"Ah, you like that, eh? Well, if the cargo reaches the dock in..." He checked the time on the screen. "...thirty-five hours, forty-two minutes from now, that hauler will be paid a handsome two-hundred-thousand bonus. I also feel obliged to point out that bottom line," The foreman pointed to the bottom of the clause on the screen. In bold font, were the words: CONTRACT TO HIRE."

  There were collective 'wows' throughout the gathering of haulers. Steady work of any kind, in this these times, was something some people had killed for.

  "Let's start the bidding at say...nine-eighty. Anybody? Nine-eighty..."

  "Here," someone said.

  "Do I hear nine-seventy? Anyone?"

  "Yo!"

  "This guy at nine-seventy! Who Else?"

  A hand raised near the front of the platform. "Nine-sixty!"

  "Ho ho! I have nine-sixty to Shorty at the front."

  Lyle crossed his arms and thought for a moment. Not like you, Shorty. Not like you at all.

  The bidding continued on in five hundred to a thousand credit increments. The longer the bidding went on, the more palpable the enthusiasm among everyone became.

  Lyle had his data pad out and opened a custom written app he used to calculate costs. He keyed in the figures, and shifted them around, running a few different scenarios with different variables. The good thing about a run to El Dorado was there weren't too many variables to worry about.

  He looked up to see the current bid. It was down to nine-forty-two-five and it was slowing down. Bids were down to one hundred credits increments with Shorty holding the current bid, with a nervous smile.

  "Is that it, boys? Down to hundred cred bids? I think it's time to wrap this up." The foreman held up the electronic gavel with his thumb on the button. "I got nine-forty-two-five going once...nine-forty-two-five going twice...No more bidders?"

  Time to make some money. "Nine-twenty!"

  About two dozen heads snapped to look at who called that bid.

  "Holy smokes! There's the man, himself! Nine-twenty to Mr. Lyle."

  Shorty didn't have a poker face to speak of. He shot his hand up. "Nine-ten!"

  Lyle gave him a golf clap as he walked to the platform and stood next to Shorty.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Shorty said, as more of a statement than a question.

  "Nine-o-five," Lyle said.

  The crowd was almost in a frenzy. Out of the corner of his eye, Lyle could see side bets being made among the onlookers.

  The foreman was egging Shorty on. "That's nine-o-five, son. You're not going to let this one get away, are you?"

  Lyle figured Shorty was done. There were only two other guys he knew of that had ships that could make that run with a chance at the bonus and Shorty wasn't one of them. He estimated Shorty would clear just a few thousand profit after expenses. Not really worth it out to the Outer Rim. It was the bonus Lyle was hanging his hat on and he still had plenty of bidding room to go.

  A slender, olive-skinned man with a goatee had an arm on Shorty's shoulder. "Come on, man! You can't let this one go! It's your job!

  "Nine...nine-o-two." Shorty didn't sound the least bit happy with that number.

  "Nine-o-two to you, Mr. Lyle. Talk to me."

  Carson Lyle crossed his arms and sarcastically tugged at the scruff of hair on his chin. "Gee, I don't know. Nine-o-two is pretty strong. Hmmm...Let me think a sec..."

  Shorty exploded. "Nine-hundred, dammit! You know you can't do nine-hundred. Just give it to me now! This job is meant for me!"

  Lyle was surprised. Shorty was a hothead, but he knew how this game was played and Shorty must have forgotten Lyle learned from the best; his mentor, Mad Jack.

  "Don't take too long. I might just call it," the foreman said, teasing Lyle with the gavel.

  I can't say I'm sorry to do this, Shorty. "Let's put this one to bed...Eight-eighty."

  The uproar, from the other haulers, got the attention of security. Half a dozen marines ran in from all directions. The two foremen had to wave them off.

  No one could believe Lyle undercut an already bare bones bid by thousands. Some even started exchanging the money from the side bets, even though the foreman hadn't banged the gavel.

  "Geez-Louise! Eight-eighty...going once..." The foreman held a hand out to Shorty, as if to plead for another bid.

  Some of the others tried to get him to bid again. Most of all, the guy hanging on Shorty's shoulder. The back and forth bidding exchanges like this were Lyle's favorite part and he was having a blast...especially since he had the upper hand.

  "Going twice…"

  Shorty's face had turned red and sweat had started to form along the wrinkles on his forehead formed by his furrowed eyebrows. He was fuming more than Lyle had seen since Mad Jack bluffed him in a game of Botchi with only a low pair, a few years ago, that cost him another sweet contract.

  "That's my job. That's my job! I need to be the one to do that job!"

  "Sold!"

  There was another round of cheers and applause. More side bet money was exchanged. The foreman had stepped in front of Lyle to complete the transaction.

  Shorty lunged at him, grabbing at the chop token around his neck. "It's mine! It has to be mine! It has to—"

  Lyle firmed his stance, ready to fight, but it wasn't necessary.

  The other haulers didn't take too kindly to the outburst. It was a violation of an unspoken code among haulers. One didn't whine about losing a bid for work, especially if there was nothing squirrelly about it. Everyone had to fight for the same work, but there was respect for the risks they each took for their livelihood.

  There were just a few rules that they all followed, but they were the cornerstone of what they regarded as something of a brotherhood: Bid honestly, and accept the result. Don't mess with another man's work. Never leave another hauler stranded in space. And always keep a promise. It was a loose brotherhood, but one that Lyle appreciated…probably more than most.

  Two of the men had grabbed Shorty - one was the guy with the goatee - each taking an arm, and escorted him away from the platform and tossed him out into the open concourse like garbage.

  He jumped up and instinctively reached to his right hip, forgetting his gun had been taken at the security checkpoint. He faced the unyielding stares of twenty-plus grizzled freight haulers.

  Shorty knew he'd messed up.

  He scoffed at the entire crowd, turned, tried to wave them off as he was the one done with them.

  There was boisterous laughter, as he walked off and the attention turned back to the platforms.

  The foreman kneeled down to Lyle, holding out his data pad.

  "Nicely done, sir. Put your chop right there," he said pointing to a round port in the bottom left corner.

  Lyle pulled reached into his shirt and pulled out a chain he had around his neck. Hanging from it was a black rectangular data chip, about six centimeters long and two wide, that had one rounded side. He slid the rounded side into the port. After a few seconds, there was a chirp. Lyle saw his hauler registration information appear on the contract and his signature code on the bottom. The deal was done.

  The foreman shook his hand. "That was entertaining. Thank you. The load order has been sent and your ship will be ready to boost in six hours."

  "Fantastic."

  A number of the haulers around him shook his hand and patted him on the back. He caught sight of Shorty standing at the corner of the concourse for a moment, looking back, then disappearing from sight. He figured he could give it a few days and go find Shorty, maybe send some work his way.

  No need for the man to carry a grudge, he thought.

  He checked the time and looked at the shuttle schedule posted on a nearby wall.

  Just enough time to go planetside and take care of some business.

  Chapter 4

  Atlantia City

  Planet Atlantia

  Lyle caught a cab at the shuttle port, and directed the driver to head to the East Ward of the city. It was a twenty minute ride and traffic was cooperating. As the cab made its way east, Lyle saw the organized rat race of pedestrians purposefully moving, to and from the shuttle port, gradually give way to clusters of people with hopeless looks on their faces just milling about outside of rundown buildings and homeless destitutes dressed in rags curled up on the ground here and there. The transition of the surrounding cityscape from a dingy metropolis to a depressing piss hole, was a familiar one. The East Ward was one of the lesser maintained areas of the city, populated mostly by the lower working class. They were good people; hard working and honest...mostly. It was also a good place to be if you wanted to drop off Authority radar which is why Lyle called it home.

  The cab stopped in front of a large, rundown apartment building. It was one of the older, original buildings that dated back to the original migrations of colonists from Earth. Pre-fabricated living modules stacked like blocks in a building framework. People suckered by the sales pitch of new opportunity twenty light years from Earth were given their own little cube of heaven. It was a far cry from the brochure. Now the building was hardly even visible behind a web of jury rigged gutters, downspouts and catch basins hanging all over the building. City water had become so expensive, most people relied on the Atlantia’s sparse rainfall for their needs.

  The cabbie looked around, a little nervous. This was apparently not his regular area.

  "You sure this is the right place?"

  "Yep." Lyle said. He reached into his pouch and pulled out a twenty credit bill and handed it to the driver. "Turn the meter off and wait here. Gimme about ten minutes." Then he turned to the door.

  The driver picked up his radio mic.

  "Stop!" Lyle said. "Don't call in."

  "But—"

  Lyle pointed to the twenty in the driver's hand and said, very carefully, "Don't call in." Then he pulled another twenty out of his pouch and held it up where the driver could see.

  "Got it," the driver said, putting the mic back on its hook on the dash. He watched Lyle go into the apartment building and up the stairs. When Lyle was out of sight, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out data pad, opened the messenger, tapped three words and put it away.

  Back in thirty.

  ***

  "Carson!" The woman said, when she opened the door. "My stars! How've you been?"

  "Can't complain too much, you?" Lyle said, hugging the much shorter woman.

  "I've been well. You shouldn't stay away so long!" She said, moving to the main living room. "Sit down. You want a drink? Somethin' to eat?"

  Lyle sat down on the couch. "Thanks, Betty. I can't. I gotta catch the shuttle in an hour. Won a big contract this morning."

  "Really? Where to?"

  "El Dorado."

  "Big contract…to El Dorado? You remember what Jack used to call any big run out to that hell hole, don’t you?"

  “Fool’s Gold,” Lyle laughed.

  “There was a reason for that.”

  "I know, but the money's right." He smiled. "Very right."

  Betty sat down in a chair opposite Lyle. "I hope it's worth it with that dodgy jump gate and all. Jack used to tell me about problems coming out of jump space on the back side. She doesn't like it, you know?"

  Lyle nodded, "I know. I've been working on her jump tolerance and the last gate report says they worked on it a couple months back so it should be better."

  "Well, I hope so. Jack will haunt you if you hurt her. That ship was his life outside of me."

  "The payoff is worth it. You'll get enough to keep things going for a good bit."

  "You don't have to give me any money! I wish you'd stop. You work hard and deserve to be happy."

  "I'm doing just fine."

  "Carson Lyle, she said, wagging at finger at him. "You forget, I know all about you. I'm betting Sarah would be proud of the way you help me and the others, but everything else…cheating the system any which way you can. Pushing the rules to the absolute limit and, in the process, thumbing your nose at the Authority every chance you get. Trust me, they know exactly who you are and they're going to catch up to you if you keep this up. You need to dial it back and think of your future."

  Lyle took a deep breath. Another lecture, geesh. "You, of all people…hell, you might be the only left…you know I don't have a future and haven't had one since the war. After what they’ve done - not just to me, but to all of us - why should I just crawl in a hole and let a self-serving government just have its way with everyone without giving it as much headache as I can?"

  "What about Artemis?"

  Lyle reached down and rubbed his thigh. It still ached from the scan at the security checkpoint. "What about her?"

  "Can’t she make things right for you, at least?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet. The time's not right."

  “You’d get your life back and—”

  “The sacrifice she’s made for me…I don’t want it to be wasted. Things aren’t right yet.”

  Betty through her hands in the air. "See? That's what I'm talkin' about." She took his hand in hers. "You could be doing something to help yourself and you won't. You think you deserve to suffer? What happened to Sarah…not your fault.”

  Lyle looked away, but only then remembered there wasn't a window to look out of.

  "You were wronged by the Authority more than most men," Betty said. "What they put you through is inexcusable. They screwed Jack over when they transferred him out here. His hate for them burned for years and he was just like you. You know what changed that?" She poked a finger in his chest. "You!"

  Lyle looked back at her.

  "Yeah, you! When I first met him, he was carrying on his own personal little vendetta with the Authority and the Mech Corps…and I was right there with him for years. Then the Outer Rim War came along and it got worse. Much worse." Betty looked away this time, realizing she was straying into her own painful memories. "But then you came along into that bar looking for the man that 'took your job' and you were going to beat up everyone until you found that man." The thought made Betty laugh.

  Carson laughed with her.

  "The point is," she said. "Jack saw himself standing there. As he got to know you, he saw what he was and knew that had to change. Why do you think he took you under his wing and showed you the ropes? He was hoping to turn you around from the path you're on now, so you could live the simple, satisfying life that he couldn't. One surrounded by friends…the haulers. That's why he trusted you with that contract he had with The Badger. That's why he gave you his ship. Don't disrespect his memory, and everything he did for you, by throwing it all away."

  Carson was quiet for a long moment, taking in everything Betty had said.

  "He loved haulin'," he said, finally.

  "That he did...and he'd be proud you. But he'd tell you what I'm telling you. Put this vendetta with the Authority aside...and live."

  He smiled. "I'll tell you what, I'll give it some thought and after this run, I'll come by and we'll talk about it again."

  That made Betty smile also. "Thank you."

  "But you will take the money I'll bring you when I get back."

  "That's a deal."

  They spent the next several minutes chatting about whatever came to mind, while she packed him some food to take with him on the run.

  They said their goodbyes and in another minute, Lyle was back in the cab. He checked the time. The visit ran a little longer than he'd planned, but he could still keep his schedule to boost.

  As the cab pulled away, he looked back one more time at the apartment building and at the fifth balcony. He saw his friend's wife watching him as he left, just as she had done for Mad Jack every time he went on a run.

  Put aside what they did to me and the others? Not today...not ever. Sorry, Betts.

  Chapter 5

  There had been a definite uptick in traffic volume since the cab had come through just a little while before. The driver was on the radio with his dispatch finding out what the holdup was.

  "There's an accident up ahead, snarling things up pretty good."

  "Dammit. Just let me out here. I'll walk."

  Lyle got out of the cab and slung the bag holding Betty's care package onto his back. Before the cabbie could say a word, he pulled out his wad of bills and peeled off two more twenties; one for the fare and the one he'd promised earlier. Then he turned and headed off in the direction of the Shuttle port.

  ***

  The cabbie watched Lyle walk away. When was sure he wouldn't turn around, he sent another text message: Avenue X, in front of Jo-Jo's.

  ***

  Lyle had walked a two and a half blocks before he was forced to stop at an intersection. Traffic was moving again, as it was detoured by police to side streets. Lyle waited for the go ahead, from the traffic cop, to cross. He was joined on either side by two large men. He looked left and right, and greeted them with a nod that wasn’t returned. A third man rudely stepped between Lyle and the man on his right. He was bald and much shorter than Lyle with a wing tattoo on a face that wore a familiar scowl.

  It was Shorty.

  "Let's you and me have a talk," he said without looking at Lyle.

  Lyle looked left and right again and sighed. "As fun as that sounds, I've got to get back to my ship. Gotta go make some money, but you understand that, I'm sure."

  "You're just a damn comedian, aren't ya?" Shorty said, still not looking at him. "But you don't seem to get it. We're going to step over here and have a talk right now."

  The large men both started to move toward a nearby alley, scooping Lyle along with them. He knew what was about to go down. He could say something; yell to the flatfoot directing traffic. No fun in that. This little talk would probably make him late for the shuttle headed up to the freight port, but it was something that was probably going to happen sooner or later. A lingering dispute with another hauler, left unresolved, was bad for business.

  They all stepped into the alley, away from the street. It was relatively private. Most passersby were likely to ignore anything they saw.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12