Cavalier's Gambit -ch 12- (Patreon)

Wayne looked at the email he’d received.

He read it over for perhaps the third time.

It’d only had been perhaps three Faesin days, which were almost twenty-four hours each. Each planet had their own number of hours in a day, and their own gravitational forces, though Faesin was in a rare category.

An “earth-day comparable” type of planet.

Which was something noteworthy, if only because no one knew where Earth was anymore. A planet long since forgotten as the immigrants that fostered the Terran Confederation deleted their travel routes.

There was no reason ever given for why this had been done, but it had been. There were also strict rules regarding settling planets as well.

Wayne personally thought there was some deep dark secret behind it all, but he admitted it could be just as easily nothing at all.

Blinking, he realized his mind had been wandering and he refocused on the email.

He’d been awarded the Dashi raider ship. His “prize” for capturing a pirate ship. Though the cargo had been removed as it’d clearly been stolen, the ship was his.

Apparently it was a Cougar class transport ship. Capable of far interstellar runs, and holding six Combat-class Walkers, or two Assault class.

There was even a rumor on the net that you could wedge in some of the light-Dreadnought class Walkers, but only certain ones.

What that all meant was Wayne had a way to travel about the cosmos if he wished, and with Patchwork included.

The email he was reading was all the work that would need to be done for the ship to be up to “spec”. Or more directly, at a point where the ship would be allowed to leave the port with all the proper authorizations.

Apparently, him dropping the Dashi here had been an intelligence coup of sorts, so they’d waived all docking fees for him in perpetuity and given him a brand-new engine.

Part of that was a proclamation that he had been entitled as a Cavalier. Which he really didn’t know much about, other than it was some type of award that’d lessen the taxes he paid.

But that’d been the end of it.

All their mechanics were currently working on military contracts and other things. Unless he wanted to pay competitive rates with them, there wasn’t a likelihood of him getting someone to work for him.

Getting the Dashi Raider ship-shape would be up to him and his pocketbook, and the simple reality was the military contracts had a much bigger wallet.

Thankfully the fact that he’d protected the merchant’s goods and gotten them here had been noteworthy in a number of ways as well.

The payout for doing all these things had been significant, and when combined with his credits stashed away, he had more than enough to live off for a while.

Five years at the least if he just lived modestly and did nothing at all.

If he sold the Raider, that’d easily push him out to fifteen years.

Except he didn’t quite see that as the best option for him. Ten years was a long time, but not long enough.

Right now, that money looked more like a retirement fund for when he was older, or to leverage something else.

Not to sit around and do nothing in space.

He’d get more of it by getting the Raider fixed up and using it for interstellar trade or something else.

For the time being, there were a number of job postings he’d noted. Many of them all needed experienced loaders at the cargo bays for loading and unloading.

Given there was so much military material going through the station, the pay was high for those with lots of experience.

Like Wayne.

Having his own loader that was grav-enabled only made it easier for him. There would be no rentals, insurance, or contracts for him to sign on to.

On top of that, he had his government contract completed, which meant he was now approved for further contracts throughout the Terran Confederation.

All his security checks, background checks, and information establishment, had already been completed and authorized.

That and the number of laborers on the station had dropped off precipitously as they all scrambled to leave. Those that were left were all already employed.

Just like the mechanics.

As far as Wayne could tell though, and from what he’d heard, the Blood of Dashi were satisfied with pillaging Faesin-III for the time being. Given that the Terran Confederation System Guard were also happy to not engage and let them do that, everything had rapidly returned to status quo.

Except for everyone on Faesin, at least.

Taking the top paying contract, Wayne applied for it.

And was promptly rejected without even what seemed to be the appearance of it checking to see if it was possible.

“Denied due to station credentials,” Wayne said aloud.

Then he remembered what he’d been told this morning and clapped one hand into the other.

He needed to head over to the registration hall and formally announce himself as a citizen of the station.

As of course, taxes would be assigned by home location. That meant unless he was a citizen of the station, he wouldn’t be working on it.

Exiting his rather lovely room that Mr. Chavy had paid for him, Wayne left the residential wing. He was glad that he wouldn’t have to worry about where he’d be staying for the next three months, give or take a few days.

He was even in the “upper” half of the station, which was marginally better than the “lower” half.

Reaching the elevators, he tapped the call button and looked to the map plastered there.

The station was a city of sorts.

Half of it was “upper” and the other half “lower”.

Split in the middle and flipped.

When one crossed over to the other section, you would become inverted.

Whatever the tech was that allowed there to be gravity on the station was somewhere, somehow, in the floors between the two halves. It allowed everyone on the station, except for the cargo bay areas, to operate freely.

His destination was on the first floor of the lower half.

The elevators dinged, opened, and Wayne got in.

He rode them down across the center of the station, felt a momentary strange fluttering sensation in his stomach as they likely crossed over to the other half, and then exited when the doors opened.

There’d been no real outward show that the elevator had flipped over somehow.

In no time at all, Wayne made it to the registration office.

He’d signed the paperwork, gotten it stamped, approved, sent off, approved, sent back, signed, stamped, approved again, then sent off somewhere else, likely queried, probably lost, found, and likely printed out to be buried in soft peat for three months.

Just in time for his day to be over and unable to much of anything.

So instead of going back to the apartment and while away the time until he went to bed doing nothing at all, he went to a local bar.

He’d been to this bar several times already and had gotten a wealth of information from it. If anything was going on in the station, there was someone talking about it in the bar at any given time.

Faster than the damn net.

Wayne entered, waved at the barkeep, pointed at a random beer, and took an open table. He had no desire to be social, he just wanted to listen.

His eye decided at that point to remind him that the TV was made by a company that no longer existed, and that there was a hidden camera in it as well.

Not for the first time, Wayne was getting nervous about what his implant pointed out.

Anything that had a signal in any way, somehow, always popped up on his implant. Even if it wasn’t something that normally should happen.

As far as he knew, this wasn’t possible. That’s why he knew that what was happening was abnormal, in a big way.

Looking away from the display Wayne sighed and looked to the table.

There was a bug in the table that would be transmitting anything he said somewhere else.

Groaning, Wayne closed his eyes and shook his head.

The only place he hadn’t spotted something listening or watching him was his own bathroom.

His bedroom had a listening device in it.

A beer bottle thumped onto the desk he was seated at. Along with the clatter of a payment slate.

Wayne stuck his thumb to it without looking.

There was a beep as the payment was taken and the bartender, or waitress, Wayne wasn’t sure, left him there with his beer. The quiet fizzing of it was louder than the rest of the room.

Opening his eyes, he looked around and confirmed the contents of the bar.

Only two people were in the bar with him at the moment that were talking. Everyone else was clustered around a large table with their heads down. Cursing at one another in low voices.

Taking the beer in hand, Wayne took a sip from it and finally looked up to the TV again. As ever, the display was the ongoing raid of Faesin-III.

Supposedly more forces were coming to break the siege, but they were still weeks away. If not months off.

Should things follow historical trends, the Blood of Dashi would be exiting just before the Confederation would be ready to retake Faesin.

In the meanwhile, Dashi was pounding away at any and all resistance on Faesin.

With battlecruisers and the like bombarding the planet from orbit.

“Which means Faesin is fucked. Frelking hell. Like rolling up on a house-fire and then spraying water on the ashes after the fire had burnt itself out and calling it a day,” Wayne grumbled.

In truth he’d questioned his choice to leave the planet the way he had, more than a few times, but it seemed at every turn he’d found reasons showing that it’d been the best thing for him.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen and set it down on the table before taking another sip of his beer.

A woman walked past Wayne and went up to the table where the large group was. He’d noted her only because she’d actually moved by him, far closer than most would.

Given that he was a stranger to the station, the normal residents were somewhat wary of him. Which meant either she didn’t care, or she was new here too.

The people sat at the table seemed to know her though, half of them looking annoyed, and the other half ignoring her. For whatever reason, they were most certainly not pleased with her appearance.

“Fuck off!” shouted one of the other women at the table.

“No! This was my contract, not yours. You didn’t-you had no… it was mine!” demanded the woman who’d walked up.

“If it was your contract, I shouldn’t have been able to take it, huh? So clearly it wasn’t! Fuck-off!” growled the sitting woman a moment before she stood up. She put her hands on the newcomer and shoved her, sending her crashing into Wayne’s table.

The beer he’d been drinking was knocked right off the table and shattered on the ground. His phone was knocked off the table as well and hit the ground with a clatter.

Glancing at it, he saw the screen was shattered.

His frustration over the events of the day boiled over in that moment. He had been dealt annoyance after annoyance today and this was the final straw.

Wayne grabbed the shoulder of the woman with one hand to steady her, then stood up. He let her go when it was obvious, she was fine.

“What-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you,” Wayne got out in a hiss, glaring at the woman who was now staring at him with wide eyes.

“I-she did it,” accused the woman, pointing at the one that Wayne towered over.

“You shoved her. You did this. I want you to explain to me how it’s her fault, when you did this,” Wayne growled. He contemplated going over to the woman and asking her from an inch away. “You knocked my phone to the ground, busted it and spilled my beer.”

“Ahh! Please, Cavalier Hesh, I’ll gladly get you another beer for free,” offered the bartender who came over to plead with Wayne. It wasn’t the first time someone had referred to him like that, though he still wasn’t used to it. Nor did he really like it. “They’ll be paying for it, I assure you.

“Your phone is still functional. See, Cavalier?”

Wayne glanced down to see that his phone was in the man’s hand.

“Screen’s broken,” Wayne pointed out, then glared at the table again.

Every single person there had hunched into themselves. Not one of them wanted to look at Wayne, and even the woman who had caused the situation was staring at his boots.

While Wayne wasn’t a towering mass of muscle, or height, he was more fit than most of the population, and his work with a loader had given him a sturdy-looking frame. He’d been just above average in many things on Faesin.

Except, here, in space, he towered over many.

Wayne didn’t know if the average for Faesin was above the norm, but it seemed like it.

“I’m sure they’ll cover the costs of repair,” promised the barman nodding his head quickly. To which the people at the table nodded their heads.

“Then hopefully they do so,” Wayne demanded, leaned forward, and put his hand to the table they were all sitting at.

His mind was still bubbling with anger. He half hoped they would start a fight. Part of him wanted to get into a fight and he couldn’t explain it. Under all that rage was a strange fear as well. “Because that line of phone was sold to me on Faesin-III. I spent six-hundred creds on it. I don’t think I can just… repair it. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“I can fix it,” offered the woman that’d been knocked over. “If they pay three hundred, I can fix it.”

Wayne felt his anger splutter to nothing.

The way she’d made the offer had sapped him of his ability to truly be angry.

Between her and the barman, the offer to be made whole had stopped him cold.

“Exactly the way it was?” Wayne demanded, looking back at the woman.

He saw her face now and found that she was most certainly the victim of an unhappy past or upbringing.

Her nose had clearly been broken at least thrice, with a large knob and a crick in it that sent it to one side. He didn’t miss that she was missing a front tooth and that her jaw wasn’t lined up well either.

As if someone had broken it as well. Spoiling whatever looks she may have had at one point.

Given all the damage to her face, as well as pretty terrible complexion, she wasn’t going to win any contests for appearances any time soon.

Her black hair was shaggy and hung partially across her eyes. Skirting the blue orbs and nearly robbing her of her own ability to see, he imagined.

She was dressed in dark baggy clothes that she quickly hunched into when he looked her way.

“Yeah. Exactly the way it was,” confirmed the woman. “Just… ah… if they pay the three hundred, that’ll cover the parts that I’ll need to get.

“Just please let it go after that. Let them go.”

Wayne frowned.

He couldn’t believe that this woman wanted him to let them go after they’d caused her a problem. Not to mention, it sounded as if they’d taken a job that was hers.

“Please, Mr. Hesh,” the woman implored him, then glanced up at him through her hair. There was a solidness to her eyes that he didn’t expect.

A strength to her soul.

“Fine,” Wayne allowed and took the phone from the barman. He held it out to the woman, then leaned back over to the people seated at the table. “Three hundred credits.”

Everyone began reaching around into pockets, purses, and wallets. Quickly, the credits were piled up on the table, where the barman collected them all.

He hadn’t felt like he’d over reacted but their response to him had felt as if he’d been screaming at them. Or pulling a gun on them.

To be fair, Wayne had certainly spoken with the intent to intimidate them, he just hadn’t expected to cow them so severely.

The bartender gave the money to the woman and then held a new beer out to Wayne.

Realistically, Wayne didn’t want it anymore. He just wanted to go back to his room already.

Waving it off, he instead turned and left the bar. His mind was somewhat out of sorts, and he really wasn’t thinking things through at the moment.

Exiting the bar, he went straight to the elevator. He really didn’t want to be anywhere else.

His heart was beating oddly, he was concerned with his reaction to the situation, and how he was now feeling after the fact.

Maybe I should get that therapy the sarge suggested after all.

I never did and-and… and that wasn’t a normal response. Was it?

Okay.

I’ll get help.

Nodding his head, he stepped into the elevator and hit the button for his own floor.

When the doors closed, he finally noticed that the woman who said she’d fix his phone was in the elevator as well. She was staring at the floor, one hand clutching the stack of bills, the other his phone.

“I’m Wayne, Wayne Hesh,” Wayne mumbled without thinking about it.

“Yes,” the woman agreed.

“What’s your name?” he tried instead.

“I’m just-just ah… Tink.”

“Great… uhm… Tink. Thanks for offering to fix my phone. Honestly, I’m new here and still trying to figure things out.”

“Yes,” Tink agreed again.

“Do you have a workshop I can come pick up the phone at?” Wayne asked, glancing over at the woman.

He noticed that the top of her hair had an almost oily look to it. As if she hadn’t showered for a time.

“No. I-uh… no. No. I’ll just… work on it and bring it to you when it’s ready.”

The elevator dinged and Wayne just stood there. He really didn’t quite know what to say. Right now he was fairly confident that this woman was homeless and lived in the corridors.

“Are you an engineer? A mechanic?” Wayne asked as the door slid shut again. He didn’t push any buttons.

“Both? I’m-I’m both. I just don’t have any-any-uh… credentials. Paperwork.”

“As in you can fix ships? Walkers?” Wayne asked a sudden thought sparking in his brain.

“Yes. With the right tools. I-I can, yes.”

Wayne noticed that Tink wasn’t actually staring at the floor. She was staring at him in a reflection. A reflection in a reflection.

One of the panels of the elevator was slightly angled, and she was able to look at him through it. She’d been staring at him since she got in, he thought.

“Yeah? What about a Cougar class transport ship.”

“I co-could fix your ship.”

“Yeah? And a thrown together Walker? It’s a Scout class. Mostly bits and pieces.”

“I could fix that, too. With-with the right tools. I think. I’d have-have to see it.”

“Great. Can I hire you for that? All of that. You can live on the transport ship while you do the work if that’s easier for you,” Wayne offered. He reached out and hit the button for the cargo bay floor that the Cougar was on. “While the compartment for sleeping is small, there is a communal area with a shower, fridge, toilet, and kitchen. There’s four of those little sleeping areas, so you can pick one you like.

“I think there’s a captain’s quarters, but I’m pretty sure they were using it for storage or something. Pulled the bed out of it and the furniture.”

“That’d be-I-ah… yes. I’ll do that. I can do that. I’ll work on your ship and Walker.”

The elevator door pinged open a moment later.

“Great, let’s talk rates and the like. I plan on picking up loader jobs for a time, so give Patchwork a once-over and make sure it’s ready for that,” Wayne asked and stepped out of the elevator.

Tink followed along quickly.

She was still hunched up into herself as they moved toward the cargo bay.

“I can do that. I think I can work on it without seeing it,” agreed Tink quietly. “Rates are… I… I’m not certified. Technically any work I’d do you’ll need to have someone else come through and-and certify after.”

Wayne snorted at that.

He was fairly certain he could get the station administration to certify it, so long as he asked nicely. They seemed quite happy to help him out.

“Fine. Figure out whatever someone with certifications would be, deduct ten percent from that,” Wayne stated. He remembered foremen who used to do something similar for him when he didn’t have all his paperwork.

“Thank you… Wayne,” Tink murmured, and her head tilted to one side. He caught her gaze directly meeting his.

Wayne grinned at her and nodded his head.

“You’re welcome.”