Assault on Ambrose Station: A Seth Donovan Novel by Jim C. Wilson Page A

wall, was a metre long steel plaque etched with the words Tyrillian Star . It even looked genuine, complete with rough edges where it had been cut from the hull.
    I knew this wasn’t just a show and tell. I had passed his test and was moved up his personal social hierarchy from possible pretender to possible opportunity. Now the business dealing would begin.
    “Find a spot to sit. On that crate is fine.” He plonked himself down in his desk chair and grabbed a tablet, turning it on and flicking through some screens. “What do you need? How much can you spend? What can you trade?”
    “Sending you a list of everything we need, and a few items we really want, as well as a few of the wares we’re willing to part with.”
    He took a few moments to review my data. After about fifteen minutes of cross checking his own stuff, making a few notes and generally just thinking about how he could swindle me, he tossed the tablet back on the table and leaned back in his chair. I could hear it groaning in protest.
    “Here’s what I can do for you. I can get most of those repairs financed through trade. I’m particularly interested in that pallet of souvenirs from Outer Harakiwa Station, especially the Archenfold bobbleheads. You get me that pallet, and I can maybe hook you up with some discounts for the rest of the stuff.”
    “Okay, why the bobbleheads? Got a thing for Votus?”
    “Are you kidding? I can move that in an instant. The drone guys go ape shit over stuff like that.”
    “So you want that pallet personally?”
    “Consider it brokerage fees.”
    “Ah huh.”
    “There’s one more thing,” he said, fingers arched in a steeple, “Your fuel.”
    “Oh?”
    “Command and the bean counters have come down hard on this grade of propellant. What’s it for? Combat grade thrusters?”
    “Manoeuvring thrusters. Twenty four point Callidyne Industries System.”
    “Combat grade thrusters.”
    “The product description is ‘High performance manoeuvring thrust’. Says so in the brochure.”
    “You can’t use standard Imodium gas ejectors? Why the pricy stuff? You civvies don’t see a lot of action.”
    “You’d be surprised, Chief. Besides, our pilot is a hotshot Garz’a, nothing but the best for him. He convinced the Captain it was a worthwhile upgrade. I got to tell you, it’s saved our skins many times.”
    “Well, the fuel is high profile contraband here. Needed for combat operations only.”
    “We need that fuel.”
    “Why?”
    “Trouble, long story.”
    “How badly do you need it?” Here it comes , I thought, the real deal .
    “What’s it going to cost me?”
    “You can afford it,” he said, leaning forward again, “but it’s not a matter of credits. It’s risk. I can call in some favours and get what you need directed to your berth, but they’ll be favours I was planning on banking for a while.”
    “Come on, I know there’s been a withdrawal of forces. You know what’s gone down in Eridani?”
    “I heard rumours. I did notice that some secondary forces are prepping for something, and most of the marine detachments are going too. Doesn’t change anything.”
    “I think it does. With fewer people around, it’ll be harder for you to run your…business off the books. Less opportunities as well. Hell, you may even lose some profit due to some of those favours pulling out.”
    He eyed me from across the desk. He seemed to be appraising me, much as a hawk monitors carrion that jackals haven’t yet finished with.
    “I’d almost forgotten what you frontiersmen were like. You know the score, and you’re ex-military too. I tell you what; I’ll do you a favour. And by that, I mean you are going to do me a favour. Mutual benefit, etcetera, etcetera.”
    “What kind of a favour?”
    “I need someone to stand in for me for a business deal going down tomorrow.”
    “Why?”
    “Busy man, this guy’s been stuffing me around lately, not showing up that sort of thing. I can’t get away to go