Nathan and Jalea strolled casually down the crowded promenade, with Jessica, Vladimir, and Danik close behind. The wide lane was paved with something similar to concrete, the exact composition of which seemed a bit rockier than what was widely used on Earth. There were vendor booths lining the streets, with small shops of varying types directly behind them. Some of the booths were independent of the shops, while others were merely extensions of the businesses behind them.
The crowd was thick with all manner of people, some buyers and some sellers. There were women shopping for their families, with men standing by their sides. There were crews from various ships, all looking to buy needed goods and services. They all had the same, impoverished look about them, as if they had always been forced to make do with not enough.
Nathan had grown up in a family of means. They had been one of both wealth and power for as many generations as they could trace. His father’s father had been a prominent politician, as had his father before him. Nathan knew that it had been a point of contention between himself and his father. Like all good sons had done since the time of the great bio-digital plague, Nathan’s father had expected him to follow in his footsteps and serve in elected office. But the changes that the Data Ark had sparked back on Earth had made the concept of the family line-of-succession obsolete in most circles. Structured education had once again replaced long apprenticeships in all the industrialized nations on Earth. Nathan, having grown up in such an environment, had therefore felt little compulsion to continue the family trade. In fact, he had grown to despise everything about it.
Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Nathan fought to control his excitement at all of the new sights, sounds, and smells he was experiencing. The setting, although familiar in its design and intent, was at the same time completely foreign to him. Despite the fact that most people spoke Angla, there was still a dizzying array of languages being spoken. Haven was a community of migrants who came and went with the work. Jalea had told him that less than ten percent of the population was actually born and raised on the little moon. Those that were rarely lived out their lives here. Instead, most sought escape to more prosperous worlds with the prospect of brighter futures.
Every direction his eyes wandered they caught glimpses of the cultural diversity that was Haven. Of even greater fascination was that these people had come from different worlds-from different star systems. His world had only begun to regain a sense of global community a century ago when the Data Ark had been discovered. So the idea that such a thing could exist on an interstellar scale was truly amazing. It actually gave him hope for the future of humanity. They had known that humans from Earth had built thriving civilizations on what was then referred to as the Core Worlds-systems within fifty light years of Sol. There had also been about a dozen lesser fringe worlds in development at the time the plague had swept through the core. But to his knowledge, there had never been any human colonies established beyond one hundred light years from Sol, let alone over a thousand. There had been some indications, through news footage stored in the Ark’s data banks, that a wave of unauthorized colonization attempts had occurred during the early days of the plague. Scholars studying the data had theorized that such attempts had occurred as the infrastructure of the core systems collapsed, and people that were yet uninfected had simply tried to flee-hoping to start over on pristine worlds. There had been dozens of habitable worlds charted by deep-space exploration vessels and by long-range detection systems. But again, they had all been within, at most, a few hundred light years.
Yet still, here they were, walking amongst humans who were the descendants of those very refugees that had fled the core so long ago. It was mind-boggling. Nathan wondered how the scholars back on Earth would react to this revelation. He wondered how it would affect his own history professor, Bill Jenkins, with whom Nathan had become close friends during his time as an undergraduate. They had spent many hours discussing just such theories, sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. Nathan was sure that being out here, witnessing all of this, would have delighted old Professor Williams to no end.
As they wandered farther through the crowds, they moved beyond the common trinkets and wares commonly found nearest the spaceport. They came upon a small booth selling some sort of cooked vegetable. It had a peculiar yet enticing aroma that drew Nathan to it. The smell of the vegetable as it seared in the large iron skillet of hot oil made his mouth water.
“What is this?” Nathan asked Jalea.
“That is called pompa root,” she said. “It is cooked in the oil of the tekatta.”
“Tekatta?”
“A small animal that lives in the ground. They are many on Haven. The farmers despise them, as they damage their crops.”
“And what is that?” he asked, pointing to a stack of small, cooked, squares of an off-white substance. They were almost tan in color, and also looked like they had been seared in similar fashion.
“It is called molo. It grows in great abundance here.”
“Is that the tan stuff we saw all over the place as we flew in?”
“I believe so, yes. It is a fungus that does very well in the long darkness that befalls Haven once every orbit. It is used in most of the local dishes eaten here on Haven. It is very nutritious, although some do not care for its taste or texture.”
An old woman behind the counter offered Nathan a small dish with a taste of both the pompa root and the molo, topped with a thick orange gelatinous sauce. “A taste for you, sir?” she offered.
Nathan graciously accepted the sample, plucking the pompa root from the dish and biting it. “Mmm, not bad. It tastes like a mild onion.”
“Try the molo, with the sauce,” Jalea suggested.
Nathan picked up the molo next, scooping up some of the gelatinous orange goop that lay beneath it. After sniffing it, he popped it into his mouth and began to chew tentatively. After a moment, his curious expression changed to one of approval. “That’s pretty good. Kind of a cross between a mushroom and tofu,” he explained, forgetting that Jalea would not know of any of the foods her was using for comparison. “And the sauce is like a spicy orange marmalade. Hey, Vlad!” he called out. “You’ve gotta try this!” Nathan turned to the old woman, about to indicate that he wanted to order five dishes of their food, when he realized that he had no way to pay her. He looked at Jalea, a bit embarrassed. “How do we pay her?”
“Allow me,” Jalea offered. She placed an order in the local language, immediately being handed five larger dishes filled with a mixture similar to what Nathan had just sampled. After receiving the orders, Jalea handed the woman some small, dark gray chips, gesturing for her to accept what was probably an over-payment on Jalea’s part. The old woman bowed her head respectively, thanking Jalea for her generosity.
Having all been reduced to eating dehydrated emergency rations for the last two days, they eagerly devoured the dishes of food. Vladimir, who Nathan had come to realize would eat just about anything, inhaled his portion with his usual rapidity. Danik and Jalea, both being familiar with the local cuisine, consumed their portions without hesitation. Jessica, however, did not appear as enthusiastic as the others.
“What’s the matter, Jess?” Nathan asked. “Don’t like your molo?” he asked with a grin.
“Tastes kind of like mushrooms,” she stated, trying not to complain.
“Yeah, and tofu,” Nathan exclaimed, obviously enjoying his serving much more than Jessica.
“Not exactly crazy about either one of those,” she stated, forcing herself to tolerate the unusual taste and texture of the molo. “You sure this stuff is safe for us to eat?”
“Delicious!” Vladimir announced, scooping up the last of the orange sauce with his fingers. “It reminds me of the cooked cabbage my grandmother used to make.”
“Maybe we should buy some of this molo? Take it up to the ship and have it analyzed. How well does it keep?” Nathan asked Jalea. He was met with a look of bewilderment. “Does it go bad quickly? Does it need to be refrigerated or something?”
“Ah, no. It is usually dried in the sun or in dehydrators. Then it remains safe to eat for a very long time. Some people will season it before dehydration and consume it later while still in its dried state.”
“Molo jerky,” Nathan joked. Again, Jalea was bewildered. “Whattaya think, Vlad?”
“What is this jerky?” Vladimir asked.
“You know, jerky. Dried strips of seasoned meat?” Nathan looked at Vladimir, who showed no sign of understanding. “Really? You’ve never heard of jerky?” Nathan shook off Vladimir’s ignorance of the concept, turning back to Jalea. “So, maybe we could buy some molo here?”
“These people only sell individual cooked servings, as do most vendors in this area. Perhaps farther down we will find someone selling larger amounts of fresh molo.”
“Lead the way, then,” Nathan agreed, turning to the old woman. “Thank you. It was very good,” he complimented, nodding respectfully as he placed his empty dish on the counter.
They spent the next half hour winding their way casually through the crowds of shoppers, trying to move in much the same manner as the locals in order to blend in, just as Tobin had recommended. The street market reminded Nathan of the week he had spent with his academy roommate Luis in his village in South America. They had spent an afternoon meandering about a street market much as this one. It had been the first time that Nathan had spent time outside of a large metropolitan area, and it had been quite a culture-shock for him. Back then, despite the fact that it had still been on his homeworld, it had been a totally alien environment to him. He found it surprising that this market-a thousand light years distant-felt no more alien to him than that village in South America had a few short years ago.
They stopped a few more times along the way, sampling more of the local cuisine. As Jalea had told them, everything they tried seemed to have molo in it as a staple. There had been very little variety in the available ingredients used, but their culinary creativity did not seem impaired by the lack of variety.
Jessica had expressed concern over Nathan’s willingness to sample just about everything he came across, despite Doctor Chen’s recommendations to the contrary. Nathan had dismissed her concerns, likening it to a trip to another country back on Earth. He had further supported his lack of caution to the fact that the ship was nearly out of food, and he doubted they could wait for the already overworked physician to complete complex analysis of all the consumables found on this world.
“Who are the goons?” Jessica asked, spying a pair of burly men. They were cloaked in matching black robes that covered their combat gear and weapons. They were standing near a closed door to a small office of some sort, constantly scanning the crowds, looking for no one in particular.
“Enforcement agents, for the controlling family,” Jalea explained.
“They always gear-up so heavily?”
“Gear-up?” Jalea asked, uncertain of her meaning.
“The body armor? The heavy weapons? The comm-sets?” she elaborated. “They look like they’re ready for a ground assault.”
“Such types prefer to display their strength so as to intimidate potential foes,” Jalea said.
“I know the type well,” Jessica mumbled. “Are there many of them around?”
“They are usually spread evenly throughout the city.”
“Are they like law enforcement or something?” Nathan asked.
“They have no interest in rules,” Jalea assured them. “Other than the ones involving payment, of course.”
“Like I said,” Jessica reiterated, “goons.” Jessica cast a side-long glance at them as they passed. “I don’t like goons,” she said under her breath.
Nathan noticed the type of street vendors was rapidly changing away from prepared foods and goods to bulk produce. There was plenty of pompa root for sale, as well as several other varieties of similar roots. Nathan spied a few odd fruits, various herbs, and even some purple-looking vegetables that looked a bit like tomatoes. Of course, there was also plenty of molo at every table. Some of it was pale, some darker, and some of it was already seasoned and dried into what Nathan would forever think of as molo jerky. There was even some that appeared to have been purposefully aged nearly to the point of spoilage, something that Jalea insisted although safe, was an acquired taste.
“At the end of this street, there should be vendors that deal in the quantities we require,” Jalea explained. “Most of the vendors here have traveled in from far out in the country to sell limited amounts of their small harvests, in order to purchase things that they cannot produce themselves. We need to find a local grower who lives not too distant and can deliver large quantities.”
“What do you think we should buy?” Nathan asked.
“As much as we can, I would expect. And of course, plenty of molo.”
“Why?” Jessica objected.
“Despite its rather unusual flavor, it is quite nutritious. Many people exist on diets that are ninety percent molo.”
“If you call that existing,” Jessica protested, shuddering at the thought of eating nothing but the odd, slimy fungus.
As Nathan and Jalea continued their stroll, Jessica stopped, pretending to inspect a bundle of herbs, picking it up and sniffing it as she glanced back at the two goons she had spotted earlier. Satisfied the two men had not taken an interest in them, she continued on her way.
She caught up to Nathan and Jalea a few moments later. They had stopped at another vendor table and were looking over the selection of raw molo spread out neatly on the table when Jalea began to speak. “Good day to you, sir,” she offered in a manner that caused Nathan to believe it to be a standard greeting on Haven.
“And good day to you all,” the merchant returned. He was an older man, similar in age to their late captain, and had obviously worked outdoors as of late. His hair was pulled back in a short, tight tail, and he wore the clothes of a man who worked the land. There was a manner to him, Nathan noticed, that belied his current trade. Something about the way that he moved, the way that he carried himself. He stood tall and proud, unlike the beaten down farmers he had met in Luis’s village. “Are you interested in some molo today?” the farmer asked.
“Possibly,” Jalea said. “If it is fresh and of fair price.”
“Harvested daily,” he boasted. He picked up a piece of the fungus and tore off a corner, handing it to Jalea to inspect.
She held it up to her nose, drawing a sniff in gently to inspect the aroma. She bite off a small piece to taste. “Perhaps to soon?” she commented. “It’s still bitter.”
“It will finish aging in another day,” he insisted. “Then it will be perfect.”
“Of course.” Jalea looked about the table, noticing that there were very few varieties available. “Do you mostly sell the paler varieties?”
“I usually have some of the darker varieties. But most of my stock was purchased earlier today. I will have more tomorrow, after today’s harvest is concluded.”
“Then you live nearby?”
“Not far,” he said. “Are you looking to buy in quantity?”
“Yes. An unfortunate accident has left us with a large and hungry crew to feed. We might also be in the market for other types of produce as well.”
“How many mouths must you feed?” he asked.
“Maybe fifty, for a few weeks at the most.”
A puzzled look came across the farmer’s face for a moment. “I believe I can supply you with what you need,” he promised. “If you like, you may travel with me back to my farm after the market closes. Then you may see for yourself what my humble enterprise has to offer.”
“A most gracious offer, sir. I shall consult with my colleagues. Perhaps we shall see you at the day’s end.”
“I look forward to it,” he replied graciously, as they turned and walked away.
Tobin’s vehicle pulled to a stop near his ship in its berth at the spaceport. As Mendez and Weatherly dismounted, another vehicle arrived, delivering four unkempt men.
“Who are they?” Mendez asked Tobin, his hand sliding inside of his cloak to find the butt of his weapon. Tobin gestured for Mendez to remain calm, as the four men approached.
“May I help you?” Tobin asked the leader of the group.
“We’re members of the harvesting team you hired,” the apparent leader of the group announced. He handed over a small ID card to Tobin for inspection.
“We had expected a single representative,” Tobin stated, taking the man’s credentials.
“We hoped to ride up with you. It’s a bit cramped in the other ships.”
Tobin inspected the man’s credentials. Satisfied that they were legitimate, he returned them. “Of course. There is just enough room for the four of you. You may board now. We will depart shortly.”
The four new arrivals made their way past and boarded Tobin’s ship. Mendez watched as Tobin made arrangements with the ground crew in preparation for departure. After a few minutes, Tobin returned. “Shall we depart?” he asked as he climbed aboard. Sergeant Weatherly followed him in, and after one last look around, Ensign Mendez became the last to climb aboard.
The ship’s hatch closed automatically as its engines began to spin up to full power. The ship began to roll slowly out of its berth and onto the taxi-way, turning left as it exited its berth.
Mendez looked at the men sharing the small cabin with himself and Sergeant Weatherly. The four of them were dirty, with unwashed hair and worn clothing, and were somewhat lacking in dental hygiene. The leader of the four was staring at Sergeant Weatherly in a menacing fashion. At first, the sergeant chose to ignore the man. But by the time they reached the launch pad and began to rise up off the deck to begin their flight back to the Aurora, he had endured enough.
“Can I help you, old man?” Sergeant Weatherly challenged.
“You look like a soldier,” the old man stated with suspicion, as he looked him up and down. “The only soldiers I know are the Takar.” The old man looked Weatherly and Mendez over before continuing. “Are you Takar?” he asked, a trace of hatred in his voice.
Sergeant Weatherly could tell that the old man was trying to bait him. “No,” he answered without missing a beat. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve killed a few,” he added, a smile creeping onto his face.
The old man squinted at Sergeant Weatherly for several seconds, a grin finally breaking through his stern gaze. He laughed openly, spitting onto the deck. “I like you.”
“Well, that just makes my day, it does,” the sergeant answered.
The ship continued to rise in altitude as it streaked away from the spaceport. As it continued to accelerate, the turbulence became more severe. It wasn’t as bad as it had been during their descent, but it was still a pretty rough ride. Mendez looked out the window nearest him and saw three ships forming up on their starboard side. Two of them appeared to be small cargo shuttles, while the third one was equipped with some sort of an open scoop under its belly.
“Who the hell are they?” Mendez asked no one in particular.
“Relax, them’s ours,” the old man informed him, a puzzled look on his face. “First time in the rings, boy?”
“You might say that,” Mendez admitted. “What’s that little ship for?”
“That’s the harvester,” the old man explained. “Scoops up rock and ice from the rings and brings it in to be processed.”
Mendez watched as the little ship danced about the others, bobbing in between them and maneuvering around from once side to the other. “What’s wrong with that guy?”
“Oh, that’s just Josh, showing off again. That boy couldn’t fly a straight line if his life depended on it!”
The nose on the ship began to pitch up, as her engines began to scream louder, accelerating them up and out of the little moon’s thick atmosphere. A few moments later, the shaking began to subside as the air thinned and they entered the blackness of space once more.
The five of them continued to stroll down the crowded street, weaving in and out of the surging crowds as they made their way past the produce merchants. Nathan felt more than one person’s glance linger on their group a little longer than he thought normal, which made him a bit apprehensive.
“I get the feeling we kind of stick out in the crowd,” he whispered to Jalea.
“No more than any other visitor to Haven,” she insisted. “Most of the shoppers are residents of this world. It is rare that an off-worlder shops the street markets here. Most of them don’t even come to the surface. They just hire through proxy.”
“I would think a crew would want to leave their ship, even if only for a few hours,” he offered. “Even if just to stretch their legs and get some fresh air.”
“Some do. But most would not consider the air of Haven to be fresh,” Jalea smiled.
“Yeah, I’d have to agree with them on that point,” Jessica said from behind. “Does it always smell like a fungus factory around here?”
“Ah yes, the molo. It is pungent. Especially during the harvest.”
“Captain? I vote next time we don’t come during the harvest,” Jessica said.
“I’ll make a note of it,” he promised. “Why is this molo so popular?”
“It is one of the few plants that continues to grow during the long darkness. The molo does quite nicely in the long, damp nights.”
“That explains all the greenhouses we saw on the way in,” Nathan added, stopping to examine an odd-looking piece of fruit on one of the vendor’s display tables.
“Yes. Most other food is grown in such facilities,” Jalea admitted. She picked up the fruit and pulled it apart, offering a piece to each of them to taste. “It is more difficult and requires considerable energy. That makes it more expensive to purchase as well. This is why the people here eat so much molo. It is cheaper. Most of the food grown in the greenhouses is sold to the ships that ply the rings. It is one of the many reasons this world will never fully develop. Had it not been for the riches of the rings, this moon would never have been reformed.”
“What do you mean by reformed?” Nathan asked, as he chewed his small sample of the strange, purple fruit. It was slightly bitter, with just a touch of sweetness to it. It reminded him of a grape, but with a really chewy texture.
“Haven was not always capable of sustaining life,” Jalea explained. “The atmosphere was too thin, and the composition of gases was not correct.”
“This world, it was terraformed?” Vladimir asked, a bit of excitement in his voice.
“I am not familiar with this word,” Jalea apologized as she indicated to the vendor that she wished to purchase a few pieces of the purple fruit.
“It means to make Earth-like,” Nathan explained.
“I have never been to Earth,” Jalea said. “But I believe the term is correct in this case.” She pulled out a few credit chips and paid the vendor for the pieces of fruit.
“It was tried on a few fringe worlds long ago. But we do not know if it was successful,” Vladimir added, as he ate one of the pieces of fruit.
“I know of several worlds that have been created in this way, and with great success,” Jalea assured them. “However, Haven was not one of those successes.”
“How so?” Nathan asked. “It seems pretty successful to me.”
“It is true, it is habitable. And since that was the original goal, then in that sense it was a successful reformation. But because of the long nights, it can support only the most meager of existence, without the aid of substantial infrastructure. As you know, such infrastructure is expensive.”
“Then why reform it in the first place?” Jessica asked.
“I suppose they thought it was cheaper in the long run than operating an orbital facility. But of this, I cannot be certain.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Nathan commented.
“As I said, I cannot be certain. Nevertheless, the stigma attached to Haven has made it an undesirable destination for most people. As you have probably surmised, it seems to collect the least favorable residents.”
“What do you mean… least favorable?” Nathan asked.
“Let’s just say that no one comes to Haven by choice, as much as they do by necessity. And if they do come by choice, it is for a very compelling reason.”
Ensign Kaylah Yosef sat at her console on the bridge. Although originally a science officer, she had been serving as the sensor officer ever since they lost more than half of their skeleton crew during the events of their first few jumps. Since then she had been working eighteen-hour days, leaving her station only for trips to the head. After nearly a week of staring at mind-numbing sensor displays, she longed to perform a task that was even slightly science related.
As usual, she was watching the various plots of the countless ships flying about the Haven system. Most of them were small ships, cargo shuttles she assumed, that traveled to and fro between the host ships and Haven. The only reason for monitoring all of the traffic was to alert the commander when one of them appeared to be of interest and warranted a transfer to the tactical station for more precise tracking.
Whenever something on her display moved, she would check its calculated trajectory to see if it would pass near them. As a small group of ships suddenly changed course, the course projections appeared, indicating they were on an intercept course with the Aurora
Kaylah straightened up in her seat. “Commander, I’ve got four ships on an intercept trajectory with us.”
“Where are they coming from?” Cameron asked as she stepped up next to Ensign Yosef’s console.
“They came from Haven, sir.” Kaylah touched the slowly moving icon on the screen that indicated the lead ship in the approaching formation. In a smaller window to the right of the main tracking window, a monochrome line drawing of the selected ship appeared, with all the information the system had to offer on the vessel listed neatly below the image. “One of them matches the profile of Tobin’s ship.”
“Is there any way to be certain?” Tobin’s ship was undoubtedly not the only one of its kind in the area, she surmised.
“No, sir, other than his transponder codes.”
“Yeah. And according to ours, we’re the Volander,” Cameron reminded her.
“Would you like me to hail them, sir?” the communications officer asked.
“In what? Angla? What if it’s not them?” Cameron thought for a moment, admonishing herself for discussing her options so openly with the crew. She was sure that Captain Roberts would not have done so. “Any idea what the other ships are?”
Kaylah touched each icon in the formation, calling up line drawings and what little information the ship’s sensors could offer. “Well, they’re not combatants, that’s for sure,” Ensign Yosef said, breathing a sigh of relief. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re cargo shuttles of some sort.”
“Commander,” the communications officer called. “I’m getting a message on one of our tactical comm channels. The ID code belongs to Ensign Mendez.”
“Put him on,” Cameron ordered, feeling somewhat relieved.
“Volander, this is Mendez.”
“Go ahead, Ensign,” Cameron said.
“Sergeant Weatherly and I are on Tobin’s ship. We’re inbound to you, escorting three ships that will be used for the harvesting operations. According to Tobin, our ship and the two larger shuttles will be landing in the hangar bay, while the smaller one begins the harvesting operation.”
“Where’s the captain?” Cameron asked.
“He’s still on the surface, sir, shopping with the rest of the landing party.”
“Shopping?”
“Yes, sir. Ensign Nash asked me to secure the hangar deck during the harvesting op in her absence.”
“Understood. Contact me when you’re back on board, Ensign. You can fill me in on the shopping part.”
“Yes, sir. Mendez out.”
“This ought to be interesting,” Cameron decided.
“That ain’t no Volonese ship,” the old man mumbled.
“Sure she is,” Ensign Mendez tried to play off.
“Volonese ships look like a bunch of boxes all tied together,” the old man argued. “That there ship is too pretty to be Volonese.”
Mendez said nothing, figuring he wasn’t going to be able to convince the man otherwise.
“Looks like she’s been in a fight as well,” he added. He looked sideways at Mendez. “Don’t worry, boy. Ain’t no Takar-lovers on Haven, that’s for sure. Your secrets are safe with us.”
A few minutes later, three of the four ships were rolling into the Aurora’s hangar bay. The hatch on Tobin’s ship, which was the first one into the bay, was deploying as the ship rolled to a stop of to one side at the aft end of the bay.
“You don’t want to go any deeper into the bay?” Mendez asked Tobin as he rose from his seat.
“I will be returning to Haven directly,” Tobin offered. “I do not want to leave the others without transportation any longer than necessary.”
“Sounds good,” Mendez said as he headed out the hatch.
The other two cargo shuttles had already pulled to a stop about halfway into the massive hangar bay and were dropping open their large, rear cargo doors. They were not very attractive ships, basically boxes with four swivel-mounted engines, one on each corner, with a flight deck that looked like half an egg stuck onto the front.
As soon as their big door-ramps hit the deck, they started rolling out large carts, followed by some type of processing apparatus. At least ten workers poured out of each of the two cargo shuttles. The workers, both men and women, did not appear as healthy as the four that had ridden with them in Tobin’s ship. Their faces were sullen and devoid of hope, their manner deliberate and paced.
“We’re gonna need power for the processors,” the old man that had sat next to Mendez in Tobin’s ship told him.
“Who are these people?” Mendez asked.
“Just workers,” the old man told him as he headed toward the cargo shuttles. Mendez watched as the old man and his companions began hollering orders at the disheveled groups of workers disembarking from the cargo ships. Some of the workers cringed and flinched in fear of the old man and his cohorts.
“Something tells me this ain’t right,” Mendez said to Sergeant Weatherly. The sergeant simply nodded his agreement. “Keep an eye on things here. I’m gonna round up a few more people to help you out. None of them leaves the hangar bay, understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant answered.
Vladimir and Danik were busy rummaging through various used parts on a vendor’s table. They had been browsing the parts dealers on the back side of the spaceport for more than an hour, and as best as Nathan could tell, Vladimir had not found anything of interest.
“Why don’t the Takarans come here?” Nathan asked Jalea.
“The resources harvested from the rings are important to many systems, including some in Takar space. Disruption of the operations here would likely result in unwanted economic repercussions within their own domain,” Jalea explained.
“And because the Takarans don’t come here, everyone looking to hide from them do,” Jessica surmised.
“Yes, but safety is not guaranteed on Haven,” Jalea warned. “As you can well imagine, spies are everywhere. I have no doubt that the Takar have operatives here. It would be foolish to assume otherwise.”
“How does the controlling family of Haven feel about that?” Nathan asked.
“I doubt they care,” Jalea assured him. “As long as their activity does not interfere with business.”
“And by business, you mean the collection of fees,” Nathan said.
“You learn quickly, Nathan,” Jalea complimented.
“Not really. Our history is full of similar examples.”
“Ah, yes. We have a saying: ‘Times change, but the human animal does not.’”
Vladimir came walking up to them, dusting off his hands as he approached. “I can find nothing here of use. Maybe, if I had more time, and I knew what most of this stuff was, I might find something. I am sorry, my friend.”
“No matter,” Nathan assured him.
“It is probably best that we head back to the produce area,” Jalea told them. “The gentleman we spoke with earlier will be packing up and leaving soon.”
“The last message I got from Ensign Nash was that they were planning to meet with some local farmer later in the day,” Ensign Mendez reported to Cameron on the bridge. “They were planning to travel out to some guy’s farm to secure a large order of something called molo.”
Cameron’s face withdrew slightly and the unknown word. “Molo?”
“Some kind of fungus or something. Jess-I mean, Ensign Nash-says it’s a cross between a mushroom and tofu,” Mendez chuckled. “I got the impression she didn’t care for it.”
“Doesn’t sound too appetizing, does it?” Cameron agreed.
“Anyway, the stuff grows like crazy. We saw whole sheets of it covering hundreds of square meters when we flew in. Tobin says it’s very nutritious, although kind of bland. He says you can do a lot with it, though. Apparently it’s the mainstay of their diet on Haven.”
Cameron was not happy that the rest of the landing party was still on the surface. With Ensign Mendez and Sergeant Weatherly back on the ship, the landing party’s security element was now reduced by half. She knew that Jessica was well-trained, and she had proven her abilities in combat twice in the last week. Cameron, however, had expected the trip to last only a few hours, and now it looked like they would be on the surface considerably longer than that.
“Did they say when they would be checking in again?”
“They plan to make contact when they get out to the guy’s farm. Ensign Nash doesn’t want to use the tight-beam array out in the open-too conspicuous and all that. Out on the farm, they can use it without attracting attention.”
“Very well,” Cameron said, the displeasure still evident on her face.
“If there’s nothing else, sir? I should get back to the hangar deck.”
“That’s all. Thank you, Ensign.”
Mendez straightened up and nodded once, before turning to exit.
Although she managed to hide her displeasure from the crew, Cameron was not comfortable with their captain and their chief engineer stuck on an alien world. As far as she was concerned, they were relying far too much on hastily made alliances. Cameron had never been comfortable relying on others, especially strangers.
“Commander,” Ensign Yosef hailed. “Take a look at this guy. He’s a maniac.”
Cameron stepped back to Ensign Yosef’s station and bent down to get a closer look at the sensor display. At first glance, it seemed like a normal-looking track of the small harvester ship that had been hired by Tobin. But as the numbers continued to update, she realized what the ensign was talking about. “Has he been flying like that the whole time?” Cameron asked.
“Yeah. At first I thought the sensors where out of calibration, but I checked. Those numbers are accurate.”
Cameron watched as the small ship weaved its way around the larger components in the rings, while scooping up the smaller ones. “He barely slows down when he scoops them up,” she declared, a bit surprised. “Can you generate a real-time 3D model of this?”
“No, sir, we’re still down more than half of our cores,” she apologized. “I could compile it later into a playback, if you’d like?”
“No thanks,” Cameron said. “Just thought it would be interesting to watch.” She watched a few more seconds, still shocked by the abrupt maneuvering of the harvester. “Whoever is flying that thing really knows what they’re doing, I’ll give him that.”