side of the
counter. The stools, a few glass cases and the bell on the door
were all that remained of the old diner on the inside. Outside,
there was the faded sign that said “EAT” in dull, sand-blasted letters. The booths under the windows had been replaced with racks that held various parts and tools that
were for sale . It was the same behind the
counter. Where the stove, grill, chillers, and exhaust
hoods had once been, now there were shelves that held all
manner of used parts removed from salvaged ships, shuttles, and
planes. Dust covered everything.
The bell rang, and Wendy entered with a smile.
“ Hello, darlin’, ” she said cheerfully as Alex looked up. “How
you doin’ ?” She had a thick Texas accent, and Alex knew it was an affectation. Wendy was incredibly
intelligent even though she tried to hide it.
Harv stared at her ample bosom. She
was wearing a low-cut halter top with a Navajo design that had been
all the fashion twenty years ago. Jeans and cowboy boots completed
the look. They knew she had a Stetson in the truck.
“ Why don’t you call ahead
so I can be ready, dammit.” Harv walked up to the dusty window and
saw she was driving a double. Two trailers behind the massive
truck.
“ The same reason I
drive way the
hell out here to get them, old man.
Discretion. But you know that, and you just enjoy belly achin’ , Harv.” Wendy said, amused.
“ What’ll it be this month,
Wendy?” Alex said, “We have eleven containers that are
catapult-ready. All grav-plates tested and guaranteed. Five are
basic Delta ore containers; three are standard C-19s, sealed
without life support, but will hold pressure under hard use. The
last three are Alpha boxes and have full inertial dampening,
internal gravity, and they’re pressure tested and insulated. One of
those Alphas is an A-11 and even has basic manual navigation
control inside and are great for docking in outer space at the
station without a tug. ”
Alex hadn’t even brought them up on
the system.
“ Let me have the A-11 and
one of the C-19s. Are they painted the same?” Wendy asked as she
dug into her back pocket for a large wad of cash.
Harv replied,
“ Sandblasted and painted. Though they won’t look new anymore
from sittin’ out there. No tracking numbers painted on;
no tracers installed. If you want me to do it, you’ll have to wait about an hour. Want to see
’em?”
“ Nope. I’m good. Just load
’em up.” Wendy said.
“ That’s $3,000 for the
C-19 and $12,000 for A-11. The A-11 has only a seat in the pilot
booth. Empty otherwise,” Alex told her as Harv went out to the
yard.
Without haggling, Wendy counted out
the cash. That told Alex that it was a no-questions-asked, straw
man purchase, and she was passing the profit to Oklahoma Salvage
for future preferential treatment.
“ That’s fine.” Wendy
smiled. “Any luck with the other thing?”
“ Not yet,” Alex said.
Wendy had a standing order for some fuel grade plutonium. They
sometimes salvaged derelicts that had fuel remaining in the
reactors, if they got to it soon enough. Wendy just nodded. She had
to ask because that info would never be communicated on any
public Net for the same reason as the containers.
“ Need anything else
today?” Alex folded the bills and stashed them in her
bra.
“ Actually, there is one more thing, ” she said, pulling a rabbit foot out of her pocket and
handing it to Alex.
Alex twisted and clicked
the foot, and a memory stick was revealed, stored inside. Her stool was on wheels, and she launched
herself along the counter to a terminal at the end. She slid the
memory stick into the port, and a schematic came up that was
the input file for a fabrication unit. Very few people knew Harv
had one. Alex raised an eyebrow at the part but said only, “Do you
want to pay now or when you pick it up? Either way is
cool.”
“ Now is fine.” Wendy still
had a considerable wad of cash in her hand.
“ Is this for you? Personal
I
counter. The stools, a few glass cases and the bell on the door
were all that remained of the old diner on the inside. Outside,
there was the faded sign that said “EAT” in dull, sand-blasted letters. The booths under the windows had been replaced with racks that held various parts and tools that
were for sale . It was the same behind the
counter. Where the stove, grill, chillers, and exhaust
hoods had once been, now there were shelves that held all
manner of used parts removed from salvaged ships, shuttles, and
planes. Dust covered everything.
The bell rang, and Wendy entered with a smile.
“ Hello, darlin’, ” she said cheerfully as Alex looked up. “How
you doin’ ?” She had a thick Texas accent, and Alex knew it was an affectation. Wendy was incredibly
intelligent even though she tried to hide it.
Harv stared at her ample bosom. She
was wearing a low-cut halter top with a Navajo design that had been
all the fashion twenty years ago. Jeans and cowboy boots completed
the look. They knew she had a Stetson in the truck.
“ Why don’t you call ahead
so I can be ready, dammit.” Harv walked up to the dusty window and
saw she was driving a double. Two trailers behind the massive
truck.
“ The same reason I
drive way the
hell out here to get them, old man.
Discretion. But you know that, and you just enjoy belly achin’ , Harv.” Wendy said, amused.
“ What’ll it be this month,
Wendy?” Alex said, “We have eleven containers that are
catapult-ready. All grav-plates tested and guaranteed. Five are
basic Delta ore containers; three are standard C-19s, sealed
without life support, but will hold pressure under hard use. The
last three are Alpha boxes and have full inertial dampening,
internal gravity, and they’re pressure tested and insulated. One of
those Alphas is an A-11 and even has basic manual navigation
control inside and are great for docking in outer space at the
station without a tug. ”
Alex hadn’t even brought them up on
the system.
“ Let me have the A-11 and
one of the C-19s. Are they painted the same?” Wendy asked as she
dug into her back pocket for a large wad of cash.
Harv replied,
“ Sandblasted and painted. Though they won’t look new anymore
from sittin’ out there. No tracking numbers painted on;
no tracers installed. If you want me to do it, you’ll have to wait about an hour. Want to see
’em?”
“ Nope. I’m good. Just load
’em up.” Wendy said.
“ That’s $3,000 for the
C-19 and $12,000 for A-11. The A-11 has only a seat in the pilot
booth. Empty otherwise,” Alex told her as Harv went out to the
yard.
Without haggling, Wendy counted out
the cash. That told Alex that it was a no-questions-asked, straw
man purchase, and she was passing the profit to Oklahoma Salvage
for future preferential treatment.
“ That’s fine.” Wendy
smiled. “Any luck with the other thing?”
“ Not yet,” Alex said.
Wendy had a standing order for some fuel grade plutonium. They
sometimes salvaged derelicts that had fuel remaining in the
reactors, if they got to it soon enough. Wendy just nodded. She had
to ask because that info would never be communicated on any
public Net for the same reason as the containers.
“ Need anything else
today?” Alex folded the bills and stashed them in her
bra.
“ Actually, there is one more thing, ” she said, pulling a rabbit foot out of her pocket and
handing it to Alex.
Alex twisted and clicked
the foot, and a memory stick was revealed, stored inside. Her stool was on wheels, and she launched
herself along the counter to a terminal at the end. She slid the
memory stick into the port, and a schematic came up that was
the input file for a fabrication unit. Very few people knew Harv
had one. Alex raised an eyebrow at the part but said only, “Do you
want to pay now or when you pick it up? Either way is
cool.”
“ Now is fine.” Wendy still
had a considerable wad of cash in her hand.
“ Is this for you? Personal
I
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