his name made him feel lightheaded.

“Well Adar, can I buy you dinner?” he asked more calmly than he felt. He took a bite of the aromatic stew in front of him. He couldn’t swear on it but a look of revulsion seemed to pass over what he could see of Adar’s face. “No? Well, we leave as soon as the ship is refueled and I concluded some additional business I have in town.”

“We will meet you back at the hanger in two spans,” said Adar standing up. His matter-of-fact voice struck a bad cord in Posh. Finding a job had been his priority and now that was accomplished there were a few more things he needed to take care of while he was docked. Deciding that the Va’terran’s schedule would have to synch with his, he made a note to take at least three spans before heading back to the hanger.

Adar walked toward the exit. The two soldiers were on their feet and following behind them before he reached the door. Generally reclusive, very few Va’terran’s travelled and those who did were usually on their own. Once again he wondered who the man was that he needed protection.

Finishing his stew, his waitress was beside his table as he took the last bite. Glancing up at her, he recalled as much of Tanger laws and customs as he could.

“So I have to ask, why a Tanger would be here, Mara?” he asked as she removed the plate in front of him. Tanger were fighters, not servers.

“Why? You offer Mara a job?” she asked, quirking her left eyebrow as she cut right to the point.

Before being invaded by the Imperials, the Tanger had been a peaceful people. Their entire society had existed on a barter system and services had been traded over money. The war with the Imperial Alliance had lasted a decade and in an act of unprecedented cruelty, they decimated the Tanger cities and evacuated as much of the population as they could find. To then add further insult, they made it punishable by death for any Tanger to live on their home planet. Those who escaped being placed in relocation camps were absorbed by the Va’terran and various settlements in the Dead Zone. Since their dispersion they were known for being ferocious and joined any cause that was anti-Imperial. Frequently hired for protection, they were ruthless when the occasion called for it and a guard on his side might come in handy, especially since he didn’t entirely trust his new Va’terran passengers.

Posh watched her closely. He couldn’t explain why, but there was something about her that he liked and instantly trusted. “I’m offering you more. I’m offering you a position in my household.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you know what you offer, youngling?” She had demoted him to below her, Posh smiled. It also elevated him to someone she was willing to take care of and potentially risk her life for.

By offering her a place in his household and it would entitle her to part of his estate if something happened to him. Based on Tanger society she would be entitled to one percent of his estate for every year she was in service up to twenty percent and Posh was willing to bet anything she knew exactly the price of the contract he had just been paid.

“I am very familiar with Tanger laws and customs. If you accept, meet me in hangar ninety-five in three spans.”

“Gold face said two spans,” she stated, raising an eyebrow. Her words proved that she had been paying attention to the entire exchange. Posh gave her his best blank stare. Her laugh echoed richly though the eatery. “Mara be there in two spans, you be there when you ready.”