Spinward Fringe Broadcast 7: Framework (60 page)

Ashley caught the sleeve of his bomber
jacket and kissed him on the cheek. “See you there.”

She watched him leave before turning to
Stephanie. “Am I taking it slow enough?”

Stephanie laughed and nodded. “That’s not
why I wanted to hold you back, but if being around is enough to
slow you down with that one, then I’ll chaperone for as long as I
have to.”

“Then why aren’t I going to the bar?” Ashley
asked. “There’s a glom of guys waiting to buy me drinks while I
scan ‘em for info.”

“I’m holding you back because you haven’t
done any New Years shopping yet, and this might be the only chance
we get where Crewcast isn’t recording and reporting everything we
do. I know it’s your favourite holiday, being your birthday
too.”

“Oh,” Ashley said with a smile. “Then
let’s.”

* * *

The rest of the shopping trip was filled
with thoughts of spending time with Minh-Chu. She was thankful that
she was in the habit of keeping Stephanie and other soldiers from
her crew in easy reach, because she was sure she’d wander off in
her daydream daze otherwise.

The milling impromptu market was a fantastic
place to get lost in one’s thoughts, however. Her thoughts often
returned to how uncomfortable Minh-Chu became whenever she
mentioned her past as a slave. It was difficult to avoid, since
she’d been one for most of her life. Sometimes it felt like she’d
lived a long time, like she’d seen a lot of the galaxy. Surrounded
by aliens, humans in every kind of dress but the most formal, and
offerings from who knew how many worlds, it was easy to realize how
little experience she actually had as a space farer. Stephanie
often treated her like a much younger sister, which could be
frustrating, but it only took her a few months to realize that
things didn’t turn out well when Ashley ignored her advice. Taking
it slow with Minh-Chu was working out so far, but it was
difficult.

There were several shops in ship holds that
she didn’t see anything interesting in, but looking was fun.
“Looters,” whispered Megan as they made their way along rough
aisles of furniture, clothing, decorations and other seemingly
random objects. “They set down in cities hit hard by the Holocaust
Virus and fill their holds with things from abandoned homes until
their holds are full or there are too many ‘bots around.”

“That’s terrible,” Ashley said, more for
appearances. She knew there were far worse crimes. From what she’d
heard, these looters weren’t stealing from the living.
Nevertheless, it seemed like a good idea to keep the thought that
stealing from the dead was a victimless crime to herself. If
anything was criminal about what she was seeing, it was the
prices.

They weren’t far from the bar where Captain
Valent, Frost, Minh, and a few others had ventured to when Ashley
walked into a hold filled with actual packaged items. There were a
large number of people milling about, and real display counters
with precious items held securely inside. There were some bulk
items, but for the most part, the hold of the Troubadour looked
like an actual store. One of the shopkeepers, a man who looked like
a miniaturized human with long silver hair immediately recognized
that Stephanie was in charge of their group. He proceeded to engage
her in conversation, asking which ship they were from, where they
had been recently, and what it was like.

Instead of reacting with suspicion,
Stephanie turned it into a tit-for-tat exchange. She would offer
the name of their ship - The Warlord - then not answer another
question until he gave the name of his associates - The Gambit Bay
Captains, a group of privateers for the Carthans and other, smaller
governments. Before long, the conversation started looking like a
competition, and Ashley slowly browsed as she listened in on the
fruitful exchange.

As Ashley looked through the low to middling
quality of the pre-packaged jewelry - she couldn’t resist picking
up a pair of dangly sapphire earrings for herself - she noticed
something on the floor behind the shelves. There were several small
boxes with old guitars printed on them. “Can I see what that is,
please?” she asked the man behind a nearby transparesteel
counter.

“Oh, these,” he said as he waddled his
overweight form over. “Can’t sell them, no one wants to learn how
to play.” He placed one in her hands. “And they don’t have some
kinda style flex feature a few guitarists who do look at them seem
to want.”

“What’s style flex?” Ashley asked.

“Style flex?” asked another man from across
the hold. “Yeah, it’s just something a few manufacturers started
working with so the instrument matches your skill and style of
playing. Why, do those things have it?”

“I was just telling the lady here that they
don’t,” the large man barked back. “God, if he’s going to
eavesdrop, the least he could do is listen in on the whole
conversation,” he complained at her light heartedly.

“Oh, doesn’t have it,” muttered the
conversational intruder as he returned his attention to other
things. “Useless thing without it. Who has the time to actually
learn to play?”

Ashley turned the arm-length box over in her
hands. On the back, a playback of a sitting man playing a green
electric guitar started. He was obviously proficient, and the sound
was a lot like the classical four piece music she’d heard and liked
over the years. He turned one of the four knobs and automatic
accompaniment joined in. After a few moments, the well-coifed
demonstrator stood up and pressed a button on the stock. The guitar
collapsed into a form that would fit perfectly in the box she was
holding in her hands. PLAY ANYWHERE, THEN HIDE IT FROM YOUR BAND
MATES, FLAT MATES, PARENTS, OR OVERLORDS. A PRODUCT OF
STRINGELECTRO, said the advertising text before the demonstration
restarted.

“I’ll give you one hundred,” Ashley said
excitedly.

“Pardon, Miss?” the counter clerk asked with
surprise. “The price tag is on the top.”

Ashley looked and nodded to herself. “I’ll
take the other two, then,” she said, gesturing towards the corner
where the last two were sitting, collecting dust.

“Then that’ll be thirty five,” the clerk
replied with a smile. “Oh, and those earrings and the Glasses?”

“Oh yeah,” Ashley replied, walking to the
counter. “And a bag to hide the guitars in.”

“Are you sure they have to stay here?” Lewis
asked Ayan as she made her way through the corridors of the Clever
Dream. Several young children were being shepherded through by
Panloo and a few other adults. Zoe was hanging onto her, taking in
her surroundings. She spotted Ayan in her heavy armour and reached
a little hand out to her curly hair.

Ayan let her get a lock and Panloo smiled,
shaking her head. “I don’t think she’s seen that colour up
close.”

“She’s adorable,” Ayan said, looking into
the toddler’s big, blue eyes. The nafalli leapt from Panloo to her,
burying her nose in her freshly washed hair, followed by her whole
head.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, she loves people, and
gets affectionate when she’s excited,” Panloo said. “I think it has
a lot to do with her being out of pouch too early. She’s
under-grown.”

Zoe’s foot landed on Ayan’s comm unit, and,
as if recognizing the technology by touch alone, she turned upside
down in Ayan’s arms and touched it as though trying to activate the
screen. After having no success, she looked up at her with one hand
still on the screen of her comm unit. “She’s smart,” Ayan
laughed.

“Oh, you couldn’t imagine,” Panloo squeaked.
“Everything has to be locked up when she’s around, especially if it
looks like it turns on. I still haven’t figured out how to keep her
in a vacsuit without sealing it completely.”

Ayan looked down to see that Panloo was
carrying a toddler seat in her other hand, the sealable type with
life support. “She’ll stay in that?”

“Oh, she likes this,” Panloo said. She held
the seat up and made a tic-tic sound that drew Zoe’s attention.

With one leap Zoe was in her seat, sucking
on a juice straw built into the contraption and holding on to one
of Ayan’s fingers. “I’m afraid I have to go,” Ayan told Zoe,
leaning in. To her surprise, the toddler let her finger go and
pushed her nose away with her feet, rocking her seat precariously.
“I think she’s saying; ‘so go then, what are you waiting for?’”

“She’s been getting more…” Panloo started,
but hesitated. “Interesting in the last few days. Really becoming
her own person, I think.”

“I think she’ll have a very memorable
personality,” Ayan said. “Does everything look good? Do you have
enough provisions?”

“I’m sure we do,” Panloo said. “Thank you
for loaning us your ship, Commander. I’m surprised the Clever Dream
isn’t being used as a warship.”

“We have to protect our most precious
cargo,” Ayan said. “Besides, the Clever Dream would be targeted
first if she got properly scanned. Leaving it as the last resort
makes much more sense. Have you spoken to Lewis yet?”

“Oh, the AI?” Panloo asked. “Yes, he was
civil. I will be his first nafalli pilot. It’s too bad we won’t be
flying anywhere.”

“If he gives you trouble, tell him to talk
to me,” Ayan said.

“Thank you again,” Panloo said.

Ayan moved on, returning smiles offered from
children who passed. “You’re playing the most important role here,
Lewis,” she told the artificial intelligence under her breath. She
knew he could hear her through her comm. “You stay inside the
hangar, cloaked unless our installation is overrun. Then you run,
you take the children to the core worlds, and find a friendly
colony. Do you understand?”

“Those are orders?” Lewis said sullenly.

“They are,” Ayan replied.

“For the record, nothing else has the
firepower I do. I believe my impact could be significant.”

“Agreed. That’s why I think the moment you
start firing you’ll get marked and be one of the high priority
targets for the enemy. You’d get a few good shots in, then get shot
down. Taking advantage of your armour, shields, and cloaking to
protect the most vulnerable is a better task. It’s a more
honourable task as well, you should take that into account. You’re
also going to be serving as one of our remote strategic computers.
You’ll be able to make a difference that way.”

“True,” Lewis said. “You always know how to
make me feel better.”

“That goes both ways, Lewis,” Ayan said.

She walked across the busy hangar and waved
to Slick, who was supervising the arrangement of several Uriel and
Ramiel fighters. They were all tilted towards the sky near the
entrance of the hangar. “How is everything?” she asked.

“Good, great,” Slick replied. “We’ve managed
to re-task all the fighters we were using for parts as mobile
turrets. All together we have forty two fighters ready to go, and
twenty eight of them can take flight. They’ll be in surface-to-air,
or hover gunnery mode until we can safely get birds in the
air.”

“What about gunners?” Ayan asked.

“No problem there,” he replied. “Starting
the hiring was a stroke of genius, Ma’am. We have more experienced
pilots than we do fighters. Thankfully, most of them know how to
use a rifle too, otherwise we’d have a lot of bored flyboys and
girls around.”

“Good, you’ve done remarkable work getting
things set up here,” Ayan said.

“Did you hear about our latest recruit, by
the way?” Slick asked, a big grin on his face.

“There have been a lot of them,” Ayan
replied.

“Not like this,” Slick said. He pointed to
Alaka and a smaller nafalli who had black streaked light fur. Alaka
was fitting him with a harness and a small fusion generator, at his
feet was a starfighter class particle beam weapon. “Alaka’s son,
Iruuk, is joining us on this one. Now those are mobile
turrets.”

“Do we have armour for him?”

“Alaka’s setting up a really heavy vacsuit.
Thankfully he’s small enough to fit in one, though probably not for
long.”

“How old is he?” Ayan asked, looking it up
herself.

“Fifteen,” Slick replied. “But that’s like
twenty one in terms of human maturity. Nafalli are self-sufficient
at two, able to hunt and set up a den. They don’t like being alone,
but they can do it.”

“I really should learn more about them,”
Ayan said. “If only I had time.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” Slick said. “So
you’re going to let him fight?”

“I’m not going to stand in his way. I trust
that his family knows what’s best, I just hope this battle is nice
and short. I’d be crushed if anything happened to someone that
young.”

“So you’re sure this is going down?” Slick
asked quietly. “It’s nine-oh-two, and there’s no sign yet.”

Ayan looked at him and smiled. “I hope I’m
wrong, but assume I’m right. It’s safer that way.”

“Yes, Commander,” Slick said.

“Good work, everyone,” Ayan said loudly
enough to be heard by at least a dozen pilots and ground
technicians. Beyond the mostly closed doors of the hangar, the
settlement had changed.

Large round segments of emergency habitats
from the Enforcer 1109 had been erected to provide extra shielding
over the shipping containers used to house their people. The
shelters were made to be modular and adaptable to different
terrains. They were also quick to set up, a fact that the night
shift was thankful for, according to the report Ayan read earlier
that morning. The shipping containers were hidden beneath the
portable shelters, and they were working on sealing the seams as
she passed. They were all-terrain, and capable of surviving meteor
strikes. People still had to sleep on bunks in dark shipping
containers on the inside though, and that was something that
bothered her.

People stopped and saluted as she passed,
but not all. Many avoided looking at her, and some even whispered
to their nearby comrades. She guessed they had doubts about her
prediction, and probably resented the extra work involved with
fortifying their settlement.