Little Wanderers - Chapter 2

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CHAPTER 2

Three frigate ships sped through the energy field to the docking zone and slowed to a stop nearly hitting the station wall. Beroya tapped a button on his console and ended the communication link with the dock controller. He groaned, "I hate talking with the dock controllers here," he said speaking to his first mate, Ariphes.

"Well maybe if you had let the space technicians guide you into the station, the dock controller wouldn't be on your arse all the time," Ariphes said with a lopsided grin. "Why are we here anyways and not out in space anyways?"

"Don't give me your sass girl," Beroya said. "Didn't you look at the fleet reports? We are low on almost everything! Low on fuel, food, medical supplies, repair scrap and credits." Beroya stressed the last word. "We need a job and busy station like this will have one for us, we being the splendid mercenaries that we are."

Beroya looked like a man in his late 30s. He was of average height and had the faintest grey appearing on his hair and short, stubbly beard from almost constant stress. His muscles were hidden in a thin layer of fat and was teased endlessly by Ariphes for it. He was the CEO of a large mercenary corporation with squadrons of ships docked inside a dreadnought from the earlier years of human exploration into space. His corporation had been failing recently with the three factions of humans making a peace treaty to fight against the Precursors. He had been excluded out of a deal to protect the Jericho frontier from the Precursors because he had no connections with a powerful Jericho clan. He couldn't keep this up for long and needed information for missions.

Ariphes was a 19 year old woman whose mind had matured long before her body had matured. She was no stranger to searing pain, stranger to despairing grief and definitely no stranger to danger. She had natural red hair that cascaded over her shoulders, a pretty face and proper proportions. Ariphes' smile could crush grown men into submission. Her eyes were soft that often had a tired look when she wasn't fighting or drinking. Her father was Beroya's cousin. He had died when Ariphes was young but still old enough to understand the concept of death. He had been ripped through with an upgraded Mk5 Gauss cannon that pierced straight the shields and hull of his ship and clear through to the other side.

Beroya left one of his officers in charge of the three frigate squadron while he and Ariphes walked down the ramp of the Soldier's Fortune and into the Station lobby.

"So how and where do you expect to get a mercenary deal from here?" Ariphes was genuinely curious. When she turned 20 she would be granted a large portion of the fleet from Beroya as was her father's wishes.

"There," Beroya exclaimed as he pointed to a bar. "Hey free beer as well. That's always a plus I suppose," he muttered to himself. He sped walked to the bar and stood at the entrance surveying his surroundings. He was interrupted by Ariphes.

"Hey, don't just stand there. You'll scare away everyone who wants a drink," Ariphes said. She walked past Beroya and seated herself in a booth.

With a slight smile, Beroya ambled over to where Ariphes was and took a seat. "I look around the place so I know who is no problem, who I should avoid and who could give us trouble."

"You worry too much. Who'd wanna mess with someone as ugly as you anyhow?"

"Your mom would," Beroya said softly. "What'd you say?" Ariphes raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"I said 'I hope they have Applewood.' My favorite you know," Beroya said with a toothy grin.

"That is not what you said and you know it!" The young woman hit Beroya on the shoulder.

"Don't hit old people, Ariphes. I'm about to go in an old spacer man's home," Beroya said bursting out laughing. A waiter came up to their table and offered free drinks. "I'll take Applewood please," Beroya said.

"Sorry sir, we don't serve Applewood here," the waiter said. Beroya looked disappointed. "Do you have Sidewinder Fangs?" "I'm not even sure those exist," the waiter said with a chuckle.

"Just give him some Freedom Ale. He's always trying to find things that aren't real," Ariphes said, "As for me, can I get a coffee with one cream and no sugar?" The waiter left to give the orders to the bartender. "What do we do now?"

"We wait," Beroya said. Customers came and went, none of them particularly interesting to Beroya.

Until, a man in his mid-twenties rolled in. He had the walk of a thirty year old and the same tiredness in the eyes as Ariphes. The man's hair was dyed dark red and black. He wore an Imperial jumpsuit colored a sick, pale yellow from age and stained with motor oil. A NASA tag hung from his neck. Beroya's eyes grew wide at seeing this. This man obviously had top-notch expertise and skill in whatever field he studied in.

The man walked forward towards the bartender, his throat burning for something to drink. "Do you have anything close to Jericho port?" the man asked.

"Yup," the bartender said, "Drinks are free. You wanna buy something to eat?"

"No thanks. Hey, do you know anybody here interested in some high-end junk? I got an entire cargo to empty before those dock monkeys give me the all clear to leave," the man said this with just enough volume for anyone in the bar to hear.

The bartender finished pouring the drink. "Can't say that I do." He handed the viscous, red fluid to the man and he took a seat a booth away from Ariphes and Beroya.

The young man was still unnoticed by any other patron. He was resting his elbow on the booth table toying with his now cold fries. His ears perked up when hearing "high-end salvage" and he knew there was a deal just waiting for him to exploit. He looked from his fries to find the source of the voice. 'The guy in the yellow,' he thought to himself. He took out his FedComm and set an alarm for 15 minutes and looked at the clock on the wall. He quickly shoved it back in his pocket.

The young man strode confidently towards where the slightly older man dressed in the jump was sitting. "So, you got salvage?" The older man grinned as if seeing an old college buddy.

"Yep, sure do. I clean out battle junk from frontier sectors, fix them up then sell them," the older man said, "What's your name? I like to make it a point to know who I'm trading with."

The young man hesitated as if he forgot his own name. "Efefay Ibeprop. Yours?" he asked.

"Jasan Quinn," Jasan said while pulling out an ancient holo-display. Jasan set the holo-display on the table and pushed a button. The holo sputtered and fought back, spewing warnings about potentially corrupted files. "Agh, stupid piece of history," Jasan groaned. He raised it back up and gave it a shake before putting it back up. The holo-display gave a loading bar.

Efefay looked at the clock. He had 9 minutes before his alarm went off. He wished the godforsaken thing worked faster. Efefay got his wish. The holo displayed objects ranging from shield projectors to nano-electronics. Most was outdated technology but a decent portion was left over that Efefay could work with on his fighter ship. His eyes passed over an active module but quickly turned back with a raise of an eyebrow. It was an experimental module made from precursor technology. His eyes continued wandering other goods. After a solid minute, Efefay started to separate the goods by pushing his fingers into the non-substantial holo and dragged the ones he wanted to the other side.

Link to Chapter 3 will be posted below on September 30, 2015.