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

meet him and need someone to go see if he’s legit this time.”
    “What sort of deal?”
    “A collection appraisal, of sorts. Need someone to take a peek, see if they’re genuine for one. I don’t trust any of these depot staunchers not to blab about it before it’s a done deal.”
    “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”
    “Hey, do you want this to work or not? Just go meet the guy, check out his products, come back and give me the report. An hour round trip, tops. I’m going out on a limb, here. This fuel is hot product right now, you know. If we get audited, heads will roll.”
    I thought about it for a bit. If he was being honest about this deal, it was exactly what we needed. We’d get all the supplies we needed, plus a few others we could afford. Most importantly, we’d get the repairs sorted and our thrusters topped up. If he was as shifty as he appeared, though, and I was getting myself into some trouble….well, we needed the ship up to scratch or we simply wouldn’t be able to survive in the Gossamer System.
    I sighed, which Chief Markum took as an acceptance. He smiled and leaned forward, holding his hand out again for me to shake.
    “Why do I get the feeling I just got the short end of the stick.” I said as I took it.
    “Nonsense. You’ll be fine.”

8.
     
    Before I left Chief Markum’s lair, I asked him if he knew where to find the items on Zoe’s list. He was only too happy to oblige, smiling ear to ear as he walked me from his workshop storeroom. Another hour of walking around the station and I’d come to a far more familiar part of the depot. The section was reserved for ground forces and marine detachments, a combined armoury, quartermaster store and training deck. All around it were the familiar signs of my former career – squads of men in body armour drilling with weapons, field stripping and cleaning equipment, conducting repairs on small arms and armour.
    I coped a few stares from menacing soldiers, some gave me what could only be called ‘stink eye’ while others did their best to ignore me. Eventually, I found myself before the quartermaster’s cage next to the armoury, ringing a bell for service. In moments, a grizzled old veteran shambled into sight and took one look at me before calling out for someone. A younger man came into view then and saw me before walking over to the counter. He had gun grease on his fingertips, and work coveralls that bore the signs of frequent work in a machine shop. The old vet just leaned against a shelving unit and sneered at me.
    “What can I do for you, sir?” asked the younger man. His name badge identified him as Private Cottle.
    “I’m not a sir, I’m a mister.”
    “Huh?” he gave me a confused look. Not the brightest kid around.
    “My name’s Seth. I was looking for some parts, was wondering if you can help me out?” I offered him my list.
    “Er…what unit are you with?”
    “Sorry?”
    “What ship are you with?”
    “The big ship. Citizenship.”
    “Oh!” he laughed at that, finally catching on that I was a civilian.
    “Can I buy these off you?”
    “Oh, we’re not a shop, mister.”
    “Can I give you credits, and then you give them to me then?”
    “Well, er…” he glanced behind him at the older man, who was doing his best act trying to look bored.
    “I don’t think he’ll mind.” I prompted.
    “He…ah…well I….”
    The older man finally lost his patience, swearing under his breath before barging Private Cottle out of the way, “You’re an idiot, Cottle. This is why you’ll never make Petty Officer. I give you an opportunity, and you lose your head.”
    “Training the younger generation?” I offered, smiling at him.
    “Kid’s great with tools and gun maintenance, but wouldn’t know a thing about running a quartermasters store.” He shooed the young baffled Cottle out of the store and then turned to me.
    “So?”
    “So. I’m Porter. You have a certain bearing about