Chapter 91: Chapter 3: Hostile Negotiations

Leaning back in the chair, Dash planted his right leg atop the desk, exposing his holstered cannon of a pistol to the suite’s door.

Positioned in the center of the room, he and his prized Betsy would be the first thing the inbound contact saw when they entered. It was a blunt gesture, but a sensible one. He had no reason to suspect the Terminus miners’ guild contact would try something dumb. But after the cred shakedown at the docks courtesy of the dockmaster, he wasn’t taking any chances.

It wasn’t like his innocuous flight crew flanking him would dissuade a desperate measure. 

His pilot Gaius was camped out in the entertainment alcove in a multi-species adaptable recliner. He stabbed the air in front of him with hands wearing haptic feedback gloves, a fancy new headset covering his eyes. His foot tapped the floor as the latest pop music filled his ears. Gaius clearly was indulging his Galaxy Battles gaming simulation instead of completing the remedial freighter piloting course to eliminate the points against his license.

Wesley, the newly arrived medtech, paced the suite with nervous energy. 

Boran assured Dash the kid was legit in his terse message calling in the debt Dash owed. Still, Wesley seemed far too young for the credentials he’d been bestowed. His sandy-blond hair and nary a hint of stubble on his smooth jawline made him look barely old enough to be a legal adult, let alone a practicing medical technician. Even his gear had yet to see reality. His medical technician utility jumper was crisp and pristine compared to the weathered getups of the rest of the crew. Dash knew that wouldn’t last. At some point, synthetic and bodily fluids didn’t wash out anymore.

And Tinker, the mechanic bot, stood motionless by the door like it was a part of the decor. Somehow it kept working despite numerous and mismatched parts that were older than Dash. He eyed the bot’s vaguely humanoid face. Two eyes and a slot for the mouth. It was one of the few things he appreciated about it. The more lifelike aesthetics creeped him out.

The discrete meeting site, a former executive apartment suite with display walls and retractable furnishings, had seen better days. A worn couch flanked Dash on one side, a stained kitchenette on the other. The slanted balcony window along the back was stuck in opaque mode, denying a view of the empty plaza several stories below, and the stale air hadn’t been cycled in a while. A fine layer of dust covered every surface. 

Satisfied with his presentation, Dash said to Wesley, “Relax. The contract requires a licensed medtech to deliver the goods. All you need to do is stand there with a smile on your face. I’ll do the talking.”

“I’m fine, Captain. Only anxious to complete our business and be underway,” Wesley said. His pale complexion betrayed his true feelings. The kid had been nervous since they met at the dockyard commons. He’d spent the walk over to the suite looking over his shoulder every minute or so. Dash couldn’t fault him that much. The dank rock tunnels and former ship components that comprised Terminus’s corridors were a dicey sight.

“We’ll be off this rock soon enough. The contact should be here any minute,” Dash said. 

“When are we going back to Praxa Prime? I had to cancel my last scheduled Galaxy Battles live event thanks to Boran calling in this mysterious debt you refuse to tell us about,” Gaius said, reaching for an overhead virtual control. His oversized flight suit—gray with an orange trim—and the pistol strapped into a torso harness completed the hotshot pilot ensemble.

“Soon. I wouldn’t dream of denying you outlets for meaningless accolades.”

“I’m serious. My Commander’s Coalition is frothing at their mouths for an in-person event.” Still immersed in his sim, he pointed a finger in Dash’s general direction. “Just admit that you’re jealous of my top-one-thousand ranking as a Wing Commander and the rabid following it’s given me.”

“All seven of them? Though I suspect half are bots.”

“You know I have hundreds of thousands of real fans,” Gaius said with a defensive tone. “You’re just trying to deflect that I suspect Boran knew Terminus was sketchy and dumped the job on us.”

The pilot hadn’t stopped prodding Dash for an explanation of what the debt was. It was a complicated—and if Dash was being honest with himself—painful subject. Dash had been Boran’s first mate on the Tegado years ago. Now, they didn’t speak. The sudden message from Boran reminded Dash of that painful fact. Despite their current status, he couldn’t say no to his old captain. The Stardancer crew finished their job—offloading a supply run to a channel region outpost—then headed to Terminus, careful to avoid any patrolling SecForce skiffs. The last thing he needed was a fine for violating the sanctions against the station. “Boran wouldn’t do that. And I’m still not telling you what the debt was about.”

“I didn’t know Captain Boran very long, but I agree with your assessment of him,” Wesley said. “And I promise you I won’t be a burden to your crew.” 

“I know you won’t,” Dash said. It was partly true. A medtech was always handy, especially away from population centers where reliable medbots and autodoc pods were hard to come by. 

“Does that mean you’re giving some of your shares to him? Because I can’t give up any more of my meager portion,” Gaius said.

“I’m well aware of that, given the entire crew already complained about the same thing,” Dash said.

“Did Boran not tell you?” Wesley said. “I’m a Holy Church missionary. All I ask for is sustenance and reasonable accommodations.”

“That we can handle,” Dash said, and wondered where the contact was. The air in the suite had begun to tickle his throat. He pulled a flask from his jacket and took a hit. 

Tinker came to life. “Captain Anderton, public intoxication is a punishable offense under article twelve, section—”

“Shut it,” Dash said to the bot. “Gaius, I thought we switched off the local law enforcement notification setting.”

“I did. Must’ve reset on a module reboot,” Gaius said. His head swiveled as he looked about in his virtual world.

“Captain, Tinker may have a point. Do you believe it’s wise to consume what I presume is alcohol before a client meeting?” Wesley asked.

“It helps my negotiating prowess,” Dash said. Wesley raised his eyebrows at the reply. Dash simply shrugged. “You had rituals before your exams, right?”

“Yes,” Wesley said, and perked up. “I performed twenty minutes of Kethra martial poses, followed by meditation, and finished with a hot shower and a cup of green tea.”

“I’m surprised,” Gaius said with a tone that suggested he was anything but. “I would’ve guessed lots of sex and alterants.”

“Ignore him,” Dash said, and held up his flask. “What’s in here is my hot shower, my tea, my sex partner, and my Kathar poses. You get what I’m saying?”

Wesley’s face twitched. “It’s Kethra.” When he saw Dash’s blank expression, he sighed. “Never mind. It’s just that I find this whole situation a bit concerning.”

“I know this is new to you, but this is the reality of hauler life. Take this contract for instance. A minerals-for-meds deal. You run into nonsense laws, then you find the loopholes in those laws. We’re not engaging in slaving or sentient harvesting, or anything horrible like that. Terminus is trying to get around materials import restrictions that killed their economy. The galaxy is a nuanced place. Even more so since Auturia. I promise you it’s not dangerous. This isn’t like the vids where the freighter crew has to shoot their way out of a station full of marauding bandits.”

Dash’s PD pinged with a notice from the contact. He noticed the color drain from Wesley’s cheeks. “It’s game time. Stand there, relax, and don’t say anything. This will be over soon enough.”

The door opened with a mechanical groan, as if the suite were protesting the intrusion. The two contacts strolled in, looking at ease in the decrepit surroundings.

A woman with a thick miner’s build entered first. She wore a gray and navy-blue utility jacket similar to Dash’s, but with a slick, stylish exterior. He silently scoffed at the showy fabrics—too easy to pick out in a crowd. Her jet-black hair was cut in the same fad unisex fashion as that of most locals: a short crop on the sides and top, with a clean-shaved racing stripe circling the skull above the ears.

The other was a Manore, an oversized sub-species of Humans known for their bad temper. His facial scars and downturned face suggested he was more ill-tempered than most. Hairless features, drab gray utilities, and a thick tool belt gave him the look of a science experiment gone wrong.

The woman spoke first. “Captain Boran sent you in his place, yes?” Her raspy voice confirmed a life spent breathing ill-scrubbed air.

Dash relaxed his jaw and forced himself not to stare at the towering Manore. “He did.”

The contact eyed each of them in turn, pausing a moment longer on Wesley and then returning her attention to Dash. “I am Kashara,” she said. 

“Captain Dash Anderton, but Dash is fine.”

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Kashara’s eyes drifted to Dash’s exposed holster. “That is quite the pistol you carry.”

Dash smiled politely. “Way I see it, if you have to shoot, end it as quick as you can.”

Kashara leaned forward as if examining an exhibit in a museum. “Is that a recoil compensator paired with a holo targeting sight? And no biolink safety?”

“That’s right. I’m old fashioned. This is my safety,” Dash said, and flexed his index finger.

Kashara nodded in appreciation, then parted her jacket to reveal a snub-nosed energy pistol stuffed into an underarm holster. “I stick with the standard offerings. It’s more economical. I suspect you’re ex-military then?” Dash nodded, lowering his leg to the floor. She pointed over her shoulder at the stone-faced Manore. “That’s why I keep Osric around. His presence tends to keep things civil.” Osric remained frozen in place, the biological equivalent of Tinker. 

Dash again avoided eye contact with the monster. “This is my flight crew. Gaius pilots the ship, and Wesley is our medtech. Fully licensed, as required for the contract. Tinker there is our bot. I know it looks a little rough, but it can handle the cargo just fine.”

Kashara glanced at the bot, doubt etched on her face. “Tinker?”

“Because it’s always tinkering with things—”

Before Dash could offer further reassurances, Osric said to Gaius, “Did you get those TX-3’s for Galaxy Battles?”

“Uh, sure did,” Gaius said, startled by the giant. “I mean, for training purposes primarily,” he added, nodding at Dash.

“Could we sync so I can see them in action? I thought about getting a pair.”

Gaius looked eagerly to Dash. The captain paused for a moment, then gave a curt nod. “Full immersion, here we go,” Gaius said. He put on the headset without a moment’s hesitation and settled into the recliner. Osric joined him on a kitchenette stool, slipping on an outdated headset and syncing it with Gaius’s.

Kashara sat opposite Dash and gestured to the surrounding suite. “You might’ve noticed there’s no hub access from here. Construction ceased before nodes were installed. But it allows me privacy for discussing sensitive contracts. I hope you don’t let this color your opinion of Terminus.”

“Never,” Dash said with a smile.

“Good, good,” Kashara said. The contact tapped a finger on the desk, then flicked her eyes toward Dash. “I have good news and bad news.”

Dash forced himself to keep a neutral face. “What’s the bad news?”

“Though Captain Boran assured me of your competence, I have decided to give another ship the contract.”

Dash leaned forward. “What? Why?”

“They’re better suited for it.”

“How? I’ve seen the competition. They’re hacks.”

“Captain Bania said the same of you before I told him it would be his.”

“Bania?” Dash said. “That guy is the king of hacks. Don’t listen to him. We’ve had our share of skirting heavy-handed sanctions. We’ve got a medtech and a bot. We’re fully qualified to do this.”

Kashara frowned at Dash. “The problem is your current financial situation. The guild needs to be sure you have the ability to complete the contract. Your status suggests otherwise. You have multiple violations against your license. Your ship is covered in dents as a result of your pilot’s flying. Your maintenance bot desperately needs an overhaul. You cannot pay your crew or upkeep your ship. Think about it from our perspective. How do we know you won’t take the assets we front you for the job and run?”

Wesley fidgeted in the periphery of Dash’s vision. The dockmaster had put a real scare in the kid when they overstepped their jurisdiction with talk of contraband sweeps and full-body searches before Dash and Betsy bullied the bullies off the ship. “It’s called a reputation. I complete my contracts. We might have a few blemishes, but we’re the best crew, with the best ship for this sort of work, in this entire system. We’ll do the job for you, and do it right. We’re the A team, understand? But only if you’re going to pay a fair rate.”

“The A team?” Kashara said, a bemused expression on her face. “Captain Anderton, please be serious. You aren’t even the C or D team. You’re more like the Z team.” She struggled not to laugh, her cheeks flushed. “I am a fair person, so I propose this. We’ll let you work for us full-time until you pay off your debts, in exchange for your medtech. You will have work for cycles. And I assure you, contrary to some rumors about pirates roaming the system’s edge, you are safe here. Everyone wins.”

The proposal caught Dash so off guard, he couldn’t make sense of her negotiating strategy. That, and he was pissed off. “Wesley is with us of his own free will. He is not for sale. And you seriously think I’m dumb enough to sign a slave contract?”

“Please, Captain. That word is a very sensitive matter. You’ll be a paid contractor. Wesley will serve us to help the poor civilians of Terminus. It’s also one less crewmember for you to pay and feed.”

“May I offer a suggestion?” Wesley said.

“No,” Dash said, and returned his ire to Kashara. He had walked into an ambush. His only option was to attack head-on. “You need me as much as I need you. Do I look like I’m some refugee you can exploit?”

Kashara’s face was a humorless mask. She placed her datapad on the desk, the contract confirmation on the display. “You are going to sign this contract. There’s no other option. Accept the guild’s offer, or Osric will have a talk with you. Trust me, you don’t want that.” As if on cue, the Manore removed his headset and scowled at Dash. Gaius worked a virtual joystick, oblivious in his sim world.

Dash scowled back. “He’s not going to do much talking without a head.”

Kashara grinned. “Ah, your fancy pistol. It must have mystical powers, for I don’t know how you plan to use it without a charged magazine.” She read Dash’s perplexed expression. “Guided plasma ammunition is in high demand nowadays. It pulls a hefty sum on the black market.”

Dash forced himself to not blink. No one on the crew knew about his quick visit to the Terminus pawn shop. He needed creds to cover the fines and the refueling—one without the other would do him no good. The shop owner must feed Kashara dirt on customers. With saggy skin and wispy white hair, the man had to be at least a hundred years old; yet he came away the clear winner in that transaction.

Needing to send a strong message, he drew Betsy in a flash and held her atop the table. Not aimed at Kashara, but close enough. Bluffing was his only option, since he’d left Betsy’s little sister—Dorothy—stashed in his safe. “You willing to bet your life on that?” 

Her eyes flicked to the barrel, but returned to Dash with a confident gleam. “We both know you’re not getting off this station without paying up.” She pointed at the contract on her datapad. “Sign it.”

Dash leaned forward. “You can take your offer and—”

The rest of his words came out in a gasp when Kashara smacked Betsy away with surprising strength. At the same time, Osric produced a fat-barreled pistol and fired it at Tinker. Instead of an energy shot or projectile, a thumb-sized cylinder stuck to the bot. Tinker took a step, its shoulder-mounted caution lights flashing. The bot stunner round discharged, and Tinker froze in place.

The sudden violence left Dash frozen. Instincts and rusty training finally kicked in. He moved to stand, but Kashara shoved him. He tipped over backward and crashed to the floor. Stars filled his vision—not the pretty outer space kind, but the knocked-senseless, jolts-of-electricity kind.

Osric then spun to Gaius, still donning the headset. “What was that?” Gaius said. Osric pulled the pilot into a chokehold. Gaius struggled for a few seconds against the sinewy arms clenched around his neck, then went limp.

Dash flailed, struggling to stand. A polished mining boot rose over his head. He curled inward, wondering how it went wrong so fast, and waited for the pain.

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