CHAPTER 1 – THE TRADER

If there was one thing Kael truly hated, it was Jumping.  The wrenching of his gut, the sudden dizziness, the nausea that was mercilessly drawn out over hundreds of hours he could do without, but the worst of all was the waiting.  How many cycles had he spent alone in the long discomfort of Jumping?  Nearly halfway through his thirties, he had been in a near constant state of Jumping for over ten years now.  He always felt restless during these errands his grandfather sent him on.  His grandfather, who was in his 160’s, and still had half his life ahead of him.  

Neth Donner was his grandfather’s name, and he had spent his entire life to date building up the now famous Donner Shipping Lines, which carried much needed supplies to over a thousand systems in the outer Milky Way.  Now, he and his family carried out the business, directing the lifeblood of the outer rim of the galaxy for a rather large profit.  Kael, his sister Veler, and at least a dozen cousins he didn’t care to get to know were the newest additions to the Lines.

All this meant to Kael was that the twisting in his stomach and the long hours of paperwork served to make his wealthy patron wealthier.  Ten years of his life spent on voyages to forsaken rocks pretending to be planets to drop off some food, luxuries, or medical supplies with only a grunt from some sweaty portworker and a half-blank dataslate from some over-meticulous official as thanks.  His short life was already grinding down to monotony, and he filled the long, countless cycles with whatever form of enjoyment he could find.

Reading assorted dataslate fiction from the planets he visited was one form of enjoyment he found, but the action-filled, poorly written stories only amused him so much.  He spent the rest of his time exercising in the spinning gravity ring to prevent his muscles from atrophy due to inactivity.  He also held fast to the belief that the outer reaches of space were dangerous, and correctly so.  This meant marksmanship training in the ring as well, where the thick walls were covered by the scorch marks of a low powered pistol that he used for practice.  Of course, his higher powered, deadlier weapon he carried on his belt at all times, but the low powered pistol worked perfect for shooting at holographic targets.  He would also run simulations of craft combat in a separate room on board the main hull of the ship, so he would be prepared for anything.  However, he naturally possessed two tools that would help him far better than weapon skills: intellect and intuition.

With all of these hours spent practicing and such traits, it is only natural that he felt a strong desire to put his talents to use.  His sister called him confident, his father said overly so, and his grandfather called him a downright fool who had better do the job right.  Regardless of what his family thought and said, Kael was efficient and always on time with his deliveries.  At the moment, he was delivering fifty tons of medical equipment to about a dozen worlds in eight different systems.  He was well ahead of schedule, and was sure that any delays would be more than compensated for.

So, it was with antagonizing boredom with which he traveled to the distant Sicher system.  A barren system with only two worlds: Hreln, a small, frozen orb and Eston, a temperate world which was Kael’s destination.  Only 600 hours remained and then he would make landfall on Eston.  Not long after, he would depart five tons lighter, with 100,000 zircs in the cashbox, and not a bit more content with his career.  Despite Kael’s desires, his lightweight craft, the Jagged Edge, carried on its plotted journey, silently crossing the vast emptiness.  

Many hours passed, silent save for the soft beeping from scrolling through his latest dataslate fiction, Pirates of Vernus.  Vernus was a highly populated sector about two thousand lightyears away, and the crime rate there was as legendary as the slate suggested.  After he finished the story, the climax of which was the brave, moral pirate defeated his sinister former master in a swordfight of all things, he let the dataslate float in the cabin an unbuckled himself from the pilot’s chair.  His pulled himself around, floating through the zero gravity areas of the ship.  Quite adept from the excessive amount of practice, he deftly kicked and glided through the cold corridors of his ship.  He swiftly reached the outer ring, and activated the spinning mechanism.  Entering the ring, the gradual acceleration gently set him to the ground, centripetal force acting as artificial gravity.  Heavy today he thought I must have turned it up too high.

Relishing in the fact the increased weight would add to his exercising and tire him quicker, he began a firing exercise.  Pulling his practice pistol from a rack on the wall, he began to warm up by firing at man-sized targets from a distance of 150 feet.  Easy for someone with the amount of practice he had, the stationary targets fizzed out one by one, one shot for each target.  Next, a second program kicked in, where holographic man sized images appeared from multiple angles and sides.  He whirled, snapping off shots at every target, many of which fizzed out while a few glowed red to indicate a miss.  He carried on, shots flying from the tip of his pistol, adding new scorches to the walls of the ring.  After a few minutes, his breathing heavy, the program shut down, and a holographic monitor appeared, displaying his hit-to-miss ratio.  He just looked at the glowing 88% and smirked.  That was his best in quite some time.  Happy that he was beginning to get tired, he shut down the ring and went to his sleeping chamber, reading a new dataslate, Laser’s Burn.  It was also set in Vernus, and depicted a pistol-toting hero in the metropolis on Craln, Vernus System’s capitol.  

Standard routine filled the rest of his cycles as his craft soundlessly continued through hyperspace to his location.  Finally, he reached communication range of Eston and after standard landing procedures, landed his craft and signed the paperwork to have five tons of equipment taken off his craft.  No complications arose, and Kael took the opportunity to see what Eston had to offer a young man such as himself besides the shuffling of cargo, forms, and zircs.

Kael stopped at the place where any restless man such as himself would, which of course was a local bar.  He ordered a glass of the local brew, and was not disappointed by the large mug that he received.  Lounging in a corner table, he drank the bitter liquid contently.  It was much to his surprise when a muscular man, not local by his guess, sat down at the table with him and ordered a drink.

“Good day, Trader.” The man said warmly with no expression on his face. Day? Kael thought Never heard the word.

“You too, stranger.” Kael responded warily, assuming it was a greeting of some sort.

“I am Piva Lezáku, and I am wondering if we could strike a deal.”

“Hold’s full.” Kael responded, taking a swig from his mug as Piva’s drink arrived at the table.  “Hardly a quarter ton left,”

“I am sure.” Piva said, still stone-faced and ignoring his drink, “I am also sure two million zircs could clear open a ton or two.”  Kael responded at first by staring hard at the man.  He was clearly strong and disciplined, as he could not hide his straight posture.  He searched for some clue as to the man’s intentions.

“It might.” Kael responded at length, scratching his unshaven chin. “What’s the cargo?”

“Two people and myself.  Two million zircs to board, and after you have finished your other deliveries we will discuss our destination.”

Kael maintained his hard stare, but Piva kept perfectly calm and collected.  “Why not get a transport?”

“We wish for a level of discretion.”

Level? Kael thought Another word I don’t know. “Is there any ‘level’” he said, his mouth wrapping around the new word and his understanding of the definition, “of risk?”

“None more than usual in the outer reaches,”

“Nothing illegal?”

“Nothing illegal.”

Kael kept his hard stare on Piva, who now was smiling slightly.

“No.” Kael said taking a drink from his mug.

“No?” Piva asked, his demeanor breaking slightly.

“Not for two million.”

“Then what is your price?” Piva growled.

“Ten.”

“Ten? Ten!  Are you out of your mind? Four!” Piva managed to snarl without raising his voice.

“Ten.” Kael replied coolly.

“Four!”

“Then we don’t have a deal.  The next Trader is bound for Eston in 244 cycles.” Kael said, drinking some more of his brew.

“Six and-“ Piva cut off suddenly and looked to see if anyone was watching. “Six and one injection of Nanites for yourself.”

Kael could not help but choke on his drink at this.  Nanites !  Standard medical technology could allow someone to live to about 300 years, but Nanites could extend that well over 2000 years and were only available to Nobility from the Terra system.  Not only would his age be increased, he would have remarkable regeneration rates, and a cut would be more likely to not bleed.  He slowly lowered his mug to the table and tried to hide his shock, which he was failing at completely.  Regaining his composure, he extended his hand across the table.

“The name’s Kael Donner.  We have a deal, Mr. Lezáku.”